“I am. I mean, I did. We are. I—” She closed her eyes to regain her composure. He was standing too close; she couldn’t think straight. “You can leave now.”
He didn’t move. “I need to talk to you.”
Her stomach flipped at his tone, the octave so low it felt almost intimate. “I’m pretty sure we covered everything last night, Will.”
“We didn’t.”
She lifted her chin. “Oh really? Then what’s the problem?”
The line of his brow hardened as he took a step toward her. “The problem is…”
His voice dropped off as his head fell forward and his hands went to his hips. The air felt charged, and she was suddenly aware that they were alone together in a windowless room with the smells of sweet baked bread lingering in the air.
He sighed, but it was another moment before he looked up, glaring at her from under his brow.
“You,” he finally murmured.
She blinked. “What?”
“You distract me,” he said, each syllable articulated so they felt sharp and heavy.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Is this a joke?”
Confusion flashed across his face. “Excuse me?”
“I could have sworn you just went out of your way to come into my bakery while I’m working to tell me thatIdistractyou.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he stared at her. “Are you mocking me?”
There it was again. That tone. Warm and low, vibrating down to her core. She tried to ignore it as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Depends. Did you only come here to insult me?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why are you here?”
He cursed under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment like she was the one trying his patience. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” she repeated slowly.
“Yes. And that’s the problem,” he said through gritted teeth. “You distract me so I can’t think straight. I’m not even supposed to be here right now. I should be in the city, dealing with work, but instead I’m here. With you. There are a thousand other things I need to be thinking about every day, but all I think about is you.”
The words felt like they were reverberating in the air, hitting some deep part of her chest so she felt them before her brain even processed what they were.
A moment passed, then her mouth fell open. “But… you hate me.”
He stared at her from under the hard line of his brow. “I don’t hate you.”
She lifted her chin, determined not to look away as her breath hitched. “Well, I hate you.”
She meant for the words to come out cold and biting, but her voice ended up breathless, almost like a whisper. He heard it, too, and his eyes darkened.
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“I don’t care.”
His gaze traveled across her face, as if looking for another tell.
Then he took a step forward. “Then tell me to leave again.”
