It’s a sunny afternoon. The light streams through the kitchen windows as I roll out the dough. My forearms ache, pressing firmly down and spreading it. I don’t know why I agreed to making so many cookies. They were for a small gifting event meant to brighten up the neighbourhood, and with so much time in quarantine it seemed like the perfect chance to keep busy. Now I regretted it, lightly covered from sweat in the heat of the kitchen, working on the third batch of the day.
“Still working hard in here, I see?” I hear Milos say from behind me. I turn to look at him but find him far closer than I originally thought. My shoulder bumps his chest as I turn and I retreat, facing the counter. The heat of his chest radiates against my back, his hot skin far hotter than the steaming kitchen. He places his hands either side of me on the counter, trapping me between his toned arms. He peaks over my shoulder, “Looks good, give me a taste.”