Page 81 of A Very Merry Enemy
“Yeah?”
“The One,” I mutter. “I think it’s fitting. And it’s something people search their whole lives to find.”
“The One,” he whispers. “I like it.”
We start making snickerdoodle and sugar cookie dough.
As I’m measuring cinnamon, Lucas reaches up to grab a sheet pan from the top shelf above me. He could’ve asked me to move, should’ve asked me to move. Instead, he steps up behind me and reaches over my head. His chest presses against my back as one hand steadies himself on my hip.
I can feel the heat radiating off him as his warm breath brushes against my neck. Every place our bodies touch is on fire, like he’s branding me with the mark of him.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, you’re not.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
“You’re right. I’m not.” He doesn’t step back right away. His hand is still resting on my hip. His thumb brushes against the strip of skin where my thermal has ridden up. That one touch sends sparks straight through my entire body.
I turn to face him, studying his intense green eyes, wishing Iknew what was sprinting through his mind. His lips are parted like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes.
We don’t talk about those charged moments after they happen.
We both go back to work pretending like it’s nothing, but my hands are shaking with nerves as I portion out the last batch of dough.
I notice he seems distracted, too.
By the time we finish, the fridge is packed. I feel good about tomorrow, and with Lucas’s help, we’re set up for success.
“I think that’s everything.” I double-check my list. “We make a good team.”
“Yeah.” He licks his lips as he stares at my mouth. “We do.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“Stop what?” he asks.
“Looking at me like that,” I say.
“The way I always look at you? Come on, Holiday.”
I start to wipe down the counter, but he takes the towel from my hands.
“Sit.”
The commanding tone does something to my insides, but I do exactly what he says. Lucas cleans the bakery, wiping surfaces, washing dishes, even straightening the Christmas garland that’s been crooked all day.
When he’s done, he flicks off the overhead lights, leaving nothing but the Christmas ones lit.
He grabs his jacket. “Don’t forget about dinner at five. I’ll pick you up.”
“I can drive myself.”
“I’ll be there at four thirty.” He pulls on his jacket and puts his scarf on. “Wear something comfortable. Mawmaw cranks the heat up like she’s trying to recreate the surface of the sun.”
I laugh. “Still?”
