“I said okay, Delaney.”
Brewer stepped closer—close enough that I could say for certain the heat coming off him had not been my imagination—and reached for his coffee cup. I got another burst of bergamot-and-Brewer that made my pulse stutter.
Fuck.
“Delaney?” Brewer waved a hand in front of my face, and I realized I’d spaced out for a second.
My face flushed. “Pardon?”
He lifted his cup. “I saidthanks. You remembered I like cream and sugar from when we were at the bakery that time?”
“Oh. Er. Yes?” My stomach flopped like a fish on a line, and I added, “That’s also not a big deal. I have an excellent memory.”
Brewer held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, like he was still trying to figure me out. Then he took a sip of his coffee. His fingers—strong, calloused—curled around the cup. His throat moved as he swallowed. His tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop?—
I tore my gaze away, mortified.
Delaney. For the love of tiny baby Jesus.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “Great news! Hen told me yesterday that the vanity for the downstairs bathroom came in. So if you could go pick it up this morning?—”
“Wait. You got a vanity for the downstairs bath?” Brewer’s tone was neutral, but his gaze sharpened.
“Yes.” I straightened my shoulders. “Problem?”
His shrug seemed forced as he reached for a croissant. “Of course not. It’s your house.”
“Yes.Yes.” I nodded once. “Hen said it’s pretty heavy, so you might need some help getting it in. I’d go myself, but I, ah…”
Brewer ripped off a bite-sized piece of croissant with his teeth, then licked the crumbs from his lips, and I lost my train of thought. In fact, I lost all higher brain function. For a second, it was just me and his mouth in that kitchen.
“You?” Brewer prompted, his lips so shiny and full I had to grip the edge of the counter to stop myself from leaning in to discover exactly how they’d feel against mine.
“I, um…”
Brewer’s jaw flexed as he chewed. His throat worked as he swallowed.
Mortified by how fuckingawareI was of him, I reached for my own coffee mug—a task I’d performed since I was my infant niece’s age, I was pretty sure—and misjudged the distance. Hot coffee sloshed over my hand.
“Fuck!” I cried, snatching my hand away and shaking it off.
“Shit, Delaney.” Brewer instantly reached for my hand. “Did you get burned?”
“N-no!” I yanked my hand away. The only thing burning me was the hot, tight ball of embarrassedwantin my stomach. Brewer touching me would only make it worse.
“Let me see?—”
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “What was I saying?”
With a sigh, Brewer stepped away. “You were explaining why you can’t pick up the vanity yourself.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Right. Because I have a call. A work call. With my editor,” I explained, wondering why I felt compelled to offer any explanation at all. “About the story I’m writing.”
“The same one you’ve been working on for a while?” Brewer asked. “How’s that going?”
I was sure he was only asking out of casual politeness, but I wondered if maybe it was the same kind of politeness that had made me order a whole box of croissants, so I stopped and considered his question before answering.
“It’s going well. At least… I think so? It started out as a piece about corruption and bribery of some town officials—notthistown, obviously,” I added with an eye roll that made Brewer smile.
