Page 50 of Begin Again

“Guess so.”

He steps closer—just a fraction, just enough for the air to shift between us. “Think you can handle that?”

His voice is lower now, softer. Like a challenge.

My mouth goes dry.

I square my shoulders, refusing to let him see how deeply he’s affecting me. “I should be asking you that,” I say, reaching for the flour, trying desperately to focus on anything besides the way he’s looking at me.

Theo chuckles, slow and lazy. “Oh, I can handle it.”

And for some reason, I get the distinct feeling he’s no longer talking about baking.

As we mix ingredients and roll out the dough, Theo shows me how to properly roll out the dough for the perfect cookie thickness. His hands cover mine briefly, guiding my movements, and I swear the temperature in the room goes up ten degrees.

“You’re a natural,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

“Yeah, right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re just trying to boost my ego.”

He leans in, his chest barely brushing my arm, and the heat from his body is distracting.“Maybe. But it’s also true.”

My fingers tighten in the roller, but it’s not from focus—it’s from the way his breath skims the side of my face. He’s doing this on purpose. Testing me.

Fine. Two can play this game.

I glance up at him, my lashes low. “You just like having your hands on me.”

Theo doesn’t flinch. Instead, his grin turns wicked. “I won’t deny it.” His fingers brush over mine again, his touch lingering. “You’re very… touchable.”

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s ridiculous how easily he gets under my skin, how one look from him makes my stomach flip.

I hum, pretending to consider. “That’s an awfully smooth line for a baking lesson.”

He lifts a brow. “You asked for a hands-on experience.”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. “I don’t recall asking for that.”

“Ah.” He steps in closer until the space between us is almost nonexistent. “Must’ve been wishful thinking on my part, then.”

God, he’s too much. And I love it.

To ground myself, I focus on the dough, pressing down the cookie cutter the way he showed me. “Were you surprised when you found out it was me that texted you?” I ask, aiming for casual, but my voice comes out a little breathless.

Theo chuckles, stepping back to grab another bowl, but not far enough to break the tension. “Not really. Almost everyone here has my number, and Aunt Aubrey told me she gave it to you. Small town, remember? There aren’t many mysteries here.”

I glance at him, pointing the cookie cutter I was using at him accusingly, while my lips curve into a small smile. “So you knew it was me?”

“Of course,” he says, turning to face me again. Our faces are closer than I realized, only a few inches separating us “And I didn’t mind the mystery text, by the way. It was a nice surprise. I meant to give you my number anyway.”

The air between us is thick, and I realize just how close we are—only a few inches separate us. His gaze drops to my lips, and my pulse skyrockets.

Oh.

It’s one thing to trade innuendos, to flirt and tease. It’s another thing entirely to have him looking at me like that—like he’s already imagining what it would feel like to kiss me.

Slowly, deliberately, he leans in, his fingers skimming the side of my hand.

My breath catches. My mind is screaming at me to act—close the gap, say something witty, but I just stand there, completely at his mercy.

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