Dammit. What has Cade's little talk done to me?
"Hey." I keep my voice easy, casual, even though my blood is anything but. "What are you looking at?"
She startles slightly, then holds up the stack of photographs.
"Oh, hey, Colt." She says, smiling. "Delaney dropped off the proofs from the photo shoot. For the partnership content."
I move closer, and I see her skin is luminous, glowing in a way that makes me want to trace the line of her face with my mouth. Debbie's treatment has done wonders on an already beautiful face.
And her lips… those full, perfect lips.Goddammit.So kissable.
She's got a few pictures spread across the counter.
The bakery shots look great: the display case gleaming, the Butter Batch signage out the front, a branded close-up of her famous raspberry tarts that would make anyone's mouth water.
But the picture in her hand… that's a picture ofus.
"Damn." I keep my tone light, testing the water. "We look good together."
In the picture, my arm is around her waist, her body curved naturally into mine. We're both looking at the camera with expressions that have no business being on a hockey promotional photo.
It looks intimate. It looksromantic.
Like we share a bed instead of a business arrangement.
We both just stand there, staring at the picture, and I'm bracing for the deflection. The famous Zoey eye roll or sharp quip designed to keep me safely on the other side of the line she's drawn.
But Zoey doesn't do that.
She stares at the photo for another second, then turns her head, and those warm brown eyes find mine from inches away.
"Yeah," she says quietly. "We do."
The air in the bakery changes. Like someone's turned the temperature up and narrowed the walls until there's nothing left in the world but the space between us.
"So... Um. Where's Morgs?" I say roughly, stepping closer.
My eyes fall to those lips again, my tongue swiping across my own.
Zoey swallows, and I watch the movement travel down her throat. "She's at school. Then she's going to a friend's house after soccer practice. Won't be back for a couple hours."
"Oh?" I breathe.
I should tell her the good news. That I've been cleared for skating. That I've got tickets for Saturday night, and I want to take both of them to seemyworld.
Maybe I could even surprise her and say that I've been reading her notebook like scripture and it keeps me up at night because the woman who wrote those plans deserves every single dream she buried on that shelf.
But right now, looking at her with that photo of us together lying between her fingers—
I don't want to talk about any of it.
"Zoey…"
I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail down to her jaw.
Her breath catches. A small, sharp sound that detonates in my chest as she turns to face me. The photo falls from her fingers, drifting to the counter, and suddenly her eyes are bright and fierce and terrified all at once… like she's standing at the edge of something she's been running from for years.
I know that feeling. I'm standing right there with her.
