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“Izzy, stop,” Bex ordered. She did, turning slowly, eyes wide. “Remember what I said about opening the door when you don’t know who’s on the other side?”
“But it’s Mr. Briggston,” she argued, chin jutting out stubbornly.
“You think it’s Mr. Briggston, but it could be anyone from the gym.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Who’s there?” she called.
“It’s Michael Briggston.” His deep voice sent a shiver down Bex’s spine as she recalled their kiss last night. It had been unexpected and lovely, but certainly complicated matters.
“See?” Izzy said.
“Drop the attitude.” Bex scrambled to her feet to let him in. “Hi,” she said as the door opened. She drank him up visually. Thick brown hair, magnetic blue eyes, eminently kissable mouth. She tucked her hair behind her ear as her cheeks heated. The way he scanned her, pausing on her lips, made her think his mind was traveling the same route as hers. “Come in.”
He ducked to kiss her cheek, and Bex told herself she wasn’t disappointed he hadn’t gone for the lips. It was only right he behave appropriately with Izzy around, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to devour him.
“I brought homemade granola,” he said, holding up a plastic container she hadn’t yet noticed.
“Did you bring cupcakes too?” Izzy asked, turning up her nose at the granola.
“Not today.” He slipped his shoes off and came inside, offering Izzy a high five. “Cupcakes aren’t an everyday food, they’re an occasional treat food. Today I thought we’d try something that has lots of good fuel for your brain.”
Izzy wasn’t sold on it, but Bex could have kissed him. Again. She liked that he hadn’t apologized or shouldered the blame off onto her, as some people would have. He’d turned it into a learning opportunity, even if Izzy wasn’t necessarily taking it on board.
“Thanks, Michael,” she said. “It looks great. Why don’t you put it on the counter? We were just about to make pancakes.”
He strode past her, and he even smelled scrumptious. Bex closed her eyes, afraid he’d be able to read her confused emotions in them if he glanced her way.
“Iz, grab the mixing bowl from the cupboard.”
As Michael shucked his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, he revealed a paper bag that had been tucked inside. “I did bring something else, Izzy. A gift.” He met Bex’s eyes. “I hope that’s okay?”
She shrugged, trying not to melt into a puddle because a handsome man had brought her daughter a gift. “Go ahead.”
He handed Izzy the bag. She tore into it and pulled free a shimmering purple tutu. She squealed with glee and held it up.
“Mummy, look what Mr. Briggston got me. It’s the tutu from the fair.”
Bex’s hand fluttered over her throat. This man was too close to perfect for her comfort. “What do you say?”
Izzy beamed at Michael. “Thank you.” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Can I put it on?”
Bex shooed her. “Away you go, then. Show us how it looks.”
When Izzy vanished around the corner, Bex smiled at Michael. “Thanks. I completely forgot about that yesterday. You’re a life saver.”
He grinned. “I remembered after I dropped you off, and I went back to get it.”
“Amazing. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Bex broke eye contact and started gathering ingredients for the pancakes, suddenly uncomfortable. She grabbed whole wheat flour, banana, organic maple syrup, egg. She may not be great at prepping for lunches, but she made a good pancake. She’d started measuring the dry ingredients when Izzy reemerged. Her daughter twirled, the tutu flouncing around her legs.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
Bex oohed appreciatively. “Beautiful. Give me another spin.”
Izzy complied, and Bex and Michael made some more approving noises, and then Bex handed Izzy a child-size apron to put on over her tutu to keep it clean while they cooked.
