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Patty rolled the dough while Hudson and I worked on the filling. The brown sugar clumped, so I had to break it apart with my fingers.

Hudson reached into the bowl to help. Our hands met. Neither of us moved immediately.

My pulse spiked.

Patty began humming loudly behind us. I pulled my hand away. Hudson’s mouth curved.

“What?” I asked.

“You have flour on your face.”

“Where?”

He reached toward me.

I stayed still.

He brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth, slow enough that my thoughts scattered completely. He wiped the flour away, though his hand lingered for a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said.

My skin felt hot beneath the place he’d touched. “Thank you.”

Patty stopped humming.

I turned toward her. She was staring at us.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She returned to the dough.

Hudson went back to mixing.

I tried to do the same.

A few minutes later, he leaned over the bowl to inspect the filling, and I noticed a streak of flour across the end of his nose.

I grinned.

He caught it. “What?”

“You have flour on your face now.”

“Where?”

I could have told him. Instead, I dipped one finger into the flour on the counter and added another streak across his cheek.

He went completely still.

Patty giggled.

Hudson looked at me. “You made it worse, didn’t you?”

“I thought it called for symmetry.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes.”