A Town Called Valentine(29)

“Nope. Just checking up on her. Although now that I think about it, she did rave about some apple tarts. So I guess she had those with you.”

She climbed the couple stairs to her building and glanced at him over her shoulder. Luckily, he’d stopped checking out her butt in time.

“You don’t sound like you listen to your sister very well.”

He realized he’d lost track of the conversation. Damn. He climbed the first step, unaware she’d stopped until he almost bumped into her. Their eyes met and held for a moment before she glanced away. He found himself wanting to gather her wayward hair into his hands and . . . fix it for her. Not . . . caress it or anything.

“You brought up the apple tarts for a reason,” she said. “You country boys probably need to check out a woman’s cooking.”

“You baked them yourself?”

“Don’t sound so disbelieving,” she shot back.

He raised both hands. “Just surprised.”

“I like to cook.” She lifted her chin, as if daring him.

“Then I better try one,” he said, trying to remain serious when a grin was eating at him.

The kitchen was still a mess, but a lot of the junk was off the floor, and it had been swept.

“You’ve been working hard,” he said.

“Thank you.” She picked up a container and continued to walk into the restaurant. “Now that I have paths to the doors, I’ve been focusing on the apartment—so I don’t have to impose on your grandmother,” she added over her shoulder.

“You know she doesn’t consider you an imposition.”

“But you do.”

He didn’t know what to say—it had seemed true. And he was no longer certain why. After all, it wasn’t like he was forced to see her every day.

“No, you’re not an imposition. Not if you can cook, anyway.”

He thought she might have smiled, but since she was still ahead of him, and he was still focused on her butt, he wasn’t certain.

“There aren’t enough usable chairs in here,” she said. “We’ll sit outside on the bench.”

“So you’re not handing me a tart and sending me on my way?” he asked dryly.

“I considered it. But you’re Brooke’s brother, and I like her.”

But not me, he thought. He tried to tell himself that was a good thing, but already his mind was slyly protesting that she’d liked him well enough a couple nights ago. Damn, he shouldn’t have let his thoughts go there. Before he knew it, he was noticing how close they had to sit on the bench, and that when he sat naturally, his leg touched hers, so he pulled back. But he’d almost lingered.

She handed Nate a tart on a napkin. When their fingers touched, he didn’t pull away too quickly. She blushed, and he knew she was remembering Tony’s Tavern, too.

He took a bite, and as the sweet and tart flavor oozed across his tongue, he made a humming sound of approval.

“Thank you,” she answered, just as if he’d spoken.

“Oh, you’re good,” he rumbled, after swallowing.

Another answer that could be taken two ways.

She didn’t meet his eyes but let out a deep breath. “Look, there’s been this . . . tension between us since that first night.” As she glanced at him, her big blue eyes looked determined. “I’m going to be here for a couple weeks, and it’s a small town, and I’m living with your grandmother, and I’ll probably keep bumping into you.” She stopped, as if realizing her mouth was running away with her.

He kind of liked it. She was nervous about him.

“It’s silly for us to . . . go on like this,” she continued. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I drank too much and let things go too far between us. Regardless of what you might think, I’ve never done anything like that before, and when I realized what I was doing, I had to stop it. I don’t just . . . give myself to a guy I just met.”

He smiled. “ ‘Give’ yourself? That sounds pretty old-fashioned.”

“You know what I mean,” she said with exasperation.

She was watching him, looking anxious and hesitant, as if she cared what he thought. Something inside him eased.

He tipped his hat to her and grinned. “Apology accepted. I feel bad that things have been awkward between us. Regardless of what you might think, I don’t normally drink and proposition women in bars. But you were sitting there so . . .” His voice drifted into a soft rumble.