Page 32 of So Close

“That’s—that’s really impressive.”

His eyes raked her face, like he was trying to figure out if she was putting him on.

“I mean it,” she said.

“Well. Thanks. It was just what I had to do.”

“How so?”

Something in his face tightened, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he took a breath and spoke again.

“Things weren’t great at home.”

She wanted to ask him more, but she knew she’d pushed him far enough. Something dark and shuttered in his face told her that part of the conversation was over.

“Do you miss it? Fixing things? Building things? Instead of—”

“Moving money?” he asked, amused.

“Well, yeah.”

He opened his mouth to answer, and then paused. Seemed to consider her question.

Abruptly, he reached out and touched her arm near the shoulder.

For a moment their eyes held, and held, and held. She heard every tiny sound in the kitchen. The purr of the fridge, the odd rattle of the ice maker, the tick of the old-fashioned analog clock Carl loved.

Then his hand dropped away, leaving a trail of warmth where it had touched. “You had something on your shirt from the floor. A dust bunny.” He held it out.

Oh, for the love of God, it was just a stupid dust bunny. She was totally losing her head, her body blooming like a June rose at the unexpected touch.

She needed to pull herself together and get her mind fully back on what mattered. Saving Beachcrest.

“Oh, look at that,” she said sarcastically. “A little bit of shabby stuck to me.”

She took the dust bunny from him and tossed it in the trash, then got the broom and swept along the edge of the sink. When she was done, she took out the mixer.

“I’m making cookies. For afternoon tea. Which is on your schedule.”

“What kind?”

“Molasses ginger, snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, and chocolate chip. Hot and fresh from the oven.”

“I like chocolate chip best.” There was a hint of lust on his face, the same as when he’d bitten into the buttered biscuit, and it was enough to make her heartbeat kick up.

It was just because she liked feeding people. That was all.

“Nuts or no nuts?”

“I’ll make some of each.”

“Good. Because chocolate chip cookies shouldn’t have nuts. It ruins the gooeyness.”

She couldn’t help it, she smiled. “Did you just say ‘gooeyness?’”

He shook his head. “Must have been someone else.”

She startled herself—and him too—by laughing. “So you’ll be there.”

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