Page 21 of Craving

She was home, and she was baking, and everything was going to be okay. She’d make sure of it.

Then, reconsidering, Camilla opened the fridge right back up again and scooped out enough dough for four palm-sized cookies. They would spread too quickly and wouldn’t have the depth of flavor as the rest of the dough, but tonight was not the time for depth of flavor. Tonight was a time for sugar and comfort.

With the oven preheated and the cookies dropped, Camilla slid the tray into the middle rack and closed the door. Her timer went on, and she started washing the dishes she’d created in her frenzy. She was scraped as raw as her mixing bowl, but she didn’t feel like she was on the edge of a breakdown anymore.

“What am I smelling?” Marlon said behind her.

Turning, Camilla blinked at the sight of the man looming on the other side of the kitchen. Her heart gave a funny little lurch, and she hid it with a smile. “You are smelling pure, uncomplicated joy. Also known as chocolate chip cookies.”

“Never leave,” he blurted. “Don’t ever move out.”

He was joking, but the words still made Camilla’s heart thump. Then she took a breath to compose herself, because that was as good an opening as any. She smoothed her hands down her apron and faced Marlon. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

He combed his fingers through his hair and opened the fridge to peek inside. “What’s that?”

“With everything going on at the bakery, I was hoping… Would it be okay for me to stay here longer than we’d originally planned? I’ll contribute as much as possible; I promise. Money’s tight right now, but I can do other—”

“Yeah,” Marlon said, grabbing a container of leftovers from the refrigerator. “Sure.”

Camilla’s teeth clicked shut. She watched him put his food in the microwave, unable to move.

“Sure? As in…you’re okay with me staying here? I might need to stay until the end of the year…maybe even a bit longer…”

He nudged her aside to get to the cutlery drawer. “Stay as long you need,” he said as he closed the drawer. He met her gaze, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “As long as you follow the house rules.”

Relief rushed through Camilla’s veins, quickly followed by a wave of desire. She turned her back on him to fiddle with the kettle on the stove, needing to change the subject. “How was your day?”

She filled the kettle and turned the stove on, keeping her back to him the whole time. The ignition clicked a few times and the gas caught. Finally, she peeked over her shoulder, because she was a weak-willed woman, and she couldn’t resist.

Marlon sank into a chair and tucked into his leftovers. “My day was fine. There were about a dozen fires to put out with various clients, and they all wanted personalized attention. But it all worked out.” He watched as she leaned against the counter, his head tilting. “What’s wrong?”

She straightened. “What?”

“What happened? You look like… I don’t know. Like something’s bothering you.”

“What?” Camilla repeated, forcing out a laugh. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a flat stare. “Something happened. Tell me what it is. Did the cops come back and talk to you about the window? They find who did it?”

Camilla’s pulse jumped. No one could tell when she was upset. She’d crafted a thick, impenetrable armor through years of enduring her family. She painted a bright smile on her face and wore the bubbly persona she was known for, and she dealt with her problems on her own. That’s how things had always been.

But Marlon had seen right through her. He stood up and stalked toward her, and Camilla found herself edging sideways to try to get away.

He caught her against the stove. “Camilla,” he growled. “Talk to me.”

He smelled faintly of sweat and the freshness of the cold outdoors. Camilla gulped, staring at the open collar of his black shirt, and shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

A sigh ruffled the hair at her temple; that’s how close Marlon was to her. He had his hands on the oven handle, and the heat of it warmed the backs of her legs. “Did something happen at the bakery? The windows again?”

She shook her head. “No, the windows are fine. The glazing company is coming out next week to put a new window in. That was no big deal.”

“But…?”

Ugh. He wasn’t going to go away, so she’d better just tell him what was bothering her—part of it, anyway. “I had dinner at my parents’ house. We do it once a month, and it always sucks. Big time.”

“How so?”

She kept staring at his throat, at the coarse hair that grew there, the little hollow at the base. “My sister is a lawyer, my brother is a corporate executive, and my parents love to remind me just how much of a disappointment I am.”

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