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Then again, I guess they really are perfect for each other.
After a quick stop at the house to let Duke out, I make my way to the cider house. I know I can’t pull a Houdini after I just showed up at her door, so I fire up the donut maker. We bake our donuts instead of frying them. This machine can make up to nine at one time, and each batch takes less than five minutes to complete. Jane loves how they can be made upon order, and Goldie might have declared that she would never eat one, but I think I can persuade her to change her mind this morning.
What’s so special about these donuts? The batter is infused with cinnamon, nutmeg, and apple cider. They are warm, filled with spices and fruit, and then rolled around in cinnamon sugar before being served.
My mother loved these donuts, and while they aren’t my favorite to make and sell, and you can find them at just about any orchard in the fall, I keep them in memory of her.
Packing up the newly made donuts, I make my way back to her house. I don’t know if she’s up or not. If she isn’t, I’ll just leave them in the kitchen. That should be a good enough thank you for last night. That is, until she demands a reason for my late-night appearance.
I open the door without knocking, and immediately, her eyes connect with mine. She’s standing in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, and she’s wearing that little black robe from the night when we met.
Of course I can’t get a reprieve and have her still be sleeping.
“You don’t knock anymore?” she asks, popping one brow up.
I close the door behind me and make my way toward her. Clearing my throat, I tell her, “If you were still sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you. Again.”
“How considerate of you,” she teases. Her eyes run over the length of me, and I suddenly wonder if I should have changed too before returning. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
I set the donuts on the counter as she turns and opens the cabinet for another cup. She then sits down on the second island chair while pushing the first to the end of the counter so she can sit perpendicular to me. The robe rides high as she stretches, and I drop my gaze. I’ve already seen her once. I don’t need to see her again even though I’m starting to think I might want to.
How dumb and even more complicated would that make things?
I watch as she picks up an almost full pot and pours me a cup. Does she make a full pot daily, or was she wondering if I would come back?
Turning around, she slides the cup across the island to me and eyes the bag.
“Cream or sugar?”
“No. Black is fine. Thank you.”
Her eyes again drop to the bag. I open it and hand it over to her. She takes it and peers inside. I know the smell has just assaulted her senses.
Her brows pull down in confusion. “You got up and went to make donuts?”
“Yes,” I grumble.
“By all means, sound angrier about this,” she says as she rolls her eyes and reaches in for one of them. “There sure are a lot in here.”
Then she places the bag down, and while holding one, she gets out two plates and takes the offered seat. Her robe again slides up the thighs of her long legs, and I mentally sigh.
I watch her as she takes the first bite of the donut, pauses as the flavors sink in, and then chews.
“Okay, Warren, even I’ll admit these are pretty darn good.”
Pride swells in my chest. Stupid, I know, they’re just donuts, but still.
I reach into the bag, get one for myself, and eat it.
I’m stalling, I know I am, and then she calls me out.
“Are you just going to sit here in silence while you stare at me, or are you going to explain?”
I run my hand over the back of my head and then over my face, letting out a deep sigh.
“I had a meeting in Charlotte yesterday, which was fu—” I stop saying what I really want to say, remembering she asked me not to swear at her. “Terrible, and then afterward my brother invites me over to his house, where he introduces me to his fiancée.”
