“Go,” he said. “Start making the muffins first. I like muffins.”
“Wow. You’re pretty demanding. I can be too. Come, give me one more kiss for the road and then I’ll go.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his chest. She hit it with athunkand let out a giggle.
His mouth lowered to hers, her arms holding him tight, and he realized, he had little control left now that he opened that damn door.
17
HE WORKS ME UP
Clay had stopped down for his muffins two days ago, twenty minutes after Meredith delivered a few to Karl. It hadn’t been her plan to share with her neighbor, but he came knocking on her door as if he was aware of what she was doing.
He said he smelled them through the shared wall, but she didn’t understand that. For years she’d never smelled what he was cooking. Not until the day with the stew almost three weeks ago.
Then two days ago with the muffins.
Nothing in between.
She supposed it didn’t matter. She had more than enough and she’d always been neighborly and shared before.
Actually, she was walking back in her front door after talking to Karl on the porch when Clay’s truck pulled into her driveway.
She’d shown him around her place, and noticed him testing her locks. She finally asked him why and didn’t care for his answer.
The fact he was walking around as if her place was a mission he had to prepare for annoyed her. Here she thought he wascoming to see her and it seemed almost an excuse to make sure she was safe.
Not the end of the world
Actually, kind of comforting.
But she wanted it to be more in the line of romance.
Yeah, Clay wouldn’t give her romance.
Protecting her was probably how he thought of wooing someone.
And if she really wanted someone to woo her like a fantasy, Clay Ridgeway was the last person she should think of.
Yet she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
“Meredith!”
She whipped her head to the open doorway of her classroom. “You don’t have to yell, Cassidy.”
“I called your name three times. You’re staring off into space. What is wrong with you?”
She hadn’t talked to anyone about this. Not that she had one hell of a crush on a guy.
Could you have a crush at twenty-eight years old?
“Sorry,” she said. “My mind was on other things.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She looked at the clock on the wall. The first of the parent-teacher conferences would start in thirty minutes.
Kids had been dismissed half day and she should have been getting her notes ready but was spending more time thinking about those kisses on Sunday morning. Even the last one she’d gotten when she’d sent Clay home with a half a dozen apple cinnamon muffins.
