Page 83 of High Intensity

I bend down for a kiss but she has other ideas, snatching the tray of coffees from my hand.

“Bless your soul,” she mumbles, carrying the coffees into the kitchen like precious cargo.

I shut the door behind me and kick off my boots. Then I join her at the kitchen island and set down the box before giving the dogs the attention they’re begging me for.

“Have they been out?”

She shakes her head, her eyes closed and humming with one of the coffee cups at her lips. I wrestle my way through the pack to get to the sliding doors and let them out.

“Good morning.”

Her eyes snap open and zoom in on me. “Morning, Lucas,” she returns, an apologetic smile on her lips as she sets down her cup and approaches me.

“Ohh, suddenly she remembers my first name,” I tease her.

She leans into me, her hands on my chest as she lifts up on her toes, and brushes my lips with a kiss.

“I like saving it for special occasions.”

“And this is a special occasion?”

She opens her eyes wide, pretending to be shocked.

“Why, of course it is; you brought me a caramel macchiato.”

“I see. So…does that mean there is gratitude involved?”

“Depends on what’s in the box,” she goads me.

I band my arms around her waist and lift her off her feet, kissing her deeply. She tastes like sweet cream and coffee, and I can’t get enough of her. I’d like nothing better than to carry her straight back to bed.

The dogs’ barking to be let in puts a halt on those plans, because the moment I set her down on her feet, she rushes to the box I left on the island, and lifts the top.

“Oh my God…”

She grabs an almond croissant dusted with powdered sugar, which promptly sticks to her face when she takes a huge bite.

“Decadent,” she groans with her mouth full.

Decadent? That certainly sounds like it deserves gratitude.

“Have you met Fletch’s wife, Nella?” I ask her, taking the second coffee and giving it a sniff.

“No. I haven’t.”

I’m a little distracted when she pops her thumb in her mouth and licks off the powdered sugar.

“Why?” she has to prompt me.

“She makes all of those.” I point at the box of pastries. “She used to be a librarian at a university in British Columbia, but she started baking for a local coffee shop when she moved here.”

“Is she the sister of Sloane’s aunt, Pippa?”

“That’s her. Anyway, I went to grab a few croissants for us—Nella’s are the best—but she insisted I needed to bring a selection, hence the box.”

“I wish I could eat all of them,” she announces. “But maybe I could take one of these almond croissants for Hayley?”

“Hayley?”

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