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“I’ll be there,” she relents, her forced smile not fooling me for one damn second.
“Oh good! I’ll have everything ready first thing in the morning,” Grandma Dottie says confidently.
“Do we need more help? I could ask my sisters—”
“Already, did,” Grandma Dottie interrupts, shouldering her purse. “They’re busy. But it’s nothing the three of us can’t tackle.”
“Oh,” Kinley says, deflation in her tone.
Grandma Dottie doesn’t seem to notice, because she adds in a chipper voice, “You know, aside from your grandma, I taught Rowan everything he knows in the kitchen. Well, that and the Food Network.”
“Food Network?” Kinley studies me, and for the first time today, I feel uncomfortable. Exposed. We’ve shared a lot over the years, but some secrets I kept closer to the vest than others. Only Grandma Dottie knows how deeply my love of cooking runs.
“It’s nothing.”
I’ll have to hide all those damn cookbooks before I convince Kinley to come back over to my place. I don’t need her asking too many questions. I know my best friend. The second she figures out I have a passion in the kitchen, she’ll try to convince me to walk away from my family’s logging business to pursue it. I’ve worked too damn hard to ostracize myself now. As soon as Cassius tires of playingin charge, I’ll be there to swoop in and pick up where I left off.
“Kinley, youmusthave Rowan bake you one of his desserts. His blueberry crumble’s better than sex—”
“Okay, Grandma. We get the message,” I drop a hand to her shoulder to steer her out of the office and toward the kitchen. “We’ll be over bright and early to help you make those desserts for the bake sale, don’t you worry.”
“We?” Kinley squeaks, standing from her chair and following.
“Oh, thank you!”
I reach for Kinley’s hand without an ounce of hesitation. Mostly to keep her from running the second Grandma Dottie leaves. It’s as though the gesture is as natural as breathing. The quiet, startled expression in her eyes as she stares at our joined hands, not pulling away, makes me think she feels it too. I’ve waited a long damn time for Kinley’s feelings to catch up to mine. Finally, things have started to shift in my favor.
CHAPTER9
Kinley
Irun my finger along the spines of a dozen cookbooks propped on a rounded corner shelf in Rowan’s dining room as Bear happily snores from his spot beneath the table. The dust I expect to disturb doesn’t exist.Does he actuallyusethese? I pull a hardcover book from its spot to peek at the cover.Not Your Grandma’s Pastries.
“Kin, you going to keep snooping or actually help me?” Rowan calls from the open concept kitchen. It’s just the two of now since Grandma Dottie’s oven broke. After she got us started in Rowan’s kitchen, the repair man called her. With the way that woman blushed after hanging up the phone, I think she’s after more than a functioning appliance. Something tells me she’s not coming back.
Which leaves Rowan and me all alone, aside from a snoozing dog.
I steady my breathing as I drop the book back into place. My neck feels like it’s on fire. I curtain my hair around it to hide the redness before I turn and face him. “Why do you have so many cookbooks?” Dozens more line the shelves above his kitchen sink and a few more sit stacked on the counter near the fridge. Even Grandma Rose—a self-proclaimed cookbook collector—doesn’t have this many in her house.
The corner of Rowan’s mouth lifts, giving him that extra sexy edge that’s been causing my pulse to triple for days now. “Décor.”
“You like to bake.”
He returns focus to the wire whisk and his mixing bowl. “I dabble.”
“Dabble. Right.” I brush past him in the kitchen and instantly regret not going around the island. Ever since that kiss Saturday night, being around my best friend feels sexually charged in a way I’ve never experienced. I can’t close my eyes without the image of those stormy eyes invading my thoughts. My body has been buzzing since that night, and every time I get within three feet of Rowan, my knees nearly buckle from the thick tension.
I wish I could blame the drought—Anders hasn’t touched me in well over a year. Probably because he was balls deep in Stacy longer than I knew about. But no drought has ever made methisfucking horny. Not by a long shot. My panties are in a constant state of dampness when Rowan’s not around.
When he is around…they’re just fucking soaked.
I’ve fought the urge to touch myself. To find relief from this sexual frustration. But I can’t get myself off thinking about my best friend. At least I shouldn’t want to. It’s a line I can’t uncross. It feels…wrong. At least it’ssupposedto feel wrong. So why does the mere idea feel so damn…good?
My elbow brushes his back and my entire body shivers. It takes every ounce of effort to swallow the moan lodged in my throat.
“Can you get the flour?”
“Huh?” I squeak, shaken from the lusty fantasy dancing through my head. I need to get out of here before I do something reckless.
