Page 35 of Wicked Heat

“What? My cookies aren’t good enough for you?”

“Your cookies are amazing.”

“I should hope so. I spent hours not slaving over a hot stove. And as for dessert, I’d split another cookie with you. I was thinking about getting another glass of wine, too. But I probably shouldn’t.” She checked the time on her phone’s lock screen. “I’m boarding soon.”

He glanced up at the monitor. “Looks like a lot of flights are starting to get delayed or canceled,” he said. She’d been closing the top on the cookie box, but now she twisted to face the screen.

“I’m still okay for now,” she said. “Hopefully we’ll both get where we’re going.”

He nodded, pointing at the TV displaying the Weather Channel on another wall. “Those are some nasty storms all through the center of the country. I’m going to Texas. You’re going to New York. The odds aren’t good for either of us.”

She tilted her head to study the monitor herself, then looked back at him. “I’m going to channel the critically ill eternal optimist that lives deep inside me and say that we’re both going to be just fine.”

He leaned back in his chair, wondering at her tone. There had been a touch of humor in it, but it was underscored by something he recognized as pain. He didn’t know what had happened to her during the kidnapping, but as far as he was concerned, she was more of an optimist after going through such an ordeal than he would ever have been. She was a damn strong woman. And he wasn’t sure she realized it.

“—for the lounge.”

“I’m sorry. Mind wandering. What?”

She flashed that darling smile of hers. “I said thank you for the lounge, for bringing me in here, I mean. I’ve never actually flown first class. Well, not since I was a little girl, and they don’t serve alcohol to five-year-olds. It was really nice of you to share.”

“You’re heading out?” He felt like she’d just tossed cold water all over him. “Don’t you want to wait to see if we actually have any place to go?”

“Eternal optimist, remember? Or eternal optimist in training,” she amended. “I kind of fell off the wagon a few years ago. Pushed off, actually. And I ended up more than a little broken when I hit the ground.”

He wanted to pull her close and comfort her. To ward off her memories. But all he did was meet her eyes as he said, “Maybe you did crack to pieces, but you’re strong. You’re back together now.”

“Ash…” She looked down at the dregs of her drink, but she didn’t take a sip. After a moment, she stood. “I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“No, please, I’m fine. You still have more than half your drink left, and I need to hit the ladies’ room on the way.”

He wanted to kick his own ass. His father had told him she didn’t like to talk about the kidnapping—and, really, who would? He should have kept his mouth shut.

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward in a way he hadn’t experienced since high school. “Well, anyway, enjoy spending time with your parents.”

“It’ll be nice to see them. Mostly, I’m going to do the theater thing.” She kept one hand on the handle of her wheeled bag, then slid the other into the pocket of her jeans. “Enjoy Texas.”

“Yee-haw.”

She rolled her eyes. “Work on that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m based in Austin. Very tech-heavy city. And more like LA than cattle country. I’m not sure I’ll ever get that twang down.”

“But I bet you look good in the hat.”

He had to laugh. “Actually, I do.”

She grinned. “Has anyone ever accused you of modesty?”

He pretended to think. “Now that you mention it, no.” He knew he was stalling and wondered if she was, too.

In time with the thought, he stepped closer and pressed his hand to her cheek. He bent in, then gently kissed her forehead. He felt the tension go through her like a snap, and she stepped back, stumbling against her wheeled bag and knocking it over.

“Bree, shit. I’m sorry.”

“No. No. You just—I mean—I wasn’t expecting, and⁠—”