Page 33 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

“Yes?” I mutter, trying to focus.

“Here, knead this cookie dough,” she says. “What the hell is going on with you? Are you feeling okay or just being purposefully difficult?”

“Purposefully difficult,” I answer decisively.

She makes a sound of total exasperation, throwing her hands in the air as she turns her back and strides over to the ovens. I stick my hands into the cookie dough, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Ah… is this right?” I ask hesitantly. The dough is soft and squishy in my hands, warm and sticky on my skin.

Lucy appears beside me and looks over my shoulder. The fresh scent of peaches hits me again. I imagine rubbing the dough all over my hands, then running them over her naked body. The sticky, sweet dough spreads in caramel-colored trails as I tease her with my fingers, then lower my tongue and lips to lick her clean—

“Yes, that’s good,” she says, and for one very confusing moment, I think my fantasy has become reality. “Just knead it until the sugar dissolves, so the mixture isn’t gritty,” she adds. “Then make little balls and flatten them on this cookie sheet.”

Yep, okay, reality check. Our clothes are still on.

“Okay,” I mutter, not looking at her and trying not to breathe.

“Damn, it’s almost eight!” she exclaims. “I have to open up. Will you be okay here?”

“Sure,” I answer, though not sure I understand.

I’ll say just about anything at this point if it will make her go away.

“Good,” she says, grabbing trays full of donuts and heading out the front.

While I smash cookies onto the cookie sheet, she returns several times for trays of baked goodies to stock the front windows. I hear the doors open out front, the jingle of the little bell, and customers’ voices as they greet Lucy.

I run out of dough, so I have cookie sheets full of squished mixture but no idea what to do with them. I wander around, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I find a plate of sausage rolls and remember that I haven’t had breakfast, so I help myself to a few.

While I’m eating, a sharp, smoky smell starts to creep through the room. I assume Lucy knows what she’s doing, and I don’t pay too much attention to it.

Then, a couple of minutes later, a smoke alarm goes off. I jump up like a shot and run over to the ovens.

“Peter!” Lucy shrieks, arriving by my side. “You said you had everything under control!”

“I did!” I protest as she turns off the ovens and yanks them open. Clouds of smoke fill the room, and shelves of blackened bread are revealed on every shelf.

She groans. “You were supposed to get the bread out when the timer went off, after you put the cookies in.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“I assumed you knew. I asked if you had it all figured out.”

“How was I supposed to know you were talking about the bread?”

Lucy groans, rolling her eyes as she puts her hands on her hips. “Putting the cookies in the oven once they were on the sheet should have been intuitive, and you couldn’t put anything in the oven without taking something out. I thought it would have been obvious!”

“Not to me!”

Lucy looks like she’s about to let fly, but takes a deep breath instead. I’m grateful for the burned bread and layers of smoke—I can barely catch a hint of peaches through it.

“Where are the cookies now?” she asks.

“Still on the sheet.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ve got to go back out the front. Can you throw these away and start a new batch? The bread recipe is right there. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I’ll try,” I mutter. I’m not exactly confident, but I do feel bad about burning the bread.

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