Page 86 of When Death Whispers

Then grins wider. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?”

Next thing I know, we’re in a full-on sugar war. Flour, cocoa powder, bits of icing—everything’s fair game. He lunges at me with a spatula loaded with whipped cream, and I shriek, ducking behind a rolling rack.

“You’re a menace,” I shout, laughing harder than I have in weeks. Maybe ever.

“And you love it,” he throws back, eyes sparkling.

We’re both out of breath when the chaos winds down. The kitchen is a mess. I’m a mess. And he’s somehow hotter covered in powdered sugar, which shouldn’t be possible.

Then I realize I’ve cornered myself. Literally.

I’m backed against the counter, chest heaving, face flushed, and Hudson is standing right in front of me—flour in his hair, icing on his arm, and that look in his eyes.

The one that says he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.

His smile fades. “Parker.”

I don’t move. Can’t.

He steps closer, our bodies nearly touching.

"Would you stop me if I kissed you?" he asks, his voice low.

I shake my head.

He leans in.

And then?—

CRASH.

A stack of sheet pans tips over in the back corner, one clanging to the tile, echoing like a gunshot through the kitchen. Both of us jump.

I look around, searching for signs of movement, for shadows flickering in the corners, for the flash of orange eyes or the rumble of a growl, but there’s nothing. Just the familiar hum of ovens and the buzzing of lights in the well-lit place. We’re safe, for now.

I joke under my breath to bring back the levity of seconds before. “Fucking gravity.”

It works because Hudson laughs. “Guess we should finish up.”

“I guess,” I breathe, my voice soft and shaky, caught between desire and hesitation.

The tension clings to the air as we tidy up in silence, both flushed and breathing harder than the cleanup calls for.

When the last tray is back in place, Hudson tosses his apron into the bin, runs a hand through his hair?—

And that’s all it takes.

I walk right up to him, grab a fistful of his shirt, and yank.

“Get your ass home with me,” I whisper.

He blinks, slow and stunned, like he wasn’t expecting me to snap first. Then the look of shock slowly morphs into his signature smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I don’t bother telling him it wasn’t a question. I simply kiss him instead. It’s fast and hot and messy—flour and sugar and heat and months of tension combusting all at once. He groans into my mouth, his hands grabbing my hips, lifting me onto the prep counter without hesitation.

I pull back just long enough to whisper, “We’re not doing this here.”

He chuckles, breathless. “Then you better move fast, Silver, because if you keep looking at me like that?—”

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