Out of the corner of his eye, Grant caught Eliza stealing a glance over her shoulder. Did he detect a jealous glint in her eyes? Or was that his imagination? Grant wasn’t sure. But a moment later, she stumbled, lurching forward.
Colt’s hand shot out, slithering around her waist as though he’d been waiting all day for that precise scenario to present itself.
Grant’s fists clenched at his sides.
Frowning, Penny followed his gaze. “Don’t worry, I don’t see that going anywhere. Eliza’s too smart for that.”
“It’s none of my business.” Grant uncurled his fingers, trying to appear calm and unconcerned.
“Sure. Of course. And not that you care, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t take much effort for someone else to swoop in and steal her away.”
Grant couldn’t help notice the slight twitch in Penny’s lips as she hid a smile. “Right. Well, I’ll be sure to pass along the information if I run into someone who’s interested.”
“Great. You do that.” She grinned broadly now, and Grant found himself smiling, too. But as he glanced up ahead, his optimism instantly faded.
Framed by vibrant dogwood branches, Eliza and Colt walked a little too close for comfort.
And given the enraptured way Eliza gazed up at her captivating walking companion, Grant wasn’t so sure Penny was right.
Chapter 7
The tension in Eliza’s shoulders subsided the second she flipped on the light switch and the warm glow flooded the bakery kitchen, reflecting off the brand-new equipment installed the day before.
She’d barely survived the Secret Picnic, and after a long, grueling day avoiding emotions she’d kept suppressed for years, she craved some serious baking time. Caring, compassionate Cassie had begged to come along to keep her company, but Eliza graciously turned down her offer.
This time, cupcakes and girl talk wouldn’t be enough.
It was time for thePlaylist.
After cinching her pink-and-white-pinstripe apron around her waist, Eliza pressed play on her iPhone. It took a moment to connect to the portable Wi-Fi speakers, but once the boisterous, peppy notes of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” filled the room, the pressure drained from Eliza’s throbbing temples.
Big band music had a knack for bolstering her spirits. Even though each trill of a trumpet invariably made her think of Grant.
They’d taken a swing dancing class their freshman year of high school and fallen in love over the Lindy Hop and Charleston. At first, Grant worried he’d be mercilessly teased by the other boys. But, in the end, the kick ball change and triple step won out over his fears. In fact, Grant had excelled far beyond anyone else in the class. Even more than Eliza, who’d practically pirouetted out of the womb, thanks to her mother’s obsession with the performing arts.
Humming along with Sammy Davis Jr., Eliza assembled the ingredients she’d brought from home, arranging them in order of use on the stainless steel countertop. In times like these, she never followed a recipe, preferring to let her instincts take over.
Tonight, she’d make a concoction she called Mochaccino Truffle Cookies, an idea that had floated around in the back of her mind for days. The main ingredients consisted of dark brown sugar, organic cacao powder, and finely ground espresso, courtesy of Frank Barrie.
By the time the rich, caffeine-packed cookies were in the oven, Sammy had crooned the first few notes of “Can’t We Be Friends.”
Closing her eyes, she swayed to the melody, escaping to her happy place. Before long, Eliza found herself spinning and twirling across the porcelain tile floor, grateful Luke hadn’t finished the huge butcher block prep-island, leaving the wide-open space for her impromptu performance. To her surprise, all the steps came rushing back to her, as well-known and welcome as long-lost friends.
In all her life, Eliza had never felt as free as she had when she’d danced with Grant. The rush of being lifted into the air, twirled over his shoulder, or flipped upside down transcended words. It even transcended baking.
Caught up in the music and memories, it took Eliza a moment to register the sensation of someone’s arm sliding around her waist.
As her eyes flew open, Eliza gasped. “Grant? What are you doing here?” He was the last person Eliza expected to see. And the sight of him, standing in her sacred space, left her tongue-tied and completely off-kilter.
“Do you remember the Lindy Flip?” Grant gripped her hand with assurance, his indigo eyes glinting with hopeful expectation.
Her heart pounding inside her throat, Eliza couldn’t speak. Grant’s touch felt at once foreign and familiar, safe yet scintillating. She should run away, be anywhere in the world but in Grant’s arms. But she didn’t move. Shecouldn’tmove.
Without waiting for a response, Grant drew her against his hip, flung her into the air, and spun her around his back before returning her to solid ground as effortlessly as breathing.
“I guess you remember,” he chuckled, pulling her back into a basic box step.
Eliza melted against him as they moved in perfect rhythm. Somehow, after what felt like a lifetime apart, they hadn’t missed a single beat. How was it that her body could still anticipate his every movement? How was it that her mind told her to flee, but every fiber in her being told her to stay?
