But he makes sure his fingers brush mine—slow, deliberate friction.
A spark shoots up my arm and I suck in a sharp breath.
His eyes flicker, satisfied.
“See?” I say, trying and failing to sound unaffected. “Peach saved. Crisis averted.”
“Not sure about that,” he mutters.
“Why not?”
“Pretty sure the real crisis is you.”
My stomach flips. “Saxon?—”
He steps back abruptly, like he needs space before he does something reckless. Good. Great. We’re both sane again.
Except he keeps staring at my mouth.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asks.
“It’s four o’clock. I’m waiting for Junie to finish her art class and then I’m headed home.”
He studies me again, softer this time. “Your kid’s sharp.”
“She likes you.”
He looks away, jaw tightening. “She shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because kids get attached.”
“And you don’t?”
His stare snaps back.
“The last thing you want, Briar,” he says, voice low enough only I can hear, “is for me to get attached.”
My heart stutters. “Why?”
“Because when I take something seriously,” he says, stepping close again, “I don’t let go.”
My breath catches. He holds my gaze like he’s deciding something in real time.
Then he grabs the peach bag, tosses it into his basket like it offended him again, and turns.
“Stay out of trouble,” he says over his shoulder.
“I’m not the troublemaker here.”
He looks back—eyes dark, jaw set, mouth almost a smile.
“No,” he agrees.
“You’re the temptation.”
And like the arrogant, self-controlled menace he is, Saxon Cole walks away. Leaving me breathless in front of the peaches.
