His hands steady the tray from underneath, and I feel his hot, rough palms cover my fingers.
I gasp again.
Or do I?
I’m not sure.
I know I swallow hard as I lift my head to meet his burning gaze.
“Let me help you.” His voice has lost its earlier arrogance.
It’s gentle, sincere, and unguarded. No trace of the defense he’d tried to hide inside his room.
“I’ve got it.” But I don’t pull away.
Neither does he.
For a second, the hallway shrinks.
His suitcase digs into my calf. The tray wobbles between us. And our hands stay locked beneath it.
“I, um...” He clears his throat, and the sound is rough. “I owe you an apology. For earlier. I jumped to conclusions.”
His words hit me sharply and unexpectedly.
“I owe you one, too.” I can admit when I’m wrong—and yes, I misjudged him, though he gave me plenty of reasons to do just that. “I jumped to conclusions. The name-calling wasn’t my finest moment.”
Another beat passes. Long enough to notice how close we are. Close enough, I catch the faint warmth of him and smell his distinct scent of smoked cedar with a bite of black pepper.
His eyebrows draw together. “Was there name-calling?”
My lips twitch into a small, hesitant smile. “I called you names in my head.”
He cocks his head, and his Stetson moves along with the ride.
I’m not jealous of that ride.
Lies.
My chest tightens in ways I’m definitely not admiring.
“For the record, I didn’t think one bad thing about you.” His smile is teasing.
“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful.”
He shrugs. “I don’t lie.”
He releases my hand and clasps his suitcase. It’s the same charcoal shade as mine. He steps away, giving me the space to make it to my room.
But I don’t move.
Of course, I don’t.
He must catch me staring because he pats the side. “Little thank-yous for the lovely ladies who support my work.”
Little thank-yous? Are we talking measuring cups and rolling pins? Or coffee mugs and pens? Or are they edible like cookies or chocolate truffles?
None of my business what he hands out at his little cult baking class.
