My eyebrows shot up. “And you know this how?”
He crossed to me and leaned his hips on a table. “Small-town talk. You know how that is.”
“Sure.” I tapped my foot on the floor. “I know how that is.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. “I’ll get my wallet. I’m not lying to you, I promise.”
That flicker of a smile returned to his face. My stomach twisted as his lips twitched in amusement. I coughed into my hand and looked away.
“So I’ll just be going.”
“I’ve got some dough rising. I think it’s time to punch it down. Roll it out.”
I clicked my tongue. “Don’t let me stop you from baking bread.”
“I thought you’d like to help.”
Lightning bolted down my legs. “Me? Help?”
“Yeah. I can show you how to roll dough.”
“Is that supposed to be a euphemism for something?”
He took a step toward me and sank until his knees bent and we were at eye level. “All I’m willing to do is show you how to knead it. Where that takes your mind is up to you.”
Well where it took my mind was a place of no return. Or at least I wanted to stay there for about three hours before coming back to earth.
I stared at Roan. I would not, under any circumstances, let this guy get to me. No way. I was better than that. I was tough. I’d been an orphan for goodness’ sake. I could handle a little instruction from a guy who ran the only bed-and-breakfast in town.
“Sure. Okay.” I slapped my thighs. “Let’s bake some bread.”
He extended a hand, and I took it, ignoring the fire snaking down my skin. We crossed to the counter. Roan pulled a bowl from under a standing mixer.
He pushed a jar of white powder toward me.
“What’s this? Drugs?”
“Flour,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. I think he was fighting back a laugh. “Flour. Why would I hand you drugs?”
“I don’t know. I don’t cook.”
“Obviously. Flour the surface before we drop the dough on top.”
“Should I wash my hands?”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
I washed and dried my hands; then I opened the jar and dumped flour on the counter. It fell in a large clump.
“That’s a lot of flour,” Roan said. I could tell he was holding back a laugh.
“You didn’t say how much to use.”
“You’re right. Now spread it out.”
“Why is it I suddenly feel like I’m in some sadistic classroom? You’re teaching me but I feel like you’re secretly laughing at me.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing secret about it.”
