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I turned to face him fully, planting one hip against the counter as I offered him a sugary-sweet smile. “Good afternoon to you, too, Mr. Stone.”

“Can we get this over with?” he asked, his tone flat and uninterested, cutting right to the point like the grump he was.

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at him. “Can’t you at least pretend you’re excited about this? It might make the whole thing a little less…miserable?”

Colton leaned back against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other in that infuriatingly relaxed way of his. “I could pretend.”

“But you won’t,” I quipped, crossing my arms and jutting out my hip. “Because you love being a grumpy old man?”

He smirked, that cocky, maddening smirk that made my pulse quicken. His gaze raked over me, taking in my leggings and crop top with a heat that made me feel both exposed and empowered.

“Did you just call me an old man?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Good to know your hearing is still sharp, Gramps,” I shot back, tapping his chest before spinning on my heel to grab the aprons hanging on the wall.

When I returned, I held one out to him, the fabric dangling from my fingertip. His expression darkened like I’d handed him a ticking bomb.

“Don’t protest,” I warned, lifting my chin. “Just do it.”

“No way,” he said, standing to his full, ridiculous height.

“Come on,” I pleaded, holding the apron out again.

He shook his head. “I’m not wearing that. I’ll look ridiculous.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. “What if…” I let my eyes drag over him from boots to messy hair. “I said it was a kink of mine? That I love a man in an apron. If you aren’t gonna do it...”

Without missing a beat, Colton snatched the apron out of my hands and slipped it over his head. His grumbled curses were too low for me to catch, but I was sure they had something to do with how infuriating I was. I only laughed, loving every second of his defeat.

Me being here kept Colton honest about making the cookies himself. Without someone to witness it, he could’ve bought them or had someone else make them—which would defeat the purpose of getting him involved.

Sliding my own apron over my head, I tied the strings snugly in the front and smoothed my hands down my torso. Then I turned back to the recipe, hyper-aware of Colton standing next to me, all broad-shouldered and begrudgingly obedient.

I snuck a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Oh, sweet Lord, I was not disappointed.

“All right,” I said, clearing my throat. “First, we need bowls. One for dry, one for wet.” I scanned the shelves and spotted a stack just out of reach. “Over there. You’re taller than me, so…”

Colton nodded, striding over to the shelves. He reached up, his shirt lifting just enough to show a peek of skin above his waistband, and I had to fight the urge to fan myself. When he returned with the bowls, I was positive I hadn’t blinked once.

“Okay,” I said, placing them on the counter. “You handle the dry ingredients.” I pointed to the list. “I’ll take care of the wet.”

Without a word, Colton moved to the dry ingredients. His compliance threw me off just a little, but I wasn’t about to complain. While he worked, I opened the fridge to grab what I needed.

When I turned around, I froze mid-step.

Colton was leaning over the counter, bracing himself with his forearms as he read the recipe. The way his muscles flexed, veins running along his forearms, was unfair. Absolutely unfair. My eyes dipped lower, and—well, let’s just say those jeans were working overtime to highlight his ass.

“Come on, Sunshine,” Colton said, his deep voice cutting through my not-so-innocent thoughts. “Wrong cake.”

My jaw dropped, and he didn’t even bother looking up.

I burst out laughing, clutching the ingredients tighter as I shook my head.

“That would be fitting if we were making cakes but it’s cookie dough, genius.”

Colton and I worked in surprisingly companionable silence, measuring out our ingredients and pouring them into our respective bowls. It was calm and focused—like working together was something we did well and often.

When the bowls were ready, we turned to face each other.