She tucked a loose curl beneath her scarf and straightened the tamale stack.Next stall over, the wool lady scraped her chair across the concrete.Kyla took comfort in the rough sound.
She counted down in silence and then looked up.Her apron stayed straight and her jaw remained set.
Titus stood close enough to take over half the booth.His chest stretched broad.He wore his lack of a shirt like a challenge.The market noise blurred to a low wash at the edge of her hearing.
His mouth lifted.“Didn’t figure I’d see you here this early, Chef.”
“Prime real estate,” she said, matching his low tone.“I’m not splitting customers with the kids selling cinnamon rolls.Unless you came for breakfast.”
She tipped her chin toward the covered pan.He gave no answer.Instead, Titus reached across her and found the warmest tamale from the center of the stack.
He peeled the foil back at an easy pace and kept his eyes on her.Steam rose between them.A stripe of sauce streaked across her wrist, but she ignored it.
He bit into one end and chewed.Sauce marked the corner of his mouth in a red smear.He cleaned it away with his tongue and never once looked away.
Kyla kept her face flat.“I did not know you were moonlighting as a food critic.You plan to eat or just stand there.”
A quiet humor moved through his face.“Tamales this good do not need a review, Chef.How many do you have left.”
She gave him the truth.“One hundred.I will sell to anyone with cash.”
He reached into the change cup and counted out bills.His hand looked dry and smudged with dust.It was a working man’s hand, rough at the edges.“I will take seven.”
She narrowed her eyes.“Seven.That is specific.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and then rose again.“Depends whether you are joining me.Might need eight.”
Her body went hot.She grabbed a paper sack and loaded it in silence.He did not rush her.Every breath between them stretched thin.
He slid the money across the table.His fingertips moved over her knuckles, callused and unashamed.The touch left her palm tingling.Kyla cleared her throat and wiped her fingers on her apron.“Market special.The seventh one is free.Do not eat them all at once.”
This time he smiled.“Deal.”
He took the sack and kept his attention on her until the space became taut.Her cheeks warmed, but she met his stare.She could keep her cool and let his games slide.Then his thumb brushed over the ridge of her finger one last time.He tucked the sack away, tipped his chin, and kept his eyes on her.
They stood in a public market in full daylight.None of that changed the fact that she wanted him closer.The want came sharp and embarrassing.
She grabbed a stack of napkins.Somewhere in the next aisle, a baby cried.Honey and hay pressed in around her.She reminded herself why she had come.
She turned sideways to make room for the honey vendor and expected empty space at her hip.Instead, she ran straight into something solid and far too close.Titus had moved back into her orbit.Both of them stood jammed between jars and market noise.
Kyla tried to move away.They both stopped.Their hips met, denim to denim, and the line of his thigh slid along hers.Every muscle through her side tightened.Her heartbeat climbed so high she could taste it.
A honey jar slipped behind her.
Titus moved fast, his arm going around her waist.His palm spread wide at her side and found the narrow strip of skin where her shirt had ridden up.He did not move away.His grip settled firmly, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem.
Heat climbed her neck.Her focus narrowed to the place where his hand met her skin.A toddler shrieked nearby, but the rest of the market dropped away.Her belly clenched.His thumb moved along the ridge above her jeans in one slow pass.
She should have stepped away.Instead, she stayed where she was with her breath trapped high.His scent cut through everything else.She kept her eyes open, but every sense dragged toward him.
He looked at her with a steady stare, and the question in it met an answer her body had already given.She pulled in a breath, and it shook.A flush spread to her collarbones.
His thumb circled once where her bare skin met denim.He did not press, but he did not soften the touch either.He stayed there, easy and immovable.Her shirt bunched higher against his hand, and she let it happen.
She forced her mouth to work.“Let go, Brooks.”
One brow kicked up.He released her on his own time.Each finger slid away slowly enough to leave the shape of itself behind.Even after his hand left, the place stayed hot.
