“I’d like to go home and take a shower.”
Linden pours a swirl of a thick blueberry syrup over his pancake. When the last drop clings to the spout, he swipes it with his thumb and sucks it into his mouth. It’s quick and automatic, the kind of habit many years in the making and not meant to be sexy. So why is heat coiling low in my belly and I can’t seem to look away?
“Why not use my bathtub?” he asks.
I take a turn with the pitcher, the sweet-earthy scent of warmed blueberries making my mouth water. “Stairs are kind of intimidating right now.”
He forks a wedge-shaped bite of the pancake stack and lifts it to his lips. “Not if I help.”
Heat races up my neck at the thought of his big hands on my body, but I focus on cutting a bite. “Do all firefighters cook like this?”
“We take turns, so everyone has at least a couple of good meals in their repertoire.”
I slide a bite into my mouth. “Oh wow,” I say, covering my lips with my fingers. The sourdough pancakes are fluffy without beingpasty, and the blueberry syrup is sweet enough to complement the hint of sour. It’s heaven.
He gives me a little smirk and puffs out his chest a little.
We eat in silence for a few moments. Maybe it’s a sign my body is healing because nothing has ever tasted this good.
“Did you get bad news?” He nods at my phone then reaches for his coffee.
I’m so focused on devouring this pancake that it takes me a beat to connect the dots. “Oh,” I say with a swallow. “Not bad, just disappointing.”
He takes a sip from his coffee then adds a fresh pancake to his plate. When he pours the syrup, I know I should look away but watching his lips wrap around the tip of his thumb and quickly suck it clean has me mesmerized.
I need to stop noticing stuff like this. It’s giving me ideas I have no right to entertain.
“Not about the community service, I hope?” he asks after the drip-licking ritual is finished and the pitcher is back in the middle of the table.
I draw a slow breath. “My date for my dad’s party had to cancel.”
A little muscle in Linden’s jaw flexes. “Ah.”
“He’s not really my date,” I blurt. “He’s just a friend. From work. Russel’s going to be there too and I didn’t want to go solo.”My god. Babble much?
Linden scrunches one eye shut in an exaggerated wince. “That sucks. Why is your ex going to this party? Is he close with your dad?”
“Russel played for him at Meridian High. It’s where we moved when we left Finn River.”
Linden’s brows knit together. “Russet is your high school sweetheart?”
I laugh. “Russet?”
“No offense to potatoes.” He smirks.
Linden has crafted a derogatory nickname for my ex. Hmm. “Not high school sweethearts, but that’s where we met. When we both got jobs with Leap…” I shrug. I don’t want to talk about this.
“Can’t you uninvite him?” Linden asks, a dark look edging his eyes.
“He was Meridian’s star kicker for three years.”
“How about a girl pal? I think Quinn could take him.”
I laugh. “Legit.” I cut another bite. My stomach is stretching in the most pleasant way. I thought I was hungry last night. “But she’s climbing Mont Blanc.”
He cocks his head.
“Quinn’s a card-carrying member of the ‘You Can Sleep When You’re Dead’ club.” I glance at the deck. “Speaking of which. Where do you sleep out here?”
