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“You missed, didn’t you?”

“I won’t miss this time.” I pick up the canister of flour and give chase.

He holds his hands in front of him in a Stop gesture. “Now, let’s think about this, Cristina.”

“What’s there to think about? You started it.”

“And I’m gonna finish it.”

He races into Maya and Logan’s area. I reach into the flour and throw a handful at him, but it hits Maya.

“Cristina!”

“I’m sorry!”

Next thing I know, Maya’s throwing flour at me. It misses, hits Callie and Jeff instead.

Callie retaliates with icing. The whole tent erupts into chaos, and Rhett races through it all, heading straight for me.

“People!” Mina yells. “What’s going on?”

I point to Rhett. “He started it!”

“Hey, it’s all in good fun,” he calls.

At this point, every couple has joined in. Most of them are fighting one another, but a few are fighting with other couples.

I stare at this for apparently one minute too long, and next thing I know, a pair of arms is wrapped around me, holding my hands so that I can’t throw flour.

“Do you yield?” Rhett murmurs in my ear.

My body ignites at his touch, every point of contact imprinting on me—my back to his chest, his hands on mine.

A flush rushes up my neck as he asks again, “Do you yield?”

Since I can’t retaliate in this position, I say, “Yes, I yield.”

He slowly lets me go, and when he does, I turn around, our faces inches apart.

His breath trickles over my hair, caresses my ear, and I forget how to breathe.

Flour dusts his dark hair, turning it gray. His eyes are locked on mine, his pupils blown. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, the chaos around us melting until it vanishes.

“See? Don’t you feel better now?”

I grab a handful of flour and smear it over his chest. “Now I do.”

“Oh, you asked for it.”

He scoops out a handful and drops it in my hair. It’s so ridiculous that I laugh. Then I toss the open container at him, hitting him in the face.

Rhett smirks, and all around me, I hear the chaos of the baking fight—shrieks and laughter.

I glance at Rhett, tipping up my chin. He stares down, that smirk on his face, his eyes dancing with silent laughter.

And I realize I haven’t thought of Glen in the last five minutes. Rhett made me forget. Made me laugh. Made me feel . . . light.

That’s more dangerous than a flour fight.