“Troublemaker,” he mutters.
I bat my eyes. “But I thought I was ‘Firecracker’?”
“Troublemaker, firecracker, sweet and salty. It’s all you,” he says, then nods again to the gift, urging me on. The air between us is all kinds of crackly as I undo the ribbon, then unwrap the paper and open the box.
My jaw falls open. “You didn’t.”
He gives a casual shrug. “You said you needed a new one for opening day.”
“It’s perfect.” I take out the gift, set down the box on the floor, then hold up the pretty pink-and-white pickleball dress with the pleated skirt and the polo collar. “It’s preppy and sporty, and I love it.”
I squeeze the dress against me, hugging it in thanks, even though I want to be tossing my arms around him. But I’m not sure I wouldn’t wrap my legs around him too, then suggest he perform The Wallbanger on me.
Corbin’s smile is pleased, but a little boyish at the same time. “Will you wear it tomorrow?”
It’s asked like it would mean the world to him.
I give the easiest answer ever. “I will.” I finger the soft material of the pink skirt. “It’s?—”
“Blush,” he finishes, then adds, “The color of our bakery.”
“Corbin,” I whisper. “How did you do this?”
But of course, there are so many ways he could have matched this color without really seeing it. He could have brought a bakery box along to the store. Except he doesn’t like to ask for help.
Rubbing a hand across his jawline, he blows out a breath. “I memorized the shade.”
His eyes are etched with raw vulnerability.
“For me?” But the second the question comes out, I walk it back. “I mean,for us. For the bakery, of course.”
“Sure. For the bakery,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I really need to keep my hands busy.
As I’m folding the dress carefully and putting it back in the box, he adds, “It’s the color of your cheeks when you’re a little…hot.”
I’m on fire right now. As I close the box, I look over at him. “And my chest,” I say, and then lift my hand to drag my fingers along the neckline of my shirt.
His eyes darken. “Yes.”
I roam my fingertips along my throat. “And here?”
He gives a rough staggered breath as he stands in the doorway, gripping the frame. He nods again.
I set a hand on my cheek, softly running my fingers to my jawline.
His grip intensifies as he nods. “Yes,” he grunts, then rasps out, “I happen to think blush is very, very pretty.”
The fire engulfs me.
And I’m the one clenching my fists now. It takes everything in me not to throw myself at him.
Must stop flirting.
Well, you paraded naked in front of him moments ago.
Rude, I tell the voice in my head.
