Awk-Weird (Ice Knights, #2)(36)

She couldn’t help but smile. “They’re gorgeous.”

“It was either these or the roses.”

“This was a much better choice.” She wrinkled her nose. “Roses might pay the bills, but there are just too many other amazing flowers out there to default to what’s expected.”

He chuckled. “Note to self: No roses for Tess.”

Oh God. Nothing quite like sounding like a flower snob when he’d been nice enough to bring home flowers. Way to go, Tess. Why couldn’t she be normal around him? Sure, she wasn’t exactly normal around anyone, but with Cole it was different. She actually wanted him to see her and not her defense mechanisms.

“Don’t make that face. I wanted to get them,” he said, leaning one hip against the kitchen island and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Maybe you’ll unpack now?”

“You noticed that, huh?” She smiled. “Well, it’s only temporary, so I didn’t see the point. I grew up unpacking so many suitcases and then packing them back up again that I just kind of got in the habit of keeping everything in there.” She looked down at the counter, noticing the flour, cocoa, and sugar in premeasured bowls all perfectly lined up. “What’s going on here?”

“Pregame ritual.”

“I thought you guys just took naps.” Okay, so she’d done some reading up on hockey. Pregame naps were literally part of the team schedule.

“Well, there’s that, too, but first there is stress baking.” He walked over to the cupboard near the stove and took out a glass bowl. “I make something before every game, and most of it usually ends up in the team box. Marti clued me in on the fact that everyone in there indulges in some emotional eating during the tense parts of the game. Plus, I always make sure to save some of whatever I make and eat it after the game if we win. Want to help?”

“That won’t mess with your routine?” It was only partially a joke. The man seriously stuck to his routine.

“I’m learning to be flexible.” He winked at her.

Uh-huh. She’d believe that when she saw it. “Let me change out of this, and I’ll be back.”

Okay, up until a minute ago, her only plans for the afternoon were binge-watching Schitt’s Creek and—more than likely—taking a nap on the couch. Now she was doing something she never did. Baking. Scratch that, she was doing two things—she was unpacking. As soon as she got to her room, she opened up one of the empty dresser drawers and transferred her T-shirts over from her suitcase.

If Cole could learn to be more flexible, she could make herself unpack. The rest could wait until later, but this was a start. Heart beating a little faster, she changed her clothes and went into the bathroom to wash up. That’s when she saw it. The Paint and Sip Bigfoot painting was on the wall above the decorative towels where a very beige abstract print had been before.

Her surprised laugh filled the large bathroom, bouncing off the white tile up to the high ceiling. The smart-ass. She’d meant to get the painting last night, but she’d been so tired after the crazy day at work that she’d forgotten. So this was how he was going to play it, huh?

“Game on, Cole Phillips.”

Leaving the painting hanging on her wall, she hustled back to the kitchen. He watched her as if he expected her to mention it, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Nope. She was already plotting where to hang the painting next. Instead, she asked what she could do to help with the cupcakes and they were off, baking side by side.

“So you moved around a lot as a kid? That’s why you don’t like to unpack?” He poured the dry ingredients into a bowl and started to whisk them together. “I know how that story goes.”

Oh yeah, she’d bet a month of her flower shop’s receipts that he didn’t know how hers went. “Tell me.”

Cole rolled his neck, the conversation obviously not part of his usual chitchat even if he had started it. “My dad works construction; he has a specialized skill set and that means he travels the country doing jobs.”

She cracked the eggs against the clear glass bowl all the wet ingredients would go into. “Are you sure that’s not code for a hit man?”

He laughed, the sound warming her right down to her bright-purple toenails. She tried to shove the feeling away, knowing just how dangerous it was, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. Cole Phillips was getting to her, and she kinda liked it.

Girl, you are so fucked.

“Considering the fact that my dad catches spiders and puts them out into the yard instead of squashing them, I’m pretty confident that he’s not offing anyone.”

She poured in the milk and other wet ingredients he had prepped into her bowl. “Did you like moving around?”

“I learned to live with it,” he said with a shrug.

It didn’t take a brain surgeon to know how he’d done that. All she had to do was take a look around his house or remember his never-changing schedule. “Now that is code for something.”

He gave her a light hip check as he snagged her bowl and poured its contents into a well he’d made in the middle of his dry ingredients. “You calling me out on my routines?”

“Do they make you feel more in control?” she asked as she watched him mix the ingredients together, mentally recording the way the muscles in his forearms moved—really that kind of sexy should be illegal—for later on when she wouldn’t get to see him do it in person anymore.