Kiss the Cook

Jax let out a breath that shook his entire frame. "Probation. I can do probation. What are the terms?"

Lena walked back to the counter. She picked up a pink, frilly apron that she had bought as a joke for the grand opening. It had *KISS THE COOK* embroidered on the front in bold red letters.

She tossed it at him.

"Dishwasher," she said. "And security. But mostly dishwasher."

Jax caught the apron. He looked at it. It was two sizes too small and completely ridiculous.

He put it on immediately.

"I make this look tactical," he said, tying the strings behind his back.

"You look like a giant cupcake," Lena corrected, but her voice was warm.

She picked up the tray of fresh dough. She held it out to him.

"Knead this," she ordered. "You have aggressive energy. Put it to use."

Jax stepped up to the counter, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her. He sank his hands into the dough, mimicking her movements.

"So," he said, bumping his shoulder against hers. "Since I'm security... do I get to interrogate the customers?"

"No."

"Can I wire the doorbell to a flashbang?"

"No."

"Can I kiss the boss?"

Lena paused. She looked up at him. He was covered in flour dust. He had just blown up his entire career and put a target on his back just to stand in a kitchen with her.

She reached up, grabbing the lapels of his stupid pink apron, and pulled him down.

"That," she whispered against his lips, "is in the job description."

She kissed him. It tasted like cinnamon and danger, a recipe for disaster that was perfectly, completely them.

Outside, a black sedan rolled slowly down the street, pausing in front of the bakery. Inside, Jax didn't even look up. He was too busy learning the difference between a trigger pull and a yeast rise, and for the first time in his life, he wasn't looking for an exit strategy.