“I guess I’d be laughing at me, too.” Our gazes locked. My mouth ticked to one side. As I swam in his dark eyes, I tipped toward the gravitational pull of his body. The word DANGER flashed in my head. I was only here to catch a spirit, not to make friends with the locals.
I slumped away.
If I was ever going to get out of this, I actually needed to get the bread ready, so I spread the flour around, getting rid of the little mound.
“Okay. I’m done.”
“Now.” I stared at his tanned fingers as they deftly scooped out the dough. Strong tendons ran through his hands. They were muscular and could probably give a great massage. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a world-class massage.
The dough fell. A cloud of powder splattered on my shirt. He hid a grin. “Sorry.”
“Maybe I should’ve gotten an apron.”
“We have a washer here. You can use it.”
“Thanks.” I found myself really meaning it. Whoa. Gratitude. Not that it was a foreign emotion to me, it’s just since my dad had passed, I couldn’t find much to be grateful for, except apparently a washing machine.
“Now, put your hands in and we’re going to knead.”
I glanced at the dough. “I might be wrong here, but didn’t the mixer paddle just knead it?”
He cocked a brow. “Look who knows about baking? And here I didn’t think you were Miss Betty Crocker reincarnated.”
I shot him a dark look. “I’m not. But I’ve watched a baking show or two.”
“To answer your question, no, I didn’t leave it in long enough to knead. I like to do that by hand.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Are you sure you want to do this? It seems you already know about bread.”
“No, I really don’t. I just remember it from a show. I didn’t really pay attention.” Kind of a lie. I had paid attention, but the smell of Roan was intoxicating. The woodsy, leathery pine scent with a touch of coffee was almost too much to take.
He nodded. “Okay then, put your fingers in and start kneading.”
I dug in with claws. “Like this?”
“If you’re trying to cut out its heart. Otherwise, use the heel of your hand.”
“You said to use my fingers.”
He rubbed his face. “It was an expression. One you took literally. I know not to ask you to jump off a cliff.”
“I’m not that stupid.”
“Good to know.”
I pushed; the dough responded.
“Wait. Flour your hands. It makes it easier to keep the dough off.”
“Something you should’ve told me before,” I said.
“I forgot.”
Then, without any kind of warning, Roan grabbed my hands in one of his and used the other to dust flour on them. My bones dissolved. My knees quaked. I nearly fell to the floor.
“Whoa. You okay? Feeling light-headed?”
I brushed him away. “No. I’m fine. Just fine.” I put on a mask of focus. “Now. Where were we?”
“Kneading.”
