“Don’t sneak. It’s rude to sneak. Besides, the flour is my insurance policy, that way I never get lost.”
I set my notebook on the counter and flipped it closed with one finger. “Sticking again?” I nodded at the muffin tin.
“Yes. But this is premeditation. I think the muffin tin has a vendetta against me because I dropped it one time. I burned my hand!” she said in defense, dead serious for three seconds before cracking.
The timer beeped. She reached for the oven with an old dish towel that had lost the will to live years ago. Before she could burn herself, I reached past her. My hip brushed hers, and my arms moved around her. Not exactly a hug, but the smallest tension in my arms could change that. The scent of her shampoo mixed with the scent of vanilla was captivating.
Mentally shaking my head, I lowered my voice, “Use this unless you want to burn your hand again and risk dropping the tin.”
Her body froze for a second, reacting to my proximity. We’d done this dance before, and yet, my restraint continued to be tested. She closed her eyes for a second, then slid the mitt on and pulled the tray from the oven, breaking the spell. I suppressed a sigh and moved a few steps back. Steam rose; the muffins domed cleanly, edges kissed gold. She leaned in and inhaled. She was a mess and had no idea how much I liked it.
“Yes! They’re not burned,” she whispered, awed. “And they smell great!”
Her relief was ridiculous and contagious. She turned to me, still close enough for the heat of the oven to brush my wrist. Flour still streaked her cheekbone like chalk. Without thinking, I lifted my thumb and wiped the line away. She went very still, her eyes wide, and her cheeks pinked. She had no idea how alluring she was. The air fizzed between us, and she began to lean slightly forward. I looked at her mouth and how she bit her lip nervously.
The moment was tight with tension, then—loud and shocking, the two of us jumped back a foot when a timer wailed beside us, breaking the moment.
“Recon report?” she asked, her voice low and unsteady. She knew I walk the property at dawn. I never call it that, but she thinks she’s teasing.
“Quiet,” I said, because most of it could wait. “Mailbox looks like it lost a fight again. I’ll straighten it after breakfast.”
Her brows knit. “Kids? Summer boredom?”
“Could be.” I reached past her for a cooling rack and set it beside the tray. “Most likely high school teens. We’ll tighten things up.”
“We?” She tested the word, and something warmed in my chest.
“You’re on muffin duty,” I said, tone dry. “I’ll handle the handywork.”
She laughed, then blew on a muffin and peeled back the paper. “Deal. After I feed Sue’s book club, I need to stop by the library, then Carl’s for, what’s the stuff called that makes the squeaky hinge stop squeaking?” She tried to hold back a smile.
“WD-40.” I raised my brows, hoping she was kidding.
“Right.” She snapped her fingers. “WD-40,” she repeated solemnly, then snorted out a laugh. “Want to come? We could grab lunch at Ethel’s. They have the fun red chairs.”
“Yeah. You order extra chicken.” I smiled to myself.
She blinked, surprised, then smiled slow. “You take notes on my lunch?”
“I take notes on everything,” I deadpanned.
“I noticed.” She offered me the muffin. “Quality control?”
I tore it in half. The muffin looked moist and fluffy. Lemon and blueberry. “Edible.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Edible? That’s your big review?”
I let the corner of my mouth tilt. “They’re good. Really.”
Her laugh burst out, and she squealed, bouncing in place. Bright and unguarded, the opposite of my quiet, watchful baseline. Milly flung her arms around me, quick and impulsive, and it tightened my chest. I folded her into my arms and held her until she eased back, cheeks flushed.
“They’re getting better,” she said. “You said ‘good.’” She did a little shimmy.
I stood there, warmth still clinging to my skin. I reached for the coffee. “Let’s get those boxed up. Then we’ll go to town.”
By midmorning, the ranch was awake in its own way: chickens scratching under the porch, Sherlock clanging his horns against the fence Austin fixed like he was teasing us before his big escape, Inspector sprawled in a square of sunlight that dared to hit my clean laundry.
I ran out to the barn to check the feed, and when I got back, Milly was already by the door, hair pinned up, planner in hand.
