Page 96 of 10 Ways to Accidentally Fall in Love

Brad’s forehead wrinkles. “Put my finger in your mouth, suck off the cream, and tell me if I did good.”

“Oh good Lord,” I mumble, grabbing Brad’s hand and directing his finger to my mouth. I lick off the buttercream frosting, rather enjoying the way his lips pop open when I swirl my tongue around the digit. Tugging it free, I say, “You did good, bub.”

He preens, even as his cheeks flush.

And the man thinks he doesn’t have a praise kink.

Shaking my head, I pass over the dyes. “Pick a color.”

“What’s your mom’s favorite?” he asks before saying, “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

Brad plucks out the blue and yellow dyes. By the time he’s done mixing, the frosting is a soft aquamarine. Honestly, it’s perfect.

“Did you get your mom a present?” he asks, starting to spread the frosting over the cake we baked.

“I did. A set of juice glasses with a floral design.”

Brad stills, looking over at me. “Am I supposed to be drinking my juice out of special glasses? Is this a thing no one told me?”

I snort. “It’s not a requirement.”

“Thank fuck,” he mutters, going back to the frosting. “At least we didn’t get her the same thing.”

“Yougot my mom a present?” I ask in shock.

“Duh,” he mumbles, concentrating as he shifts the frosting knife to cover the corners.

“Want some help with that?”

He swats my hand away. “You do the flowers. I spread the cream. That was the deal.”

“You’ve gotta stop calling it cream,” I mutter.

“You said you like my cream.”

“That’s not… You know what? Never mind. Yes, I do love your cream.”

“Thought so.Aaandthere.” With a flourish, Brad stabs the knife into the bowl of frosting and passes it over. “Your turn.”

Huffing a laugh, I transfer the rest of the frosting into a piping bag.

“Where is your mom, anyways?” Brad asks.

“Went to the market to grab some fresh crab,” I tell him, twisting the bag closed and carefully squeezing out a flower, one petal at a time.

“The fuck,” Brad mumbles. He watches me do another before saying, emphatically, “Those actually look like flowers.”

“Yes, they do,” I say around a chuckle.

“How… How are you doing that?”

I shrug, continuing to pipe the decorative flowers along the border of the cake. “I liked construction. My mom liked to bake. I picked up a few things.”

“Damn,” he mutters. “I think you just unlocked some sort of bakery kink I didn’t know I had. Hey, Joey. Joey. Joey-roo.”

“Yes?” I say, lips twitching.

He up-nods. “You can frost me anytime you like.”

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