Wyatt has the audacity to look confused. "That was a compliment about your debating skills."
"You made me feel stupid!"
His expression shifts immediately, a flash of remorse crosses his face. "That's not… I never meant…" He runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. "I want names," he mutters through clenched teeth.
"What?"
"You heard me, Merri. I want to know who’s making fun of you in town. I can promise you it’ll never happen again."
My finger digs deeper into his slab of muscle. "I can take care of myself."
Wyatt snags my finger and holds my hand flat against his chest. It takes everything in me not to smooth it across the muscled expanse.
"I’m serious, Merri. What are their names?"
"Oh, you want a name?" I coo, edging closer. "Wyatt. Dalton."
He rolls his eyes. "Nice try. You give as good as you get. And just so you understand, it really was a compliment. Merri, you were the smartest person in school. Everyone knew it. I was trying to say you were good at arguing your point."
"Well, it didn't come across that way."
"I was a kid. I didn't know how to…" He dwindles off, seeming to struggle with his words. "Look, I was protective ofyou. You were Danny's little sister. I made sure no one else picked on you."
I scoff. "Protective? You mocked me constantly and made my life a living hell."
"I made sure no oneelsebothered you! I was a stupid kid and didn't know how to?—"
"News flash, Wyatt: you'restillstupid. You just have better coffee now!"
The space between us has shrunk to almost nothing, both of us breathing fire. A muscle twitches in his jaw and his hands are balled into fists. His eyes keep darting at my mouth with quick, hungry glances he probably thinks I don't notice.
And right now, I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to taste him. To find out if his lips are as firm as they look, if he'd kiss me with the same intensity he puts into everything else. My heart hammers so hard I'm certain he can hear it.
He shifts closer, and I lean in slightly, my breath catching.
Admiral groans from his spot across the room, and the sound breaks whatever spell we were under. Wyatt takes a step back, and I do the same. Admiral looks at us with an expression that clearly says,You humans are idiots.
"We should…" I clear my throat. "We should get back to work."
"Right." Wyatt's voice is rough. "The coffee bags."
"The coffee bags," I echo.
We turn to the tank, and I’m careful not to touch or even look at him. I secure the final cheesecloth bag and seal the tank, my hands shaking slightly. The whole process takes maybe two minutes, but it feels like an eternity with Wyatt standing right there, so close I can feel his heat.
"So," he says finally. "Forty-eight hours?"
"Give or take. I'll monitor it each day and pull the bags when the flavor profile is right. You can be here when I do that, if you like."
"Sure. That works. And then?"
"And then we condition it for another five days, carbonate, and bottle. We’ll have our competition entry ready with a comfortable cushion."
Wyatt nods, making notes in his little book. "Right on schedule."
I wipe my hands on a towel, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You'll want to taste it before we submit, right?"
"Definitely." He closes his notebook and slides it into his back pocket. "Let me know when it's ready."
