“What’s the secret?”
Oh, perish. This was awkward. She straightened her leather earring, which had twisted. “I’d rather not say. Which sounds very rude, especially considering that you’re making me banana muffins. It’s just that I feel honor-bound to protect my parents’ privacy. For the moment, anyway. Do you understand?”
“Gotcha,” he said simply.
Her posture relaxed. “I have about twenty things I’d like to ask you about the upcoming Fall Fun Day. Can we talk about that?”
“Sure.”
They stayed in their spots, her at the sink, him at the oven, as the muffins baked and they discussed their plans for the Fall Fun Day they’d be hosting the first Saturday in October, a mere week and a half away.
After taking the muffins from the oven, he placed one on each of their plates. He split them with a knife so that steam danced out, then applied a pat of butter to the center and propped the two halves back against each other. He made for the dining table.
“How about we take our muffins to the sofa?” she asked.
“I don’t eat in the living room.”
“Of course you don’t. But I’m a terrible influence, so c’mon. Bow to my peer pressure.” She curled onto his sofa, balancing her plate on its arm rest. She tapped the top of her muffin to see if it was cool enough to eat. It wasn’t.
He took the sofa’s far end, putting as much space as possible between them.
“You’re a very structured person, aren’t you, Sam?”
“That’s how I’ve hit my goals for myself.”
“What goals? Give me an example.”
“I wanted to own a restaurant,” he answered. “I wanted to lease one of the national park farms. I wanted peace.”
“And now that you have those things, do you think you can afford to be a little less structured?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re not careful, people will sleep in your guesthouse and eat your banana muffins.”
She grinned so widely her cheeks stretched.
He smiled back, his face creasing in that way that stole her breath.
To save herself from a swoon, she took a morsel of muffin, held it like a diamond to light, then ate it. It wasn’t as sweet as she was used to, but it was rich, dense, and bursting with flavors of cinnamon and nutmeg. “Admit it. It’s fun to have me here, sleeping in your guesthouse and eating your banana muffins.”
“Hmm,” he replied noncommittally.
“I’m outgoing and unpredictable, and I provide conversation.” Regardless of what Sam believed, he needed people. He also needed a little spontaneity in his life. It would do him a world of good if he could give himself the freedom to occasionally fudge one of his own rules.
She had problems. But so did he. It seemed to her that he had the steadiness to help her with her problems. And she had the exuberance to help him with his.
“Go on,” he said dryly.
“And I’m not terribly structured, which provides a ... lively complement to your, uh, regimented ways.”
“If you say so.” His sentence communicated ambivalence, but his eyes communicated a very different thing. Heat. Fondness. Desire.
It was as if he were standing on one side of a lake and she on the other, and he longed to cross the lake but would never allow himself to do so.
He’d chosen his very separate life and had no intention of changing.
