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Five more minutes.
I closed my eyes and reveled in the stillness of Huck’s arms.
“Can I make you breakfast?” he asked in a hazy grumble.
“I should go,” I whispered. I knew in my heart the longer I stayed cuddled in this man’s arms, the harder it would be to drive away.
Huck kissed my neck, resigned to the same conclusion.
Our time was up.
I dressed in yesterday’s clothing without an ounce of regret. I did my best to keep a light smile plastered on my face, despite the war of emotions coursing through me.
Huck made a second offer to feed me but, again, I refused. We didn’t talk about what was next, but we did exchange phone numbers as I stood at his front door.
“Call when you get home. I’d like to know that you made it safely.” His blue eyes were soft and warm.
Emotion clogged my throat, so I only nodded before lifting on my toes to kiss that sweet, gorgeous man goodbye.
EIGHT
HUCK
I punished the dough in front of me with another quick punch.
Stupid son of a bitch, you let her go.
“Morning.” Sylvie’s singsong voice grated on my nerves, so I only grunted in response.
“Lovely mood, I see.” Sylvie circled the large steel table to hang her sweater on a hook against the wall and slip a clean apron over her head. She pulled out a small bowl of grapes she kept in the fridge and slid it next to me. “I got your text last night. I thought I was taking the a.m. shift?”
My jaw clenched. I should still be in bed worshipping Cass––that had been my plan, at least. “Plans changed.”
Sylvie settled in beside me, scanning the list of items we needed to prepare. “You’re a workaholic.”
“Yeah.”
Sylvie moved to the sink to wash up and then popped a grape into her mouth. “Looked pretty cozy with the reporter.”
I didn’t respond but focused my intensity on my job.
“Is she the reason you’re overkneading that sourdough?”
I looked down at the ruined mess. Sylvie was right. I’d worked the dough so hard it would never bake right. I let a deep sigh sag my shoulders and scooped the dough into my floured hands to unceremoniously dump it into the trash.
Sylvie lifted her brows. “I take that as a yes...”
I pinned her with a stare and went to work piling fresh ingredients into a clean bowl. We worked in silence, Sylvie prepping items, warming ovens, and arranging sheet pans.
Finally, after her silent anticipation nearly killed me, I folded. “She left.”
Sylvie smiled, probably satisfied with herself that she was the one person on Earth more stubborn than me. “No, she didn’t.”
My head whipped up as Sylvie threw her thumb over her shoulder. “I saw her chatting up Bootsy just before I came in here.”
My mind raced. I wiped my palms across my apron as her words registered.
Not gone. Not yet.
