From my tangled hair to the scrappy robe to my bare legs and back up again, his gaze leaving a trail of heat everywhere it lands.
"Please explain, Mr. Hockey Boy…" I roll my eyes at him as I approach, still rubbing the sleep away. "…how you suddenly became better at rising before the sun than a woman who's been doing it her whole life?"
He smirks.Damn him.
"And good morning to you too, sunshine."
His voice is low and warm and curling with amusement, and my tummy does a full swirl that's absolutely not good with no breakfast.
"It's seven in the morning, Lane. I'm not even—" I gesture vaguely at my entire situation. "I'm notdressed."
"I can see that." His eyes drop to my legs again, lingering for a moment before coming back up with a spark that makes my throat dry. "And I'm not complaining."
I open my mouth to fire back something sharp, something that will remind both of us that yesterday's kiss was a momentary lapse in judgment and not a binding contract…
But then Delaney Evans appears behind him.
"Sorry to just barge in so early!" Delaney breezes past Colt, tablet in hand, blonde hair impeccable. "I was on my way to The Den and I saw Colt sitting in his care reading."
I look to Colt, unable to let that opportunity slide. "You can read?!"
He clutches his chest like I've shot him.
"That hurts. I'll have you know I read at averyimpressive level."
"You know cereal boxes don't count, right?" I bite back.
"Pretty sure he was reading his own self-indulgent diary, Zoey. Don't give him too much credit." Delaney snorts without looking up from her tablet. "Any who, when I saw his car out front, I figured I'd kill two birds before you opened up for the day."
She stops and looks at me. At my sleep shirt and bunny slippers.
"Oh… Aren't you expecting customers soon, Zo?"
I close my eyes. "I slept in, Del. I might be a bit late to open up today."
"Youslept in?" Her icy-blue eyes flick to Colt with laser precision. "Interesting."
"It's not—"
"No judgment. None at all." She's already tapping her tablet, pulling up whatever presentation she's been crafting since before dawn. "But maybe throw on some pants before Harold picks up his delivery? Just a thought." She finally glances up, that razor-sharp smile aimed squarely at me. "Wouldn't want the poor man dropping his sourdough."
"Pretty sure Harold's seen worse," I offer helpfully.
Colt is grinning. That devastating, dimple-popping grin that makes my pulse do things it absolutely should not be doing at seven in the morning.
"I'll start the ovens," he says, like he's been working here for years instead of days.
He brushes past me toward the back, and his hand grazes my hip. It's absolutelynotan accident. Not even close. The touch is brief, deliberate, warm through the thin cotton, and it sendsa bolt of electricity straight through me that nearly makes my knees give out.
He doesn't look back. Just keeps walking, rolling his sleeves up as he goes.
Those goddamn forearms.
"Zoey?" Delaney's voice snaps me back and I realize she's seated herself at the window table, tablet propped up, legs crossed, looking like she runs the world and is just letting the rest of us live in it. "You still with me?"
"Yep. Right here. Totally present."
I am not present. I am standing in my bakery in my underwear thinking about Colt Lane's hands.
