“What kinds will you be making?” Adam asked.
“I think we’re gonna do pecan and pumpkin,” Joey mused. “Those are our two specialties.”
“Are you the pumpkin or the pecan?” he asked.
“Pumpkin.” She smiled at him. “Ilovepumpkin pie.”
“Of course you do.” He smiled too, glad she had something as simple as pie to make her happy.
“You don’t like pumpkin pie?” she asked.
“Not really,” Adam said.
“How very un-American of you,” she teased.
Adam grinned, too. “I like pecan, though, and apple. Apple is as American as they come.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I think I might do apple. I talked to my Aunt Faith about it, and she said not to offer too many varieties.”
“That’s probably smart,” Adam said.
“So I was thinking pumpkin, pecan, and apple, but then I don’t have a citrus option.”
“Apples are kind of citrusy,” he said.
“No, like key lime or lemon chiffon or coconut cream,” she said. “Ooh, coconut cream.” She seemed to disappear inside her own mind for a moment, and Adam let her go.
He pulled up to his house, and Joey glanced over to him. “Oh, we’re here already,” she said.
“Yes, we’re here already.” He grinned at her, and then carried in all the groceries, and he unpacked them while Joey examined his stove and stovetop. She opened drawers and pulled out the things she would need, muttering about the “lack of measuring cups” and how she would have to make do. When she met his eyes again, he simply chuckled.
“I thought you knew I didn’t cook,” he said. “Did you think I was lying or was a closet baker?”
She laughed. “No one’s a closet baker.”
“They’re not?” he asked.
“No,” she said, in an almost scoff. “There are people who dedicate entire social media accounts to their baking. People areproudof it.”
He grinned at her. “Do you have a social media account for your baking?”
Joey’s mouth tightened, and she shook her head.
“Well, maybe you should start one,” he said. He genuinely believed she could start a social media account for her baking, and she lifted her head and met his eye. She searched and searched his face, and Adam could practically hear her comparing herself to every other baker out there.
Then that fierceness he loved about her drew through her shoulders and blazed in her eyes. “Maybe I will—starting with these biscuits.”
She put them together quickly, and because they didn’t have to rise, she got them in the oven and then started browning the sausage on the stove. Adam simply watched her, enthralled by the way she moved around the kitchen. His kitchen.
Her presence in his house was absolutely powerful.
By the time she served him an open-faced biscuit with plenty of creamy, peppery sausage gravy over the top and two fried eggs on the side, Adam was pretty sure he’d fallen in love with her.
He forked off a bite, made a big show of smelling it, and then carefully slid the biscuit and gravy into his mouth. Pure perfection exploded through him—and he felt the same way whenever he kissed Joey.
Or looked at Joey.
Or heard her laugh, which she did right now. “Sounds like you like it,” she said, giving him a coy smile.
