Chapter 14
Fourteen
CAITLIN
“How am I doing this wrong?”
Jason let out a frustrated huff, rolling his broad shoulders as he glared down at the dough beneath his hands like it had personally offended him. His brows furrowed, jaw tight, and—oh, heavens—Caitlin had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.
He looked utterly, devastatingly adorable standing there, wearing a frilly, flower-patterned apron over his jeans and snug-fitting T-shirt. The sight of him, all rugged masculinity wrapped in something better suited for a sweet old grandma, was doing odd things to her heart.
“How exactly am I doing this wrong?” Jason grumbled again, throwing his hands up, causing a puff of flour to billow into the air.
Caitlin crossed her arms, amusement flickering in her gaze as she rocked back on her heels. “The flour is not a horse to be broken.”
Jason gave her a flat look. “I’m not breaking it. I’m working it.”
“You’re smashing it.”
“I am working it,” he insisted, his voice tight with impatience. “I’m watching you, and I want to love this, but it’s frustrating.”
“It’s not frustrating. It’s calming. ”
“It’s infuriating .”
She exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head at his stubbornness. Jason Baird was not a patient man. He was all action, all results. Baking was too slow, too delicate, too much about trust. And Jason—oh, Jason didn’t trust easily.
“Jason, breathe,” she murmured, her tone coaxing, soothing. She reached across the counter, brushing her floured fingertips over the back of his tensed hand. “Close your eyes. Feel the dough.”
He stared at her, dubious.
She arched a brow, daring him.
With a dramatic sigh, he obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut and laying his hands over the mound of dough. A beat of silence passed. Then?—
“It feels like a lumpy butt.”
Caitlin snorted so hard she nearly doubled over. “What is it with you Baird men?” she laughed. “You guys are obsessed with women’s?—”
“Just me,” Jason interrupted smoothly.
“And Matthew.”
His eyes snapped open, narrowing. “He better not be obsessed with your butt .”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “He’s not , you caveman. He’s a friend. So relax, and get that look off your face.”
Jason muttered something unintelligible, still glaring at the dough as though it had personally betrayed him. “Luke’s not obsessed with any girls yet. He’s too young…” He trailed off, then caught the mischievous glint in Caitlin’s eye. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She smirked. “Seriously?”
Jason’s face twisted in suspicion. “Is he?”
“I’m not blabbing,” Caitlin said, shaking her head. “Fine, we’ll do this differently. Close your eyes again. Feel the dough, the bread butt or whatever you’re calling it, and just roll the loaf gently, working it and?—”
She stopped abruptly at the sharp pop that echoed through the kitchen. One eye cracked open just in time to catch Jason’s wide, mischievous grin.
“…Did you just spank the bread?” Caitlin demanded, utterly appalled.
Jason’s smirk deepened. “Mary Dough is a bad girl.” And to prove his point, he patted the jiggling loaf once more, watching it wobble precariously on the counter.
Caitlin’s jaw dropped. “You’re done ,” she huffed, exasperation bleeding into her voice.
“This was just getting fun.” Jason pouted.
“You are a pervert .”
“Nahh. I’m a red-blooded farm boy.”
“You just spanked a blob of sourdough.”
“Yeah. So ?” He shrugged, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes—he knew exactly what he was doing.
“So? You do not spank the dough! ”
“It jiggled the right way.”
Caitlin exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she worked the dough beneath her fingers. “Oh my gosh, you are hopeless.”
Jason, standing beside her at the counter, kneading his own lump of dough with questionable effort, gave her an innocent look—too innocent. “I’m listening to you and the dough…” he defended, voice laced with feigned sincerity.
Caitlin narrowed her eyes, barely holding back a grin. “Oh yeah? And what did I say? What did the dough say?”
Jason’s lips twitched with mischief as he turned slightly, sticking out his rear in an exaggerated pose. “You said to close my eyes and feel the dough—and the dough said, ‘ check out these amazing buns… ’”
He wiggled his hips, the denim of his jeans stretching over his toned backside, and Caitlin lost it. Laughter tore out of her, wild and unchecked, as she doubled over, gripping the edge of the counter for support. Jason winked at her, looking far too pleased with himself as he nudged her shoulder playfully.
“C’monnn…” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There are so many puns I didn’t realize, and I’m just itching to use them.” His eyes sparkled, daring her to challenge him.
She smirked, rolling out her shoulders like a fighter stepping into the ring. “Work your dough and let those puns fly if it keeps you focused ,” she instructed, pointing a flour-dusted finger at him. “I told Harley over at Flyboys that I was bringing her a few loaves.”
Jason let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he resumed kneading. “You’re nice.”
“It’s called being part of the community ,” Caitlin countered smoothly.
He glanced sideways at her, his hands moving over the dough in slow, measured movements. “You do it so easily, too.”
She stilled for a moment, her gaze softening as she looked at him. “You know, you do as well—but I don’t think you realize it.”
“Meh.” He shrugged. “I’m just me.”
She nudged his arm with her elbow. “You’re a wonderful version of yourself and always leading the way.”
Jason’s kneading slowed as he absorbed that. He didn’t respond right away, just kept his hands moving in steady circles, as if considering her words. Finally, he let out a breath. “And you’re right.”
Caitlin arched an eyebrow. “About?”
“The puns.”
A reckless grin spread across his face as he turned to face her fully, resting one forearm against the counter. His voice dipped into something lower, more intimate. “Wanna lay one on me?”
Caitlin’s smirk deepened as she took a step closer, closing the distance between them. She tilted her head, peering up at him through her lashes, the heat of their proximity wrapping around her like a second skin. Holding up her bread lame between them, she let her voice drop into a sultry whisper.
“What’s that… a knife?” Jason asked, his tone suddenly huskier, more intrigued.
She let the moment stretch, then murmured, “Wanna score later?”
It hit him like a truck. His eyes went wide, his lips parting slightly as a small, strangled noise escaped his throat. And then— boom . Before she had time to react, he moved .
One second, she was standing there, teasing him—the next, she was in the air, swept up effortlessly in his arms. He deposited her onto the countertop, stepping between her legs, his fingers already finding the waistband of her pants with a confidence that sent her pulse skyrocketing. Heat exploded across her skin, and there was a rush of adrenaline and something much deeper, much sharper, as she scrambled to react.
“Hang on—hang on!” she gasped, slapping at his hands in stunned disbelief. The bread lame clattered against the counter, forgotten. “There’s a blade in that, watch out! It’s a term—just a term ! Because you score each loaf —Jason, hang on! You score the bread, not me!”
Jason froze. His hands halted mid-motion, his breath coming in uneven bursts as realization dawned on his face. “Oh.” His expression shifted, first to confusion, then—slowly—to absolute mortification. “Ohhh. Um. Well.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I guess you didn’t really want to— oh boy. This is embarrassing.”
Caitlin, still slightly breathless, gaped at him. “Did you think I would just throw down and sleep with you?”
Jason didn’t even flinch. He tossed her a wicked, shameless grin. “I wasn’t about to say no if you wanted to.”
Her stomach flipped. There was something so unbearably sexy about his easy confidence, his ability to roll with the moment, even when caught in the middle of a complete misunderstanding.
“You’ve gotta know by now that I think you’re incredible,” he added, his voice softer now, less teasing.
Something in her chest pulled . She swallowed hard. “But this is… new between us. And it was just a pun. A reckless play on words…”
“Yeah.” Jason exhaled heavily and hesitated, looking at his palms and grimacing. He was about to rub them against his jeans, but his hands were a mess of flour and dough. “Maybe we shouldn’t do those puns after all.”
“I guess not.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, then glanced down at herself. “I’m sitting on the counter. In flour. And that is not where I thought my first time would ever be—much less with you.”
Jason blinked. His head tilted slightly. “So many things to unpack there in that sentence,” he hedged. A beat of silence stretched before he met her eyes again, his gaze more cautious now. “Wait… your first time? And who did you want your, eh, um, who did you think your first time would be with? And where?”
Caitlin’s breath hitched. The weight of his questions settled between them, thick and unspoken.
“Well, I hoped … that someday, it might be you. That we might be a couple someday,” she admitted quietly.
Jason swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “You did?”
It was so embarrassing to say something like this to the guy she’d adored for so long. Her cheeks burned. “Can we talk about something else?” she asked quickly, nervously.
He exhaled sharply. “We probably should.” His voice was hoarse, rougher than before and creating goose bumps on her skin, sending shivers of awareness up her spine.
Caitlin hesitated, trying to break the moment. “I think I’m done working my dough.”
“Me too,” he said immediately.
“I’ll get the proofing baskets,” she offered, slipping off the counter.
Jason frowned. “What’s that for?”
“So I can watch it rise…”
The second the words left her mouth, she froze.
Jason just stood there, blinking at her, an eyebrow raised in slow, dawning amusement.
“Really… did you really just say that, Catnip ?” His voice was husky, and just the way he said her name sent a delicious shiver down her spine.
“You are really a perv,” she muttered, her face heating as she turned away.
Caitlin barely had a moment to react before Jason’s laughter rumbled through the small kitchen, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. It was deep, rich, and full of something unspoken, something that curled around her like a warm embrace. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in that signature smirk of his.
“I’m a man standing here with the woman I care for, who is talking about scoring and watching things rise. What else am I supposed to think?”
Heat coiled low in Caitlin’s stomach at the teasing rasp in his voice. His words should have flustered her, should have had her fumbling for some sharp-witted retort, but instead, they wrapped around her, sinking into the very marrow of her bones. She met his gaze head-on, arching a brow as if daring him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Not this time. The teasing edge in his voice softened, giving way to something heavier, something that made her pulse trip and her breath catch.
Jason lifted a hand, fingers twitching slightly as if drawn to her, as if the urge to touch her was something primal, something instinctual. A lock of hair had fallen loose from her ponytail, tumbling forward like a silky ribbon, and she knew—knew with absolute certainty—that he was about to tuck it behind her ear, about to let his fingers brush over her skin in that slow, deliberate way that sent her heart into a tailspin.
But then he hesitated. His gaze flicked down to his hands, still dusted with sticky remnants of dough and flour, and he let out a quiet breath, his lips pressing together in frustration.
Caitlin’s heart squeezed at the sight of it—this big, capable man, who could command a room with just a glance, now standing before her with hesitation in his eyes, as if uncertain. As if holding back for her benefit, to keep her from getting dirty.
A knowing smile curved her lips. Slowly, she raised her own hands, palms up, revealing fingers just as flour-coated, just as messy. The air between them thickened, the world around them shrinking to the space they occupied, to the steady, quiet thrum of anticipation that buzzed in her ears.
Jason’s gaze flicked from her hands to her face, his expression unreadable. And then—so slowly she barely registered the movement—he reached for her.
Their fingers tangled together, sticky, warm, and utterly unbothered by the mess between them. His grip was strong, sure, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. The kitchen, the flour-covered countertops, the lingering scent of cinnamon and sugar—it all faded into the background as something unspoken passed between them, something raw and undeniable.
Caitlin swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper when she asked, “Why do you keep calling me Catnip , Jason?”
The question had been plaguing her for weeks, lingering in the back of her mind, but now, with their hands still entwined, with the weight of his gaze locked onto hers, it felt like the most important thing she had ever asked.
Jason’s expression softened, the intensity in his eyes melting into something molten, something that sent a slow, shivering warmth through her veins.
“Because you drive me wild when you are around,” he murmured, his voice thick with honesty, rough with longing. His fingers tightened around hers as if afraid she might slip away. “And I want nothing more than to be close to you, breathe you in, taste those lips, and rub myself all over you.”
Her breath hitched.
His free hand lifted this time without hesitation, sliding along the curve of her cheek, his thumb sweeping the faintest trace of flour from her skin. Then he leaned down, closing the distance between them with excruciating slowness, his breath feathering over her lips before finally pressing his mouth to hers in a kiss that stole the air from her lungs.
Soft. Unyielding.
A declaration.
“My beloved catnip,” he breathed against her lips.
And just like that, she was undone.