he didn’t sit.
Instead, he strolled around the island—closer to her. “Can I help?”
“Um . . .” The subtle, distinctive scent of his aftershave tickled her nose—and turned her brain to mush. “All I have to do is c-cut the cake.”
He grinned, either unaware of her discomfiture . . . or enjoying it. “Can I lick the icing off the knife? That will take me back to my childhood.”
As the image of him engaged in that activity flashed through her mind, her heart lurched.
“Uh . . . s-sure.” She cleared her throat and backed away, toward the fridge.
Thank heaven he didn’t follow.
Once there, she set their mugs on the counter, opened the door, and stuck her face in as far as she could. If she was lucky, the chilly air would chase the warmth from her cheeks.
The cake was front and center among the meager items on her shelves—but he couldn’t see that from where he was standing—so she lingered on the pretense of moving the contents around to reach their dessert.
Too bad she couldn’t further stretch out the retrieval, but if she dawdled too long he’d get suspicious.
Pasting on a smile that was a tad too cheery, she withdrew the cake and held it out for him to inspect. “Ta-da.”
The confection in her hands distracted him long enough for her to get her act back together.
Sort of.
“Wow.” He ogled the swirls of cream cheese icing. “That looks fabulous.”
“It’s my specialty—after moussaka.” She deposited it on the counter and cut a generous slice for him and a smaller one for her. “Why don’t you take these over to the table while I get the beverages going?”
“Don’t I get a crack at the knife?”
Her heart missed a beat. “Uh . . . sure.” She held it out.
“This will be a treat.” He took it from her, his lean fingers brushing her hand.
The treat was all hers as she watched him lick the blade clean.
“Thank you.” He handed her the knife back, his gaze locking with hers. Warming. Igniting.
Oh man.
This was bad.
Very bad.
She never got hot and bothered over a man she barely knew.
Change the subject, Eve.
Right.
“There are, uh, forks in the drawer beside the sink, and napkins in the cabinet above.”
“Got it.” He picked up the plates and retrieved the items she mentioned while she put her water in the microwave and poured his into the coffeemaker. “I’m going to enjoy every bite of this. Homemade cake isn’t on my menu very often these days.”
“Not a baker, huh?”
“Not a chef, period. I don’t have the time—or the inclination—for the culinary arts. I’m more in Cate’s camp—eating is my specialty.”
“I don’t dally in the kitchen, either. If I have any openings in my schedule, I’d rather bike or spin. But I know all the basics.”
He inspected the cake. “This is way beyond the basics.”
“I do excel at a few items.”
She swiveled away and fiddled with the coffeemaker. While she’d shared pieces of her history with him over the past eight days, he’d told her nothing about his background other than a brief reference to his grandparents. Yet he had mentioned his childhood a few minutes ago. Would he be willing to offer her a few tidbits about his growing-up years tonight?
Why not test the waters?
“So did licking the knife bring back happy memories from your childhood?” She kept her tone casual and conversational.
Behind her, the thump of ceramic against wood told her he’d deposited their plates on the table.
Several silent seconds ticked by.
Shoot.
Introducing a potentially sensitive subject had been a bad call.
Fix this, Eve, or he’s going to leave as soon as he scarfs down his cake. Like he did last time, after the subject of his grandparents came up.
“Um . . . do you want cream or sugar?”
Of course he didn’t. Brent was the kind of guy who took his coffee black and strong, with no hint of sweetness.
But the innocuous question would break the uncomfortable silence.
“No thanks.”
The microwave pinged, and she took out her mug. Added a bag of her favorite, soothing peppermint tea.
Yet as she retrieved his mug from the coffeemaker, the almost palpable tension emanating from her guest might be too much for even her favorite comfort beverage to overcome.
He shouldn’t have caved and accepted Eve’s invitation.
This cozy kitchen that invited the sharing of confidences was undermining his resolve to keep his distance.
Though truth be told, it had been crumbling from the moment he’d met her.
Brent regarded the cake he no longer wanted and curled his fingers in his