Page 10 of Fake Out Forever

“Was that better?” He takes a step toward me.

It’s hard not to stare at the way the navy-blue thermal stretches across his wide chest or how his hazel eyes twinkle with mischief. A rush of heat flashes up my neck and straight to my face. “Yes. Much better.” I whip around and fumble with the coffee pot. I struggle to catch my breath. This man is going to kill me.

“Do you want coffee?” I scurry to the opposite side of the kitchen to grab some mugs.

“Yes, I would. It’s cold out there.” He rubs his hands together before sitting on a stool.

“Were you shoveling?” I set a mug down in front of him. “Eat while it’s hot.”

He snags a piece of bacon. “Went out to check on the generator and set out some blocks for the deer.”

“You fed the deer?” I blink.

He inhales the bacon, grabs a muffin to slather it with butter, and then decides to torture me with another one of his smiles. I have to get out of here.

“During storms like this, it’s hard for the deer to find food. I try to do what I can to help.” He scoops some eggs onto his plate. “Even though I’m a caveman.”

I close my eyes, take another deep breath, and through gritted teeth, I say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that.”

“No apology needed, duchess. I know better than to judge a book by its cover.” He drops a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee.

“What does that mean?” I snap my eyebrows down tight.

“I judged you unfairly, which is exactly what you did with me.” He tears a hunk of muffin off. “This is delicious.”

I glance at the butter knife, wondering if I can use it to carve out his liver.

Is this man insane?

I outright apologized. I made him a thank-you breakfast for rescuing me, and he’s taking another jab at me.

His jaw stops working. “What did I do now?” he mumbles as he eats a banana muffin.

“You’re taking another shot at me.”

“No.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “That’s not it at all, duchess. I’m just stating the facts. You misjudged me because I’m a hockey player, and I did exactly the same thing. I stereotyped you. And I’m sorry about that.”

He’s serious.

My heart pounds. He stares at me with such intensity… such softness… I can’t think.

“These really are good.” He grins. “Thank you.”

I release the death grip on my butter knife. “You’re welcome.”

“Here…” He holds up the plate of eggs. You have to taste these. They’re excellent.”

I don’t want to smile —I truly don’t— but I can’t help it. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” He plops a muffin on my plate. “And you’re going to die when you taste the muffin. It’s better than the ones you get in a fancy bakery.”

I can’t believe I’m blushing again. “Thanks.”

“So, tell me, what brings you to Thunder Ridge?”

I chew my eggs, trying to decide what to tell him. I haven’t told a soul about my plans, mostly because I’m not interested in hearing that my dream won’t work or that I am incapable of putting it together.

“I’m not going to judge you.” His voice is gentle.

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