Chapter One
Dakota sagged against his apartment door, exhaling slowly. Fourteen days in Crimson Hollow hadn’t made it feel like home. He felt like an imposter in his own existence. Yet the town’s unassuming smallness, its hush, its blessed ordinariness were the qualities he’d been desperate to find.
Right now, he needed to tackle those boxes, unpack them or shove them into a closet, before this place could feel like an actual home instead of a temporary hideout. At least the rent wouldn’t drain his savings, and when sunlight slanted through the blinds, it warmed the exposed brick to a honey-gold that almost made him forget he was essentially living in a converted storage room.
A knock sounded on the door, startling him.
For a brief second, Dakota thought it might be…
“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, smoothing a hand down his oversized sweater. After a deep breath to steady his nerves, Dakota swung open the door.
Good lord. On the other side stood a gay man’s fever dream. Kavani. Delicious muscles wrapped around a tall, lethal frame Dakota wanted to take a bite out of.
Down, you desperate idiot. He’s your landlord, not a chew toy.
But how was Dakota supposed to behave when Kavani had on a black T-shirt that looked as if the fabric was holding on for dear life? Those faded, low-slung jeans weren’t helping, either. Dakota imagined stripping them off…with his teeth.
“Hey.” There was a smoky rasp to Kivani’s voice, rough and rich, like the last sip of bourbon. “Hope I’m not intruding.”
Dakota wasn’t touching that. It would only fuel his lust-addled brain. “Not at all.” Shit. He cleared his throat, praying it didn’t squeak again. “What’s up?”
Better.
“Just wanted to check in. Make sure everything’s working okay up here. Heater, water, all that.”
“Oh. Yeah, everything’s great.”
Kivani nodded slowly, his amber gaze sweeping past Dakota into the apartment. “You settling in all right?”
“Hmm-hmm.” Dakota leaned against the doorframe, mirroring Kivani’s posture. He was hyperaware of the six inches between them. “It’s a really nice place.”
“Good. That’s good.” Kivani’s eyes returned to Dakota’s face, and something flickered there that made Dakota’s breath catch. “You been downstairs yet? To the shop?”
“Not really. I mean I walked past it when I moved in, but I haven’t actually gone inside.”
“You busy? I’ve got some new flavors I’m testing.” Kivani pushed off the doorframe and gestured toward the stairs.
Dakota grabbed his phone from the table by the door and followed Kivani into the hallway. The stairs creaked under their feet as they descended, and Dakota kept his eyes on the back of Kivani’s head rather than letting them wander lower. He bit his lip and focused on counting the steps. Twelve in total.
The taffy shop occupied the entire ground floor, with large windows facing the street and old hardwood floors that looked like they’d been there for decades. The smell hit Dakota immediately—sugar and vanilla and something fruity he couldn’t quite place. Display cases lined the walls, filled with rows of colorful wrapped candies. A copper pulling machine sat in the corner, its hooks gleaming under the pendant lights.
“This is the front area,” Kivani said, moving behind the main counter. “Pretty standard. Register, display cases, impulse buys by the door.”
Dakota trailed his fingers along the glass case, peering at the neatly arranged taffy. “You make all of this yourself?”
“Every piece.” Kivani opened a drawer and pulled out a small wax paper bag. “My mom taught me when I was a kid. She ran this place for thirty years before she retired.”
“That’s really cool.” Dakota looked up and found Kivani watching him. He tucked his hair behind his ear, a nervous habit he couldn’t break. “Do you have a favorite flavor?”
“Changes depending on my mood.” Kivani moved toward a door at the back of the shop. “Come on. I’ll show you where the magic happens.”
The guy wasn’t making it easy to keep clean thoughts. Dakota forced away images of magic happening between them. He already had one problem he was running from. He did not need to complicate his life even further.
The kitchen was smaller than Dakota expected, with stainless steel counters and a massive stove that dominated one wall. Copper pots hung from hooks above the workspace, and the sweet smell was even stronger here, almost overwhelming. Kivani walked to the stove and lifted the lid on a pot that was sitting on a cold burner.
“This batch is cooling,” he explained. “Strawberry lemonade. Want to try it?”
“Sure.”
