I’ll bake you a cookie if you eat my cookie after ;)

She stands at the kitchen counter, flour dusted across her brown skin, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. The apron strings tied loose around her waist are the only thing keeping this domestic scene from unraveling entirely.

You watch her fingers press into warm dough, deliberate and slow, those dark eyes cutting sideways at you like she knows exactly what you're thinking — and she's already three steps ahead.

The oven timer means nothing now. She sets down the rolling pin, unties the bow at her hip, and the deal she proposed suddenly feels less like dessert and more like the whole meal.