Page 12 of Grizzly's Grump
“No.”
She laughs, and it does something dangerous to my chest. "Point proved."
I glance at the galette she’s boxing up, watching the way her fingers fold the parchment just so, like it matters how the pastry travels. There’s something reverent in the way she handles it—like she’s sending off a gift instead of a baked good. My gaze tracks the movement almost against my will, caught on the curve of her wrist, the dusting of flour at her knuckles, the quiet care in every motion. It’s not just baking to her. It’s an offering. And I’m the fool standing here, already half-tempted to take more.
“The apples,” I say. “Good balance.”
Her hands pause. Her cheeks flush. “You ate it? And enjoyed it?”
I nod.
She clears her throat. “Well, I’ll be damned. I consider that high praise, Mr. Hayes.”
“I didn’t say it was for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” She says it softer this time, like she’s surprised I didn’t bolt—and even more surprised that part of her wanted me to stay.
I narrow my eyes. "You know my name."
She arches an eyebrow, still leaning on her elbow like she’s got all day. “Sure do.”
“I didn’t give it to you.”
“Nope. You didn’t.”
I cross my arms, letting the silence hang. “So who did?”
She grins, clearly enjoying herself. “If you get to keep secrets, then so do I. Seems only fair.”
I should press. Demand. But there’s something too damned pleased in the way she says it—like she already knows she’s winning—and hell if that doesn’t make me want her more.
She leans forward, chin in her hand, eyes sparkling. “You going to tell me why you’re really out here lurking like a bear at the edge of the campground?”
“Work,” I growl.
The grin becomes a smile and points at the closed door to my workshop. “In there?”
“Eventually.”
“Uh huh,” she muses
The silence stretches between us.
Then she says in a much quieter voice, “Something’s happening here, isn’t it?”
My spine stiffens. “What do you mean?”
She taps the counter with her fingertip, thoughtful but trying to keep it casual. “I don’t know. The air seems strange to me. Like the whole place is waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, quiet but charged or something. And my truck lights? Theyflickered on and off this morning like I had summoned a ghost or a spirit. I'm also pretty damn sure the mist is trying to eat my tires.”
I say nothing.
Her voice softens. “Seriously, Calder, I don’t scare easily. But I know when something’s off. When the ground seems to... almost hum and the trees feel like they’re leaning in too close. Something’s happening; don’t pretend you haven’t felt it too.”
I meet her gaze, and the truth is right there in her eyes—bright, defiant, unflinching.
“It’s like... I don’t know. The earth’s too loud. Like I can feel something moving under my feet even when I’m standing still. I sound crazy, right?”
I want to kiss her. Hard. Press her back against that counter and taste the sugar on her lips, the heat that’s been simmering between us since the moment she parked the damn truck. I want to bury my hands in her hair, drag her closer, feel her body melt against mine until neither of us remembers why we were pretending to keep our distance. Just to make the buzz racing through my veins stop. Just to feel something real. Raw. Hers.
