Sarah’s host moved his spatula round and round in a pan of scrambled eggs. Crisp slices of bacon lined a nearby plate. The coffeepot had filled. As she took in the scene, two slices of browned bread popped up in the toaster.
But it was the man that held her attention. He wore jeans, as he had yesterday. The same woolly kind of socks he’d lent her covered his feet. Her gaze traced a path back up those long legs. His shirttail hung loose and his hair curled around his neck.
He looked damned good.
But this was not good.
She knew better, and yet, here she was. She should have gone back to the inn last night.
Just another dumb decision she would live to regret.
Might as well get the initial awkward moment over with. She couldn’t loiter in the doorway all morning. She had places to go and people to see.
“Isn’t this quite the domestic scene,” she announced, moving away from the door and toward the coffeepot. The smell had her taste buds crackling with anticipation.
He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the matter, New York guys don’t cook?”
She ignored the question. While she poured a cup of coffee, he scraped eggs onto the plate next to the bacon. He placed the toast alongside the eggs and dropped two more slices of bread into the toaster.
As good as his efforts smelled, she never ate breakfast. Maybe she would savor her coffee before breaking the news to him.
His long-fingered hands gathered two plates, two forks, and napkins. She watched with interest as he set the table. His shirt remained unbuttoned, the long-johns-style undershirt beneath molded to his chest. He had a nice profile. Strong jaw. Symmetrical nose. Nice eyes. She’d noticed them before. She’d noticed a lot of things about him before. Those dark eyes, for instance, likely hid a man with far more depth than he preferred to reveal.
Her instincts went on point. Where was the wedding ring? What was a guy like him, at age thirty, doing single in a small town like this?
What else was there to do?
Except—Sarah glanced at the animal on the floor—walk his dog?
“Let’s try restarting the conversation,” Conner suggested as his gaze met hers. “Good morning.”
She managed a halfhearted smile. “Morning.”
“One of my employees picked up your car and dropped it off at the inn.” He jerked his head toward the counter. “Fob is over there. You left it in the car.”
“Thanks.” A chill slid along her spine at the memory of falling face-first in the snow ... then those strong, gloved fingers curling around her ankle. She shivered. At least she’d gotten in a couple of good kicks.
“Sit.” He gestured to the table, drawing her mind from last night’s strange events. “I’ll serve.”
Sarah couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “You spend too much time with your dog, Conner.”
He placed a plate in front of the chair he’d indicated, then a fork and napkin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She pulled out the chair and sat. “You give a lot of one-word commands.”
“I also have a younger brother and sister. It worked well for them.” He shot her a smile and prepared his own place setting.
Sarah’s cheeks warmed. It wasn’t like he was the first guy to smile at her in recent history, but there was something extraordinarily charming about his smile. Who knew? Maybe she wasn’t herself this morning. Maybe real sleep dulled her usual edge. Certainly made her wonder about things she had no business wondering about.
But that couldn’t happen.
No getting personally involved in cases.
Never. Ever.
No matter how tempting.
Personal could be hazardous ... in more ways than one.
