#051826

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With a heavy sigh, he turns to face his judge and jury. “I can explain.”

Hands on your hips, brows pulled together, creating that cute little furrow between them he adores, you calmly state, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

Your impassive demeanor terrifies him more than if you had yelled at him. He swallows thickly, reaches out a placating hand as he steps forward, but you quickly take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I- I just…” An emergency call from the precinct, knowing how to time travel, a hole opening in the floor to swallow him whole, all would be ideal events right now.

I can do this. I have tactical training. I’ve faced down 250-pound men with guns.

Yeah. The little pep talk didn’t help at all. Best to get it over and done with. Straightening his shoulders, he dives in. “The evidence speaks for itself," he gestures to his shirt, then the kitchen floor, "but in my defense, I was only going for a taste. I know it was supposed to be for tomorrow's picnic, but you know how much I love your baking. I swear, it was just gonna be a little bite, out of the back, near the bottom."

You tilt your head, and he quickly offers a solution. Even though he devised it only to convince himself—an excuse to justify his actions.

"You're so talented. I know you would have covered it with one of those beautifully intricate flowers you make. No one would have noticed."

Silence. Not even a twitch of forgiveness. He's beginning to feel like he's trapped in an interrogation room, and you're eyeing him through the mirror. "I-I was being so careful. Then …the tray caught on the door. I tried to catch it, but I slipped. I can’t even explain what happened next. It was a …a rodeo clown acrobatic act." He smiles weakly, "If you'd seen it, you would have laughed.”  

He swears the corner of your mouth begins to curl, but then your lips purse and your eyes narrow further. Waving his hands in defeat at the dismembered 2-tier cake covering the floor and the front of his shirt, he huffs, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Briefly closing his eyes, he braces for your ire. So when he feels your finger sliding along his jaw, he jerks back, slips on a patch of icing, and lands hard on his ass. You laugh and plant your feet on either side of his legs. Staring down at him, with a sly grin, you slowly lick the frosting you scraped off his face from your finger.

With a sinful smile, Beau tugs at the back of your knees. As soon as you land on top of him, he wraps an arm around you to prevent escape and smears his cheek across yours. Squealing his name, you try to squirm away, which only serves to spread the sticky mess.

Capturing your face in his hands, he sincerely states, “I truly am sorry.”

“Well, you’re lucky I know you so well. There’s a second cake in the other refrigerator.” Giving him a mischievous wink, you lean in for a sugary sweet kiss.

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