I steel myself, praying Everleigh’s dressed. Just as I lift my hand to knock, I hear shouting.
“Ihateyou! I didn’t want cinnamon rolls anyway.”
An instant surge of jealousy shoots through me. Has there been someone here this whole time with her? Is that why she’s still in her pajamas? But no, that couldn’t be it, could it? No one out of the ordinary was here last night helping her move in. No one she would invite to spend the night.
Knock it off, jackass. Who she invites to sleep over is none of your fucking business.
I rap my knuckles loudly against the door and call out her name.
The door flies open seconds later, revealing that getting dressed for the day didnotrank high on the list. I swallow thickly and clear my throat, forcing my eyes to stay above her chin. “Everything okay in there?”
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s fine.”
“Do you...have company?”
“Company?” She stares at me, confusion lingering in that baby blue gaze.
“You were yelling at someone.”
“Oh, that.” She shakes her head, tucking hair behind her ear, exposing her very kissable neck that blushes a slight shade of pink. “Fighting with a tube of cinnamon rolls. You know how it goes.”
Afraid she’ll notice my instant relief, I quickly toss out, “Speaking of cinnamon rolls, Gina Stone made a fresh batch.”
“Is that where you’re taking Birdie? Wait, did she already escape—” Everleigh leans forward, dropping a hand with a spoon clenched in it against my shoulder to look around me toward the patrol truck.
“She’s right where I left her,” I assure her, fighting like hell to hold my breath so I don’t inhale any more of that cherry blossom scent than I already have. It’ll haunt me the rest of the fucking day as it is. “Go get dressed, Ev.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re coming with me.”
“I have to unpack,” she insists.
“Macy’s orders.” I glance again at the spoon. “What kind of cinnamon rolls are you making.”
“The homemade kind,” she says, spinning on heel and retreating farther inside. I step into the narrow hallway and follow her. “From the can. Exceptthisstupid tube won’t open.” She points toward the unwrapped cardboard tube on the counter. “Hence, the spoon.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You’re supposed to press the spoon against the seam if it doesn’t open,” she explains. “Have you never made anything from a can before?”
“The spoon thing is bullshit,” I say, moving around her, thankful to have something else besides her half-naked body to focus on. I wrap my hand around the bottom of the tube and lift it above the edge of the counter.
“What are you doing?”
“Teaching you something useful.” I whack the tube against the sharp edge of the counter, and it opens with a quietpop.
“Son of a bitch,” Everleigh mumbles, moving closer to examine the results.
Her body brushes against mine, and I feel blood rushing south again. It takes every ounce of restraint I have and a few I don’tnotto pull her against me. Not to thread my fingers through her wild blonde hair and kiss her until her knees give out.
“Now will you go put on some clothes so I can take you out in public?”
“Fine,” she says, placing the cinnamon rolls on a plate. Her ass pops as she bends slightly to stash the plate in the fridge, confirming my suspicion that those shorts are indeed panties.
Fuck me.
She looks back to me, a borderline flirty look in her eyes, and says, “You know, you’re sexy when you’re bossy.”
