Baked goods.

She breathed in the sweet scent of vanilla mixed with butter and eggs, smooth as velvet. He has smudges of flour on his cheeks. Specks of batter splattered wonderfully on his T-shirt, as the chocolate swirls danced into a slow spiral with the pale yellow. Alternate until it was seamless. There were flecks of powdery white everywhere: the countertop, the fridge handle, a tinge on his upper left eyelashes. Chocolate chips meant for the muffins went from straight out of the bag into their mouths, melting on their fingers. He teases that they probably won’t turn out like the pictures in the recipe book…

He knows he isn’t lying because he’s certain that they’ll come out of the oven looking even better. Warm, soft, and smelling of heaven.

She let him lick the bowl.

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