Page 22 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Hate that it’s so freaking embarrassing.

Hate the awkward silence that crashes down afterward.

His expression changes, and though I expect pity to replace the gentleness, instead I find something that surprises me.

Those green eyes are filled with something sharper.

Something protective.

And I’m…relieved.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

Thorn says nothing, just pushes up to his feet and walks to the door, checking the peephole for a long moment.

Then he reaches down and unlocks the door, steps out into the hall.

I hear his voice echo through the wood and a moment later, he’s back, closing the door behind him, throwing the lock…

Positioning the chair beneath the doorknob.

My breathing hitches.

“Your neighbor dropped a box,” he says quietly. “It was heavy so carried it in for her.”

“Right,” I whisper, my throat tightening unexpectedly.

Thorn slowly walks over, slowly reaches for my bowl. “You’re finished?”

I nod.

He grabs his own bowl, the now empty plate of bread, and moves to the sink.

“I can?—”

“I’ve got it,” he murmurs.

“But—”

“You don’t happen to have any more of those cookies, do you?”

My brows drag together. “My daisy cookies?”

A nod.

“You liked it?”

He pauses with water flowing over the plate, his gaze coming to mine and holding as he says with absolute sincerity, “It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten, little hen.” Then adds, “And I’ve had your homemade mac n cheese.”

I blink.

Then grab the container of cookies as he loads the dishes onto the drying rack, walking over to him as he straightens and dries his hands.

I stop close.

Not near enough to touch him.

But so that I can feel warmth radiating from his body.