“I can’t believe you’ve all known each other for that long.” Michael’s tone is wistful. “We lived on a ranch with my two uncles, and I had a tutor there instead of going to the nearest school, so I didn’t do much socializing. I don’t think I ever had a friend I was that close to growing up.”
And now I’m sad for him. I mean, sure, ranches and tutors sound nice and I’ve definitely added it to the handful of things I’ve now learned about him, but no friends? I’m not sure the trade-off is worth it. “Tell me more about these uncles of yours.”
His eyes narrow doubtfully. “There’s not much to say about them. They’re good men. Not that big on talking or comfortable in crowds, but protective of us. Steady. Mom said Uncle Rand was engaged to his high school sweetheart, but after she died in a car accident, he never dated again. Uncle Larry never showed any interest in women or men. They’ve got a few horses and a small herd of cattle to keep them occupied. A couple of ranch hands in the busy season and fences that always need to be fixed. I spent a large chunk of my childhood fixing those fences and avoiding town. I’m still expected to do my chores whenever I visit now. Nothing more interesting than that.”
“It’s interesting to me,” I assure him as he takes our plates and reaches for the already-prepared coffee. “I’m pure city mouse, Michael. Suburbs terrify me and small towns fascinate me. Keep going. Why did you avoid town? Spill that tea.”
He frowns down at the cup in his hand. “You wanted tea?”
“Gossip.” I look skyward. “Have you lived in space for the last decade or two? Is that why you don’t know what tea means or that getting Liam Neeson-ed is being tracked down with a special set of skills because you kidnapped his daughter and now you have to pay?”
Connor made me watch that movie once. He has a list of “guy films” he brings out as punishment a few times a year since I make him watch musicals.
“Isthatwhat he meant?” Michael is laughing now. “I wondered how nervous that threat was supposed to make me.”
“Very,” I assure him, high on food and the man’s gorgeous smile. “I told you he’s a football coach. There’s also basketball. Then we have baseball and bowling. Bocce ball at the summer camp we run together. The point is, he takes his balls very seriously, and he knows how to use them.”
He chuckles again and sips his steaming coffee. “Well, then I’m appropriately intimidated. Let me get you dessert and you can tell me about that summer camp.”
I want to point out he’s dodging my last question, but when I see the large tray full of goodies, I’m temporarily hypnotized. They look like little multicolored sandwiches. I pick up the chocolate one, and when I get my first taste? I moan, loud and lusty, wiggling my butt on the stool. “Ohmgd,” I garble. “S’spicychoclte?”
He watches me with that combination of amusement and heat I’m beginning to equate with him. “The ganache is my take on Mexican hot chocolate, so it has cinnamon, cacao andchilis, plus a few other extras. I was experimenting with different fillings last night. You like that one?”
“I don’t like them,” I correct, grabbing all the similar-looking ones so he can’t whisk them away. “I want to be in a committed relationship with these cookies.”
“Macarons.”
“Fine. Fancy cookies. I want to wear obnoxious matching sweater vests with them, argue politics with their parents at Sunday dinner and, of course, eat them until someone has to air-lift me out of this cabin because I’m too big to fit through the door. In case you didn’t notice, I have a thing for spicy and sweet. Also, salty and sweet. Sweet and sour. You get the picture.”
“I’m starting to. I’m making profiteroles tomorrow.”
He makes that word sound so sexy. “I actually know what that is because the teachers’ lounge turned into aGreat British Bake Offfan club for a few years and I couldn’t avoid it. You should be on a show like that. I can’t believe you made these.” I shake my head in wonder. “You don’t work at the ranch, so is this what you do for a living? Are you a chef or professional baker or something?”
How he found time to put together this entire feast in between taking care of me and the M&M sisters—who each got some little nibbles of chicken with their dinner and are now snoring on cushions beside the wood stove—is anybody’s guess.
“It’s just a hobby. Cooking and baking help me think. Give me something to do with my hands.”
There are so many things I could say about what else he could do with his hands, but I restrain myself because I really want to eat whatever he’s making tomorrow.
“So, you’re not a baker,” I say after I swallow one last macaron and push the plate away. That still leaves assassin or bodyguard with killer poodles as potential career options. “Maybe you should think about it. If these were available at mylocal bakery, The Twisted Tart, they’d sell out in the first hour. Natasha, Seamus’s sister-in-law, owns that. Do you know her?”
He glances away, the tension subtle but noticeable. “I’ve met her, but I don’t know her that well. I’m not from around here.”
I already knew that, so there’s no reason the information should disappoint me. It was one of the first things that attracted me to him. Just because he’s still here two months later doesn’t mean he’s planning on staying. It’s not like I want to date the man. I don’t even have a reliable booty call, because I can’t promise my booty will be reliable in return and it doesn’t seem fair.
But you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him for months.
I could say it was safe to pine for and fantasize about him, since he was gone and I thought I’d never see him again. But it would be a lie, because he’s right here in front of me and my desire is still as strong as ever. I have to keep reminding myself that this is a very temporary forced-proximity situation that neither one of us invited or asked for. Nothing more.
My next question comes out more sharply than I intend it to. “Whereareyou from then? Where’s the ranch? Where do you call home?”
His forehead crinkles attractively. “It’s west of here, and I haven’t settled in one particular spot yet, since I traveled a lot for work. California. Canada. Istanbul. Paris.”
I swallow and reach for my water, my throat suddenly dry. “That’s a lot of traveling. Are you an airline pilot?”
“No.” He presses his lips together. “Actually, I’m not anything at the moment. I’m taking a break from work for a while. Doing some soul searching.”
“Baking and thinking.” I try to nod sagely, secretly impressed with how polite I’m being despite my frustration. I hate when people sound like they’re answering questions but they’reevading instead. Why is he being so vague? “I’m on sabbatical myself. Six more months before I’m back in the classroom. Maybe I should take up baking. I think we can all agree that I’m already fantastic at eating.”
