He heads to the counter, and I take the opportunity to compose myself. My pulse is still racing from his sudden appearance, and there’s that familiar warmth spreading through my chest that I’ve been trying very hard to ignore.
When he returns, it’s with Kitty trailing behind him, both of them carrying enough food for a small army.
“One latte,” Kitty announces with a sly grin, setting a fresh cup in front of me. “And…”
Kai slides into Hazel’s vacated seat as Kitty unloads the tray: two Portuguese tarts, a slice of chocolate torte, a fruit tart, something that looks like a cream puff, a cinnamon roll the size of my fist, and what appears to be half the croissant selection.
“Enjoy, you two,” she says, and we both thank her, then I turn to Kai.
“You planning to feed everyone in town?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like.” He’s already reaching for a Portuguese tart. “So I got a bit of everything. We can try them together, rate them, and then I’ll know your favorites for next time.”
Something flutters in my chest. “Next time?”
“There’s always a next time with you.” He takes a bite, making a sound of pure appreciation. “Oh, that’s incredible. Try this.”
We work our way through the pastries, rating each one. The torte is an eight. The fruit tart is a seven. The cream puff is a nine and a half. The Portuguese tart is a solid nine.
Somewhere along the way, his foot finds mine under the table. Not accidental—deliberate. His boot pressing against my ankle, sliding up to my calf, then back down. A constant point of contact that sends sparks up my leg.
I try to focus on the cinnamon roll. Try to focus on anything except the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, or the way his fingers brush mine when he hands me a fork, or the way he’s looking at me like I’m more interesting than any pastry could ever be.
My phone rings.
“Sorry,” I say, checking the screen. “It’s the plumber.”
“Take it.”
I answer, and my morning gets significantly worse.
“Miss, I’ve got some news.” The plumber, Eric, sounds apologetic. “We found the source. Bad news is, it’s been leaking longer than we thought. There’s significant water damage to the subfloor, and we found mold in the walls.”
“Mold. Of course there’s mold.”
“And before we can do repairs, we need to test for asbestos, as the house is old enough that it might have some in the insulation.”
I close my eyes. “What does that mean for the timeline?”
“Minimum two weeks. Probably closer to three.”
“Damn, three weeks.”
“I’d recommend finding somewhere else to stay. Between the gutted downstairs, the draft, and the mold… it’s not safe, not to mention it’s illegal to stay here, seeing as we found mold.”
“Right.” I rub my temple.
“Insurance should cover alternative accommodation.”
“Thereisno alternative accommodation. I booked every spare room in town for the rodeo tourists.”
Eric is quiet. “That’s… unfortunate. I’ll send you a quote for insurance and rush those asbestos tests. But you really shouldn’t stay there.”
“Understood. Thanks, Eric.”
I hang up and sigh.
“Everything okay?” Kai asks, concern replacing his playful expression.
