She flounders for a second before snapping her fingers. “The… the thing. We have that thing to do.”

Orion frowns. “What thing?”

She elbows him. Hard.

“The very important thing,” she grits out between her teeth.

Orion looks at her. Then at me. Then at Theo.

Theo, bless him, just grins, like he’s in on some joke no one told me about.

Orion sighs through his nose and rubs a hand down his face. “Right. The very important thing.” His tone is so dry I could set it on fire.

Celeste spins back to me, her face way too innocent. “We’ll be gone for a few hours. Don’t wait up.”

I gape at her. “Celeste—”

But before I can call her out on her ridiculous excuse, she’s already dragging Orion toward the door, practically shoving him out like a mob boss disposing of a body.

The door shuts behind them, leaving me alone with Theo.

Turning back to him I notice he’s watching me with that infuriating smirk, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world.

“Subtle,” he says, nodding toward the door.

I rub my temples. “She’s not exactly known for her tact.”

He chuckles, rolling up his sleeves—his sleeves, which now expose forearms that should be illegal. “Guess that means it’s just you and me.”

Oh. Wow.

I let my gaze drift over him, slow and deliberate. Then, I grin.

“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.”