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“Just Lainey. You?”
“A younger sister. She’s also been right about more things than I care to admit.”
“We little sisters usually are,” I joke but Daniel doesn’t smile right away. When he does, it’s a sad sort of smile.
“Sorry,” he says shaking his head. “You’d think I’d be over it after eight years but—” he cuts himself off. “Never mind.”
Though I can’t be sure, I assume he’s referring to his divorce. But whatever it is, he isn’t up for talking about it. “What got you into pottery?” I ask. Hopefully taking the conversation in a better direction.
Daniel covers his left knee with his hand, wincing as he squeezes it. “Senior year of college. I was projected to be drafted for the pros in the third round but suffered a pretty severe knee injury in the second quarter of our bowl game. I tried and tried to get fit for spring training but…” He sighs lowering his head. “Anyway, my therapist, also known as my ex-wife, suggested I take up a hobby during rehabilitation. There was a pottery course open, so I took it. Turned out to be good at it. Also, a damn good distraction from the misery of losing my chance to play pro ball. Not sure it actually helped me deal with the pain but it was a damn good distraction. Still is.” He chuckles. “Until I run out of space.”
“How’s your knee now?”
He seems to be in great shape, it must not bother him too much.
“It acts up now and again but I manage.”
“I’m sorry that happened. That you didn’t get to play in the pros.” I lean forward placing my hand on his. I mean it as a comfort. A simple, flippant gesture to show my sincerity. But the second I make contact, my heart skips and I can’t remember why I put my hand there in the first place. As my gaze drifts up his arm and finds his chest rising and falling in the same unsteady rhythm my own has found, all I want is for him to put his hands all over me.
The timer buzzes.
I hesitate, not wanting to lose the hold his eyes have on me. No one has ever looked at me like this before. Like he can’t get enough. Like his life depends on remembering exactly what I look like in this moment. Like he… Like there’s a hunger in his eyes he can’t feed. “I should check on those.” I hurry into the kitchen and kill the timer.
Peanut butter steam wafts from the oven as I pull open the door.
“They smell incredible,” Daniel says, following me into the kitchen.
Daniel doesn’t have a cooling rack, so I make do with the slotted top of a broiler pan. As I shift the last cookie from the sheet, Daniel stands beside me and plucks it off the spatula.
I could move, put an appropriate distance between us but I don’t. I wait as he breaks the cookie and hands me one half with that hungry look in his eye.
He could move back. There’s no reason for us to stand so close for so long. If that thought has crossed my mind, I have no doubt it’s crossed his too. So why hasn’t he moved?
Why haven’t I?
Daniel pops his half of the cookie in his mouth. His eyes flutter shut. “Dear God, that’s good.” When he opens them again, his gaze lands on the forgotten half in my hand. “Aren’t you going to eat it?” he asks leaning in so close I feel the heat of his broad body against every inch of my exposed skin.
I wet my lips preparing to take a bite but before I have a chance, Daniel breaks off half of my half and holds it up to my mouth.
“Sayah.”
My mouth drops open but not just to eat the bite of cookie he offers. It’s because I’m pretty sure he just turned mydaddymishap around on me. Acting the part. Not in a mocking way but in an I’m-on-board-with-this way.
My body shivers through the heat.
After I close my lips around the cookie, Daniel trails his thumb down my chin.
Oh, my.
I want this. I really do but not yet. Not when I’m worn out from a long, crappy day at work and without a shower first. And not before he’s had a chance to process the pain his daughter caused him that landed us here in the first place.
“It is kind of late. I should probably—” The hungry glint in Daniel’s eye fades. Trying to give him some reassurance, I say, “We should do this again though. Maybe try a cake or muffins.”
Daniel steps back. I miss him immediately—wish I could take my words back.
“Are you okay finishing these on your own?” I hope he says no and gives me an excuse to stay a little longer. Fix my mistake.
“Sure.” He walks to the couch and picks up my smock.
