Attacked

Caught up in pouring more batter into the muffin tin, the sound of someone else's voice is enough to startle Rosalyn into turning quickly around. Spying Chad, her eyebrows rise and she blinks. What was lost in yesterday's dream was now returning like a freight train, and she could already feel the heat coming to her face. She'd woken this morning feeling quite normal. Now, with his mere presence, she felt weak-kneed all over again. 

It takes her a moment to realize that she was staring at him and she turns back around before she dripped batter on the floor. And only then does she also realize she hadn't even returned his greeting. She'd just stared and turned her back on him. The heat in her face increases. The picture of him standing in the doorway was... well, it was downright sexy is what it was, and she might as well admit it to herself. And now, she'd gone and made an idiot of herself without even trying. But she couldn't turn around now, for fear of just making it worse. He'd probably leave if she didn't say anything though. And that was good. Right? Or wait, did she want him to stay? 

Without warning, his soft singing voice comes again, but this time, she could tell it was directly behind her. Straightening, she ceases her work at the counter. He hadn't left. He'd come closer. So close, in fact, she could smell that sweet cologne again, that just made this whole thing worse. But she couldn't turn around. She...

Freezing, she felt like a statue as his arms slip around her waist. They were so warm and strong and gentle. Only now does she feel her heart might thump right out of her chest if she wasn't careful. Her common sense was back again, inwardly smacking her for allowing such a thing. She should turn right around and slap him is what she should do. The nerve! Him being forward was an understatement. He'd just crossed so many lines that...

Rosalyn feels tingles from her head to her toes as Chad's head lowers and a kiss is planted on her cheek. His lips were soft, his breath warm against her skin. Her lungs draw in air sharply in a little gasp as the bothersome common sense is simultaneously thwarted. She can feel her hands trembling slightly as she fights against unexpected urges to return affection to this man who was still a mere stranger. 

Desperately trying to compose herself, she numbly just leaves him be, letting him keep his arms around her, but not turning around. "Good morning," she whispers before clearing her throat and attempting to act normal as she stirs a little more batter. 

Finally gaining her sense back, she pauses her work for just a moment. "I had a dream about you last night," she admits. "You were being attacked by a giant bedsheet, but the only way to conquer it was by reciting poetry to put it to sleep." 

Pinching some flour between her fingers, she flicks it teasingly over her shoulder at him.