Kivani picked up a knife and cut a small piece from the slab of taffy in the pot. He held it out, and Dakota stepped closer to take it from his fingers. Their hands brushed. The contact lasted maybe half a second, but Dakota felt it everywhere.
He popped the taffy into his mouth. The flavor burst across his tongue—tart and sweet and perfectly balanced. “Oh my god.”
“Good?”
“So good.” Dakota chewed slowly, savoring it. “Like, really good.”
Kivani’s smile widened. He cut another piece, this time from a different batch sitting on the counter. “Try this one. Maple and brown sugar.”
Dakota took it, more careful this time to avoid touching Kivani’s hand. The taffy was softer, still warm from being worked. Kivani watched his reaction, waiting.
“That’s amazing too,” Dakota said around the candy. “You’re really talented.”
“Mom was a good teacher.” Kivani leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “She used to say making taffy was about patience. You can’t rush it. Temperature has to be exact, timing has to be perfect, and you have to pull it just right or the texture's wrong.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It is. But it’s worth it when it turns out right.” Kivani tilted his head slightly, studying Dakota with an expression that made Dakota’s stomach flip. “So what brought you to Crimson Hollow? It’s not exactly a destination town.”
There it was. The question Dakota had been dodging since he arrived. He swallowed the last of the taffy and shrugged, aiming for casual. “Just needed a change of scenery. Fresh start, you know?”
“Where'd you move from?”
“Couple different places. I’ve been moving around a lot over the past few months.” Dakota wandered over to examine the copper pots, running his hand along the smooth metal. “This seemed like a good spot to stop for a while.”
“Running from something or running to something?”
Dakota’s hand stilled. He turned to look at Kivani, who was still leaning against the counter with that same open, curious expression. No judgment there, just interest. “Maybe a little of both.”
Kivani nodded like that made perfect sense. “Well, it’s a good town for starting over.”
“Have you ever thought of starting over?”
“Nah, I’m a lifer. Born and raised.” Kivani pushed off the counter and moved to the stove, adjusting the temperature dial even though nothing was cooking. “Never really thought about leaving. Everything I need is here.”
Dakota watched him fiddle with the controls, noting the strong line of his jaw, the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on a shelf of ingredients—vanilla extract, food coloring, bags of sugar. “Must be nice. Having roots like that.”
“Sometimes.” Kivani opened a cabinet and pulled out several small containers. “Other times it feels like being stuck. Everyone knows everyone, which means everyone knows your business.”
“That sounds awful, honestly.”
“Has its moments.” Kivani lined up the containers on the counter. “But it also means people look out for each other. There’s something to be said for that.”
Dakota moved closer, drawn by the array of colors in the containers. “What are these?”
“Flavor extracts. I’m working on some new combinations for fall.” Kivani picked up a small bottle of amber liquid. “This is maple bourbon. And this one”—he held up another bottle—“is spiced pear.”
“Bourbon? Is that allowed in candy?”
“It’s extract, so the alcohol cooks off. Just leaves the flavor.” Kivani set the bottles down and picked up a bag to fill. “Here, take these home. Let me know what you think.”
Dakota accepted the bag, his fingers brushing against Kivani’s again. This time neither of them pulled away immediately. The moment stretched, and Dakota felt his pulse jump in his throat. Kivani’s amber eyes were darker up close, almost gold in the kitchen’s warm lighting.
“Thanks,” Dakota murmured.
“Anytime.” Kivani’s thumb grazed Dakota’s knuckles before he let go. “And seriously, if anything stops working in the apartment, just come find me. I’m usually here or upstairs in my place.”
“You live here too?”
