The rest of him was already walking towards the door.
She stood on his doorstep in a soft lavender cardigan and a floral skirt that swirled around her knees. Her chestnut hair was piled in a messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face. And she was smiling at him—actually smiling—like he hadn’t been a complete ass to her less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Good morning!” Her voice was bright and warm and completely inappropriate for eight in the morning. “I come bearing a peace offering.”
She held up a plate covered in plastic wrap. Through the clear covering, he could see squares of chocolate something, dense and dark and glistening.
“Brownies,” she announced. “My apology for the whole…” She gestured vaguely. “Bunny food incident.”
He stared at the plate. Then at her. Then at the plate again.
“I don’t—”eat sweets,he started to say. He’d given up sugar years ago, along with everything else that reminded him of his old life. Band parties and tour buses and green rooms stocked with every indulgence imaginable.
But the words died in his throat.
She was watching him with those big green eyes, hope and nervousness warring in her expression. Her smile started to waver at the edges, uncertainty creeping in, and something in his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of dimming that light.
“Thank you,” he heard himself say, reaching out and taking the plate before his brain could object. The brownies were still warm. He could feel the heat through the ceramic.
Her smile blazed back to full strength, and this time something in his chest twisted.Dangerous,his instincts whispered.She’s dangerous.
“I hope you like chocolate,” she said. “Some people are allergic, and I probably should have asked first, but?—”
“I’m not allergic,” he said gruffly, then cleared his throat. “I can eat chocolate.”
“Oh good.” She gave a happy little bounce, her breasts bouncing beneath the soft sweater, and his mouth went dry. “They’re made with a hint of espresso and a dash of chili powder. It gives them a little kick.”
Of course they did, because nothing about this female was simple. A kindergarten teacher who baked brownies with chili powder.
“I’ll let you get back to your morning,” she said, taking a small step back. “I just wanted to properly apologize. Again.”
“You don’t need to—” He stopped. Started again. “The brownies weren’t necessary.”
“Maybe not.” Her smile turned impish. “But I like to bake when I’m stressed, and unpacking is very stressful, so really you’re doing me a favor by taking them off my hands.”
“I am?”
“Absolutely. Otherwise I’d eat the whole batch myself, and then I’d have to go for a run, and I really hate running.” She wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust. “So really, you’re saving me from cardio. Which makes you a hero in my eyes.”
Despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “That’s quite a logical leap.”
“I’m very good at mental gymnastics.” She took a step back, her smile softening into something warmer. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. I can see you were in the middle of… something.”
Her eyes dropped briefly to his bare chest, then snapped back up to his face so fast he might have imagined it. But the faint flush climbing her cheeks told him proved that he hadn’t.
“I was working out,” he said stupidly.
“Right. Yes. I can see that.” She was backing away now, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. “I’ll just—go. Unpack more boxes. So many boxes.”
“Sara.”
She stopped, eyes wide. “Yes?”
He didn’t know what he wanted to say.Stay? Don’t look at me like that? Why do you smell like everything I’ve ever wanted?
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For the brownies.”
Her smile could have powered the whole town. “You’re welcome, Ben.”
