She leans away from me, and my gut plummets. I want her back against me. I want her tucked into the crook of my body so that I can keep her warm. The wind whips toward us, ushering in the rest of the day, and I watch as it ruffles her skirt and hair.
She pulls her phone out of her purse and groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
I watch as her eyes scan the screen of her phone. “I’m so sorry, Knox.”
“No apologies. Work?”
She sighs and looks over at me. “I mean, it’s a good problem, it just cuts our time short.”
“Tell me what you need and where we’re headed.”
A small, but proud, smile creeps across her face. “One of my clients needs an emergency order. Apparently, the cherry and rhubarb cinnamon rolls I made were a hit. They’re wondering if I can deliver more sometime today.”
I hop off the tailgate and turn to her. “Sounds like you’re in demand, Sunshine.”
“Come on. I need to get started if they need these by this afternoon.”
She reaches her arms out for help before I can even reach for her, and if my ego wasn’t already pumped up, that would have done it. Pride is ready to burst from my chest as I clasp her waist again, helping her back down onto her feet.
Her hands settle onto my shoulders. My hands grasp the softness of her hips. And as she gazes up at me, the whole of the morning sky reflects back in her wondrous green eyes.
I’ve always considered Honeysuckle Grove to be my home.
But it has nothing on the way I feel at home with Lia.
Lia
Ididn’t agree to be this flustered before noon.
The vineyard kitchen is lit up with that golden late morning sun, and I watch as flour dust floats in lazy spirals through the light streaming in from the tall windows toward the back of the kitchen. The smell of sugar and butter is thick in the air, almost like I can taste it.
“You need the butter in chunks like this, right?” Knox asks as he tilts a bowl toward me.
I survey the little cubes of butter. “Perfect. Set those over there and get me the measuring cups. They’re stainless steel and should be sitting?—”
“These?”
I look down and see the stacked measuring cups in his hand. “Thank you. I’ll have to prep more dough since I’ll be using the dough I’ve already got ready. Did you get it out of the fridge?”
“I did, and it’s room temperature. What now?”
I peer over my shoulder. “You know you don’t have to help, right?”
He just snickers as he unbuttons the sleeves of his flannel and rolls them up. “Just tell me what needs to be done, Sunshine. Any time with you is time well spent.”
I feel my cheeks flush for what seems to be the twelfth time just this morning. Knox has that sort of effect on me, apparently.
“The dough needs to be kneaded,” I say, turning my attention back to the mixer in front of me.
“Ah, so we have something in common, then.”
I snicker. “Set a timer for five minutes and knead it around. Make sure to flour the surface. If after that five minutes it’s still sticking to your hands, knead it only until the dough comes clean off your skin.”
“Should I flour my hands as well?”
“Flour the surface and then your hands will be naturally floured.”
