She sifts the measured flour into the bowl, and then plunges her hands into the sticky mess, working it through her fingers until she has a workable dough. The coolness of the soft butter, the soothing rhythmic mixing as she turns the dough over on itself, and the rich scents of the spices wafting from the bowl soon have her lulled into a happy reverie. She hardly notices when he comes up behind her and wraps warm arms around her waist. She closes her eyes for a second, luxuriating in the wealth of this moment: sunlight, a free weekend, good food, and a wonderful lover.

She jolts quickly back to reality when he scoops up a gob of cookie dough from between her hands and squishes it to her nose. He chuckles, teasingly, and then without turning or breaking away from his hug she whips another lump of the dough over her shoulder at his face. She giggles at him, and soon they are both dissolved in laughter as the cookie dough flies around the kitchen willy-nilly. They fling it at each other, ducking the flying gobs of dough, until the bowl is nearly empty --- then she snatches up the bowl and clasps it against her heaving chest, panting and laughing.

Her disheveled hair catches the honeyed light of the afternoon sun and creates a soft glow around her face. Looking at her, so happy and full of light, his breath catches in his throat. They pause like that for a while, neither particularly aware of the time once their eyes meet.

Finally, the moment ends when a large lump of cookie dough falls from his hair and lands, splat, on the floor. Once again, she giggles, as he gives her a wry look. She scoops up a little bit of the remaining dough from the bowl, plants it on his nose, and then eats it gently off him. Playfully, she plants another gob of dough on her own nose, then winks at him, encouraging him to take it. He in turn eats it off her, and runs his tongue along the bridge of her nose to make sure that he has gotten it all. His breath on her skin, and the touch of his tongue and lips sends a thrill through her.

Encouraged by his response, and driven by her own enjoyment, she nestles another lump of dough in her soft cleavage, exposed by the open collar of her shirt. As he leans down to eat that dough from her skin, he inhales deeply, savouring the soft scent of her breasts. She puts her hands on his head and kisses his hair. His hands go immediately to her breasts, cupping their fullness in his palms. She gasps a little as her nipples harden at the sudden sensation of his touch. Suddenly, both her baking and their cookie dough fight are forgotten.

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"You can't test courage cautiously." --- Annie Dillard