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“I don’t think she was planning on keeling over at the grocery store.”
“What I’m trying to say is that you walked into a mess and you’ve managed it. Managed it well. You’ve been busting your ass to make sure the guests are taken care of, the building is taken care of, the employees are okay, all while taking action toward the future to ensure this place will carry on in the spirit of Phyllis Sharp.”
He made my eyes water when he said it like that. “I’m trying. I can’t find anyone to manage it—”
Cash pressed his finger to my lips to quiet me. “You’ve been here for five days. Searching for a manager for half of that.”
I sucked in a shaky breath and met his gaze. I couldn’t deny what he said, though it felt like I’d been here for a month.
“Give yourself a break, Ava.”
With him staring into my eyes with so much compassion, I wanted to give whatever he asked of me.
I couldn’t help but notice that what hewasn’tdoing, in spite of how close we were, in spite of those kisses last night, was making a move on me. Not the way I suddenly wanted him to. He was inches away, surrounding me on three sides but not quite touching me. I could feel the heat of him, breathe in the freshly showered scent of him, and I was drowning in those dreamy eyes once again.
“Will you do that?” he persisted. “For me?”
I tried to clear my lust fog enough to remember what he wanted me to do. “Give myself a break,” I repeated.
“Be gentle on you.”
My gaze dipped down to his lips and I didn’t give myself time to think about it. I leaned forward and kissed him, catching his unshaven jaw in my palm, loving the roughness of it.
He kissed me back for several long seconds, then growled and ended the kiss. “Supposed to be baking for your guests.”
I wanted to tell him to forget my guests, but after what I’d put them through this morning, I should be giving them each a full dozen sweet treats, plus maybe a complimentary dinner at Cash’s restaurant. “I’ll give you five minutes to finish up,” I said, grinning and pointing at the bowls.
He let out a sort of laugh that told me he didn’t think I was serious, and that made me all the more serious. That and the show he put on for those five or so minutes, stirring, whisking, adding ingredients… Someone was missing out on the next reality show here—hot guys in towels making sugary baked goods.
As he mixed the wet ingredients in with the dry, his muscled forearm took a backseat to his abs and that trail of dark hair that bisected his abdomen and disappeared beneath the edge of the worn white towel. I imagined what he would do if I reached out and undid the towel so that it fell to the floor.
“Hungry?” he asked me as he tapped the mixing spoon on the edge of the bowl.
“Starving,” I said, not thinking about muffins.
“Let me guess…you forgot breakfast?”
“I scorched breakfast,” I reminded him.
“You should eat something.” He was pouring batter into the bottom of each muffin cup. Once all of them were partially filled, he sprinkled a layer of the cinnamon-sugar mixture on.
The silverware drawer was directly below me, so I widened my legs, opened it, took a small spoon out, and closed it again. I dipped it into the glaze, then tasted it. Creamy, sugary goodness slid over my tongue, and I let out a sound of appreciation. Cash’s gaze leaped to me and he dropped his spoonful of sugar mixture on the counter. I took that as encouragement as he refilled his spoon.
“Five minutes are almost up,” I said, then licked the back of my spoon to get every drop of frosting off it.
“Just about done.” He picked up the batter again and poured another layer, the cinnamon–sugar smell wafting to my nose.
I watched his easy, practiced movements as he alternated batter with cinnamon-sugar crunch, thinking how talented his hands were to create food that was good enough to bring a girl to tears. As soon as he sprinkled the final layer of cinnamon-sugar on top and stuck the pan in the oven, I grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of me, then laced our fingers together. His brows shot up and I yanked him closer, between my legs, and locked them behind him.
“I’m trying to be good here,” he said in a gravelly voice, gazing into my eyes, our faces inches apart.
“There are multiple ways of being good.” I brushed my lips lightly over his.
“I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Does this feel like you’re pushing me into anything?”
His reply was a slow, sexy growl from deep in his throat as he peered down at me from under heavy lids.
