“No, thanks. I’ve got it.”
He couldn’t possibly be as untroubled as he appeared. Then again, she was seriously compartmentalizing things herself right now. She felt fractured, like a mosaic in the early planning stages where the pieces didn’t quite fit together. Part of her wanted to leave town and pretend nothing untoward was happening on the beach. Another piece of her wanted to kick that body back into the ocean for wrecking what had been a lovely morning. But her heart ached for whatever that body had been through and she worried what it would mean for the community if he was local. And that rundown didn’t include the part of her that desperately wanted to kiss Trent.
Which might be the most out-of-line thought in her head. Good thing no one else would ever know about that particular thought.
“Okay.” She forced a smile. “Well, you’ve gone above and beyond with this whole mess. Thank you. I’ll just clean up the kitchen, grab some cookies for the folks out there, and the place is all yours.”
She was actually taking baked goods to the people dealing with the gruesome discovery. She deserved some hospitality bonus points for this.
“What kind of cookies?” Trent asked as she moved around the kitchen.
His curiosity amused her. “Will—Lieutenant Frasier—likes oatmeal raisin. The paramedics who will probably be here soon to move the body are chocolate chip fans.”
“They visit often enough that you know this?”
“No!” She felt the color drain from her face. “That’s not—I mean—no.” She struggled to catch her breath as tears clogged the back of her throat.
“Natalie?” He caught her gently as she swayed. “Breathe. Easy and slow.” He guided her onto one of the stools at the counter, standing close enough that his thigh pressed to her knee. His presence, combined with the gentle firm pressure, grounded her.
On the inhale, she drew in the crisp scent of his skin warmed by the sunshine. He was better than any cookie. “Thank you.”
“You’re good?”
“Better now.” She nodded. “Thanks. My apologies.”
“None needed.” Worry lingered in his eyes. “Walk me through this cookie plan of yours.”
“That’s hardly your job,” she protested.
“Is the customer always right in your business?” he challenged.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Celeste would certainly say so.”
A grin teased the corner of his mouth. “Then humor me. The Hideaway experience I’m craving is cookie delivery.”
She sputtered a helpless laugh. “Fine.” She talked him through it until he had three boxes of cookies ready for the folks working on the beach. “What’s your favorite cookie?”
He didn’t blurt out an answer, he gave it some thought. Probably because he’d just been flooded with all the cookie yumminess that Celeste kept stocked for their guests.
“Today, it’s oatmeal raisin,” he said, bracing his elbows on the countertop. “I don’t have those often. And they’re not always as good as I hope.”
“Help yourself. Please,” she urged. “Celeste’s recipe is one that converts folks regularly.”
“What about you?” he asked as he opened the cabinet and pulled out two plates. He added an oatmeal raisin to one plate and then waited for her decision.
“For dessert, my go-to is a peanut butter chocolate chunk. But I consider oatmeal raisin a valid breakfast option. Add a slice or two of bacon, and it’s a good day.”
He grinned at her. “Not a bad rationale,” he said, serving her a cookie on the plate.
She wolfed down her cookie, not even sorry about rushing. He was a guest and this exchange was filling her with a flood of inappropriate ideas and way too much wishful thinking. After loading her plate into the dishwasher, she gathered up the cookie boxes. “Thanks again for the help. And for sticking it out with the reservation.”
“No problem.” He watched her closely, as if worried she might collapse. “Be careful.”
“You do the same. I’m a phone call away if you need anything.”
His smile fueled more kissing fantasies and she turned away—a last ditch self-preservation effort. “Enjoy your stay. Y’know. After all the stuff out there is done.”
“I’ll be fine, Natalie.”
