The door swings open, and I peer over the edge of the couch to where Grayson fills the entranceway. His eyes track across his home before finding me.
Instantly, they light up. He gives his space another scan as he shuffles in with his bags.
“You made yourself at home,” he observes.
Even tired and stale, hair askew from a flight, he’s ruggedly handsome. Those golden irises settle on me again, and his words register.
My blush is immediate.
“It’s just a few things I had on the boat. Some candles, a few plants, a throw blanket for the couch. It’s, um, not much. Just wanted to…I mean, I know this isn’t my home. I’m not, like, actuallylivinghere…” His eyes dance with amusement as I sputter, cheeks burning, kicking myself for overstepping.
At the time, I hadn’t thought I was pushing boundaries. Just giving him a nice setting to come home to. Finding use for my décor that was collecting dust on the grounded boat. Not, like,nestinghere, or laying claim, or assuming I’ll be spending time here in the future?—
Ok, yeah. I was totally doing all of those things.
“It’s nice,” Grayson says, pulling me from my thoughts with a knowing smile. “Almost as nice as that smell coming from the kitchen.”
I clear my throat, shutting my laptop and popping to my feet. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know if you’re hungry, but there are cinnamon rolls,” I say casually as I lead the way to the dining area.
Oh, who am I kidding? I might as well shout:there are cinnamon rolls here, because I spent yesterday interrogating your employees about your favorite dessert, took the afternoon off to make them from scratch, then set it out next to some flowers and a candle like it’s Valentine’s Day.
So freakingcasual.
I lean against the table, trying not to fidget as I study him for a reaction. We aren’t officially in a relationship. Just because I’ve made my decisions doesn’t mean he’s made his. Sweet words and flirting over daily phone calls doesn’t confirm anything. This—kill me now—could be soweirdof me.
His silence eats at me as he takes in the cinnamonbuns, so I babble. “They’re definitely not as good as Joy’s. It’s, um…I’ve never worked with yeast before, so they’re not?—”
Grayson’s gaze finds me, and his expression stops my words in their tracks. He’s looking at me with this soft tilt to his lips, honeyed eyes perusing my face with a gentle kind of wonder.
He drops his bags on the floor and launches into motion, removing the space between us with purposeful strides. My breath hitches. Without hesitation, he clasps my cheeks, tilts my head up, and kisses me.
It’ssweet.Tender and slow, like he’s drinking me in, and I melt right into him, hands resting on his chest. He draws back, one of his thumbs smoothing over my cheek as I slowly open my eyes.
“Hi,” he says, his stubble shifting as his cheek hitches. “I missed you.”
He kisses me again, one hand burrowing into my hair, lightly massaging my scalp. It’s a lethal combination, that gentle touch and leisurely kiss, mixed with his heat and strong presence that wrap around me like a hug.
When he draws back again, I’m so light, I could levitate. My fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt. “If this is for the cinnamon rolls, you should reevaluate. I’m pretty sure they’re inedible.”
“It’s not about the cinnamon rolls.” His smile widens, and his hand slides down my neck to linger at my waist as he inspects the dish. “Besides, they’re smothered in icing. How can they not be good?”
“I’m pretty sure they’re sugary bricks.”
“You had me at sugary.” He reaches over to snag one, his other hand keeping a firm grip on me.
My phone vibrates on the table just before he makescontact. I don’t even need to look to know who it is. Grayson’s hand pauses as he glimpses the screen.
“Your mom’s calling,” he murmurs with a frown.
“I know.”
“It’s midnight.” His brows come together, and he straightens, his dessert-less hand finding the other side of my waist. “Could it be an emergency?”
“In her eyes, it is.” My hips warm from his fingertips, and I return his touch, grasping his forearms. They’re thick and sturdy, rippled with veins beneath my palms. “Based on the string of text messages she sent before making her first phone call, she just found out I bailed on the interview I had on Monday.”
His worry gives way to shock. “The tech startup?”
I expected his surprise, not his insight. I hadn’t toldanyoneabout the interview. “How do you know?”
