She tugged at the hem and played it cool. “I thought it was mine.”
“Funny, me too.”
She ignored that. “I thought you were on your way to the airport.”
“My flight was delayed, and so I came out to tell you, but you were gone,” he said, his breath whispering past her ear. “And so was my sweatshirt.”
“I went to the market. And I left a note,” she said, as if that was a sufficient answer.
“I found it,” he said, and even though there wasn’t any anger in his tone, she could detect a slight hint of disappointment. It was buried beneath his amusement and a gentle understanding that made her feel even worse.
Because had the roles been reversed and Mackenzie had come out of the shower to find an empty house and a two-sentence note, she would have been hurt. Especially after how close they’d grown over the past couple of weeks.
She turned to face him, only he didn’t move, so she found herself sandwiched between the counter and his rippling chest. “Leaving a note was a pretty shitty move and I’m sorry.”
“Itwasa shitty move,” he agreed, flattening his palms on the counter to lean in even closer. “You want to tell me why?”
“Not really,” she said, and he chuckled.
“Okay, well then, apology accepted.”
She blinked. “Just like that?”
“You seemed to be as upset about my leaving for the weekend as I was about going,” he said. “And while I would have rather talked it through, I get it. So yeah, just like that.”
No argument, no demands. Hunter accepted what she could give in the moment and forgave the rest.
A small smile touched her lips. “You might want to hold out a little longer, there is a bribe part of the apology.”
“I can see.” He tugged at the bottom of the sweatshirt and let go—expelling a cloud of flour. “Did you have fun at the market?”
“I don’t know about fun, but today was good practice,” she said, doing her best to ignore the feel of his body surrounding hers. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t touching her. He was close enough that his heat seeped into her pores.
“Practice makes perfect,” he said, not surprised one bit that she’d gone and lived to tell the story. And something about his confidence in her made her smile. “Now tell me about this bribe?”
“I’m making cupcakes,” she said, as if it were something she did often.
“Need any help?”
“Nope, I’m almost done.” She paused, her shoulders slumping at the lie. “Actually, you could come back Sunday and I’d be standing right here, still trying to figure out how to make whipped-cream frosting. I’d just have more sugar on my apron.”
He leaned past her and stuck his finger in the bowl, then licked it off. “Tastes good to me. What’s the problem?”
“It’s supposed to be light and fluffy. I whipped the first batch too long and it came out like butter. The second time I turned the blenderon high and it went everywhere.” She pointed to the disaster on the front of his sweatshirt.
He gave a low whistle. “Impressive.”
“I know. Now it’s just a runny mess.” She sighed. “The video says beat until it looks like stiff white peaks, but since I can’t see what it looks like, I don’t know when to stop. I don’t want to stick my hand in when the beaters are going, so I can’t test it without stopping the blender. And all the pausing lets the bowl get too warm. For all I know I’m using buttermilk instead of whipping cream.”
She set the mixer down and dropped her head to his chest. “Maybe we should just eat the cupcake.”
As if knowing exactly what she needed, Hunter pulled her into him. “Trouble, there is no point of cake without frosting.”
“Says the man whose life exists in the frosting.”
“If only I could find the right cupcake,” he whispered. “Now what can I do to help?”
“You can make the frosting,” she said and gave him a bat of the lashes.
