he suspected that her proximity was generating even more heat than the cooking pot. He took a deliberate step away. “Sorry—but I worked through lunch, and dinner smells so good.”
She plucked a muffin out of the container on the table and tossed it to him.
He immediately took a bite out of the top, because he was hungry and wanted to reassure her that he had no concerns about the treats she’d baked, but also because focusing on the muffin would help him resist the urge to reach for her. “These are really delicious.”
“See? I’m not as inept in the kitchen as people like to believe.”
“Hmm.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well...that was a pretty awful cake that you took to the potluck.” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little.
She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “One mistake. One. And no one will let me live it down.”
“On the other hand, the roast in that Crock-Pot smells really good.”
“Crock-Pot cooking is easy,” she admitted. “You just toss in the meat and veggies, add some liquid and seasoning, and it pretty much cooks itself.”
“Still, I appreciate the effort,” he said.
“If that’s a ‘thank you,’ then you’re welcome,” she said, lifting her coat off the hook by the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home.”
He should let her go. He needed some time to catch his breath and think about the sudden and unexpected awareness between them—and he couldn’t do that while her presence was wreaking havoc on his hormones. But instead of nodding and advising her to ‘drive safely,’ when he opened his mouth, the only word that came out was, “Stay.”
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