Page 73 of His Reckoning

He grabs a mug and makes a coffee, then looks over at me. “You’ve been typing for three hours.”

I shrug. “I’m a writer. It’s what I do.”

“That’s becoming your excuse for everything.”

“It’s a lifestyle.”

He shakes his head slightly and reaches up to grab something from the cabinet above him. At the exact same time, I push back from the stool and stand.

My head bumps his shoulder. “Sorry?—”

I step forward. He steps forward. We both reach for the cabinet at the exact same time.

I freeze.

So does he.

Because the cabinet door is open and Sawyer is leaning over me slightly, one arm braced against the frame.

My back nearly hits the counter.

I glance up, which is a big mistake. Sawyer’s already looking down at me.

“You’re in my way,” he says calmly.

“I was here first.”

“You’re standing on my side of the kitchen.”

“I didn’t realize the kitchen had zones.”

“It does now.”

His hand moves past my shoulder to grab a bowl from the cabinet.

My brain immediately starts cataloging details I do not need to notice.

How tall he is.

How solid he feels, standing this close.

And somehow, he still smells distractingly good at five in the morning.

My brain stops cooperating.

“You’re very close right now,” I say.

Sawyer raises an eyebrow. “You stepped under the cabinet.”

“You leaned over me.”

“You’re shorter.”

“That’s not my fault.”

His mouth twitches. He pulls the bowl from the cabinet and straightens, which should end the moment, except neither of us moves immediately.

The kitchen feels quiet in a way it didn’t a minute ago.