Don't Go Baking My Heart

Both Reba’s brows jerked up. “Are you taking these to work?” She clapped her hands, eyes shining with glee.

“Yes, well, what you said might have some merit. Maybe.”

Reba rubbed her hands together. “Oh, you should totally put them in cute packaging with a ribbon.”

“Absolutely not. A plastic container is quite fine.” He didn’t want them to think this would be a habit. Then they would expect things from him. Frankly, he was tempted to simply leave the container in the kitchen with a note for everyone to take one. He didn’t need to link himself to the cookies in any way.

“You need to at least make it look pretty. I’ll help.”

“You’ve helped quite enough, thank you.”

She folded her arms. “You want this ticket or not?”

He should have known this would happen. “You truly are the devil,” he muttered.

Reba grinned, shooting finger guns his way. “I never miss.”

“No glitter,” he warned. He wouldn’t budge on that.

She did a little dance, and he forced himself to ignore the unnecessary booty pop she added at the end. Regret. He felt that strongly. He should have continued to ignore Reba and her silly messages.

Damn this bake-off.

Damn Cherisse for not being available.

And damn the small smile threatening to grace his mouth as he continued to watch Reba shake her ass around his kitchen.