My gaze snaps to hers. Holly has frozen mid-reach, her hand still hovering near mine. Her eyes, wide and startled, meet mine. The playful energy, the focused determination of building the castle – it vanishes. Replaced by something else entirely. Something electric and undeniable.
What was that?The silent question hangs in the air.
I jerk my hand back as if burned. But it’s too late. The damage is done. The carefully maintained barrier, the lie that this was just about Tabby… it’s shattered. Obliterated by a single, accidental touch.
Tabby, blessedly oblivious, bounces over, holding another tower. “Look, Daddy! This one has a pointy top! Can we put it here?” She points to another corner.
Neither of us speaks for a moment. We just look at each other across the icing-smeared counter, across the scattered sprinkles and glitter, across the distance that just collapsed into nothing.
This isn’t just about baking cookies anymore.
Chapter 10
Holly
The spot on the back of my hand where Denton’s skin touched mine still tingles. I try to focus on Tabby, who’s happily narrating a gingerbread cookie’s daring escape from the ‘sparkly moat of doom’ (a puddle of blue icing she’s created).
“And thenwhoosh!” Tabby makes a dramatic swooping motion with a gummy bear, nearly knocking over a bowl of sprinkles. “He flies off on his candy cane jetpack!”
“Incredible aerial maneuvers, sweet pea,” I manage, my voice sounding unnaturally bright. I reach for a piping bag filled with red icing, my fingers trembling slightly. “He’ll need reinforcements. How about some gumdrops up here?” I point to the uneven top of one wall.
“Yes! That’s perfect!” Tabby scrambles for the gumdrops, her small face alight.
Denton shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on the soup can propping up the tower. His shoulder brushes against mine as he leans forward.
That same electric jolt zips through me, stealing my breath. I jerk back, fumbling with the piping bag. A fat dollop of icing plops onto the counter, narrowly missing the castle drawbridge.
“Oops!” The word bursts out, too loud. Heat floods my cheeks. “Slippery fingers.”
He doesn’t look at me. Just gives a curt, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze fixed on the tower’s alignment. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking.
Charlie’s voice is in my head again, sharp with warning:‘He’s a fortress, Hols. Handsome, complicated. And topped with emotional barbed wire.’
But this… this visceral reaction? This isn’t just noticing he’s objectively sculpted under that sweater. This is a physical pull, deep and unsettling, a magnetic tug towards his silent, brooding presence that feels completely separate from logic or Charlie’s excellent advice.
I need to break this. Do something. Anything. Before I spontaneously combust from the sheer tension radiating off the man currently mortaring gingerbread like it’s a matter of national security.
“So…” The word pops out before I have a plan, punctuated by Tabby’s humming and the distant jingle of bells from the shop.
Both Denton and Tabby look up. Denton’s gaze is guarded, wary. Tabby’s is bright with curiosity.
“Big event tomorrow night,” I blurt out, scrambling for something neutral, something safe. “The neighborhood tree lighting! Over in the little park on Damen? I, uh… I sort of organize it every year.” I gesture vaguely towards the front of the bakery. “Stringing the lights, setting up the hot cocoa station… the whole shebang.”
Tabby’s eyes widen to saucers. “A tree lighting? Withlights? And cocoa?” She drops a gumdrop. “Can we go, Daddy? Please? Pleasepleaseplease?”
Denton’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the subtle tightening around his eyes. I can almost hear his internal groan.
Charlie’s voice is a screech in my mind:‘What are you DOING, Hols? Inviting Captain Control Freak to a community sing-along? This is not what we talked about!’
But the words are already tumbling out, and I’m unable to stop them. “It’s… it’s really sweet,” I press on, my voice gaining a little strength, aiming my words more at Tabby but watching Denton’s face. “Carols, everyone bundled up, the big switch-on… the tree is massive this year. We found this gorgeous spruce…” I trail off, feeling foolish. Describing the event to Denton Blake feels like explaining color to someone who only sees in black and white.
He’s staring at me, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches, thick and prickly.
My cheeks are burning again.Stupid, stupid, Holly.He’s going to say no. Politely, distantly, citing practice schedules or Tabby’s bedtime or the fundamental incompatibility of his soul with public merriment. And I’ll be left standing here, feeling like an idiot who mistook a momentary electric shock for… for something it wasn’t.
Tabby tugs on his sleeve, her little face the picture of pleading hope. “Daddy? Can we? Please?” She bounces on her toes.
A tiny flicker crosses Denton’s face. Not a smile. Not even close. But something… a softening at the very corner of his mouth, quickly suppressed. His gaze flicks from Tabby’s beseeching eyes to mine.
