Travis deftly pressed a light kiss onto her neck. “Morning, sunshine.”
The low timbre of his voice and his breath against her skin had goose bumps rising all over.
He trailed his hand to her arm and gave a gentle squeeze.
Oh. Oh dear. The bottom of her stomach seemed to fall to her toes.
She cleared her throat. “Morning,” she said, though her version was not nearly as smooth as his.
“Sleep well?” he asked, grabbing the plate and moving back to the toaster.
His body brushed past hers that time, too, igniting more nerve endings.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
Between Brady, clients, and a brain that wound and
rewound around her encounter with Travis, she’d slept like crap.
“Brady didn’t settle?” he asked, voice low and only for her.
“Took a bit, but he finally crashed.” She pushed the eggs
around the pan with her spatula. “I went back to the den after he was out, but…uh…you weren’t there.”
She hadn’t meant for that to sound like an accusation. Really, it’d been good to finish her work without distraction, but she’d been more than a little disappointed that he wasn’t waiting when she returned.
Yes, they’d agreed that they’d reconnect the next day. That didn’t mean she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Hoping that he’d wait.
A long pause stretched between them. When Travis didn’t say anything, she glanced at him.
He was studying her intently. She gulped.
“Next time”—he leaned forward into her space—“I’ll be sure to stick around.”
Good. That was… “Okay,” she said.
Evelyn took that moment to bustle into the kitchen, an orange box of toaster tarts in her hands, chattering to Bob about the varieties of pumpkin and which were most effective when baked into a pastry.
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene with her son and the woman he wasn’t supposed to be around without a chaperone.
“It’s Rachel,” Evelyn said. “Good morning.” Rachel started to open her mouth to say?—
“Good morning,” Bob said before she could form the words.
“Good morning,” she said at the same time but, since it came a little after his greeting, hers sounded like more of an afterthought.
Bob headed straight toward the coffeepot.
Rachel was mid-swipe with the spatula in her egg scramble when Evelyn stepped beside her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
Rachel’s pulse paused with the tone of Evelyn’s words. “Eggs,” Rachel replied.
“Rachel, dear, we are a breakfast pastry family.” Evelyn dropped the box she’d been carrying on the table.
“Mama,” Travis said low and with what sounded like a great deal of restraint. “Rachel can fix whatever she’d like for breakfast.”
