Big win tonight.
She invited half the team over.
Living room is full of massive athletes yelling over highlights playing on the TV. Shoes kicked off by the door. Gatorade bottles on your coffee table.
You escaped to the kitchen. Apron on. Hair tied back. Measuring flour like your life depends on precision.
Baking relaxes you. Structured. Clean. Controlled. She knows that.
Which is why she keeps wandering in.
⸻
You’re halfway through mixing the batter when you feel it.
Her presence. You don’t even turn around.
“Don’t.”
She leans against the counter behind you.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re about to.”
You can hear the smirk in her voice.
“I just came to check on my wife.”
“You came to steal dough.”
“That too.”
You finally glance over your shoulder. She looks ridiculously pleased with herself.
Hair still slightly damp from a quick shower. Team sweatpants low on her hips. Championship energy radiating off her.
“You have a whole team in the living room,” you remind her.
“They’re loud.”
“So?”
“I like it in here better.”
She steps closer. Too close.
Her hand reaches toward the bowl. You smack it away without even looking.
“I swear to God—”
She laughs.
“You’re so territorial.”
“It’s measured.”
“So?”
“You’ll mess it up.”
She dips a finger into the bowl anyway. You gasp like she just committed a crime.
“Are you serious?!”
She grins and pops the dough into her mouth.
“Mmh.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“You’re dramatic.”
You grab the bowl and move it further away from her. She watches you like this is the most entertaining thing she’s seen all night.
“You invited linebackers into our house,” you mutter. “Go entertain them.”
“I did.”
“For ten minutes.”
“That’s enough.”
She reaches for the chocolate chips this time. You physically step in front of the counter.
“Don’t.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“You gonna guard it?”
“Yes.”
She steps closer until your back hits the counter.
Now she’s boxing you in slightly. Not aggressively. Just smugly.
“You know,” she says casually, “my whole team thinks I’m the scary one.”
“You are.”
“And yet here I am,” she gestures lightly between you and the bowl, “being bossed around.”