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“Feel?” He pulls out a stool at the breakfast bar and sits, his eyes locked on mine. He’s genuinely interested.
Nodding, I shrug. “Yeah. Feel. A handful of this, a pinch of that.” I shrug again. “By feel.” Realizing I’ve repeated myself—again—I dip my chin.
“Well, they’re fantastic, and I am in awe. I can’t even make a good burger without Google. I always end up using the wrong spices.”
Now I laugh. “How do you screw up a burger?”
“I don’t know, but I do.” He shrugs and the look on his face…
I could get used to looking at him.
“So,” I say, turning away to check on the timer. “These have ten-ish minutes.” I start to clean up my space, needing to keep busy when Cade is so near. “What did you have planned for today? I know you said you wanted to hang out, but surely there were other things you’d be interested in?”
“Nope. I’m interested in hanging out. Getting to know you, if you wanted to talk. If not, I’ll sit on the pier with you and tell you about me. It’s a boring tale but—”
“You raced motocross,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder. “There’s nothing boring to your story, I’m sure.”
“Did you Google me, Dylan?”
I bring my dishes to the sink before retorting, “I don’t know. Did you Google me?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t expecting him to answer in such a fast, sure fashion, and he must catch my reaction because he laughs at whatever is on my face.
“Charleigh won’t tell me about you,” he says, as if that’s an explanation for him looking me up. “She’s very protective over you.”
“She really is a good friend.”
“She is.”
“I shouldn’t have doubted her.”
“You’re stressed.” He shrugs. “She’s forgiven you. And I think she’s forgiven me too.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
Cade shakes his head. “I told you, don’t be. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable and that whatever I did or said made you think I was after anything other than you being in the film. I wasn’t lying, Dylan. You’re a fantastic actress.”
Back to that.
Instead of fighting it again, I just thank him quietly.
“Do those cookies need you for anything special?” Cade changes the subject. “You can head out, relax, and I can take them out when they’re done. You made them. The least I can do is allow you to rest. Something tells me you’ve been on your feet all day.” His eyes scope out the room and I’m slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge that yes, I cleaned for him.
But what was I supposed to do?
Have him come stay in a dirty house?
Besides, cleaning is what super pregnant ladies do. I’ve been nesting in this house like crazy. And anytime I’m not cleaning, I’m carefully planning the baby’s nursery via Pinterest and that lovely ‘save Pin’ button. Charleigh is handling the rest.
“You don’t have to worry about—”
“Go.” He tips his head toward the sliding doors. “Relax.”
I’m the type who has a hard time letting go. My heart begins to race, and my eyes move from the oven, to Cade, to the door, to the oven again.
It’s incredibly clear that I need to relax.
I can’t keep up with this anxiety-driven need to move.
So, I nod.
“Okay. Thank you.” Before I can move too far though, I’m reminded of something. “You can’t leave them on the sheet when they’re done! The bottoms will burn.”
He nods, a smile that should be placating but isn’t, on his face. “I’ve got it. Go.”
I nod again, and head out.
