I noticed the smudge of flour just above the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I brought my thumb to my lips, wetting it with my tongue and then reached for him. He didn’t move, and I didn’t stop. Not until my finger touched the soft warmth of his cheek. I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe that he would be as hard as his facts. Or as cold. But he was neither. He was warm temptation—sweet fruit from an expansive tree of knowledge.
