Country Romance - Carolyne Aarsen Page 0,56

into the conversation. Right now he wanted it to be about just him and Adele, the two of them sitting side by side in the dark. Connecting. Sharing.

Even as he formulated the thought, he realized that the very plans she was showing him were for a place she wanted to start in another city, far away from here.

Later, he told himself, clinging to the faint hope that had burned deep inside each time they had kissed. Each moment they spent together. He knew he had to be careful, but he also knew that in the short time he had spent with Adele, he’d discovered someone special. Someone loving, caring, and kind.

Someone he could—

"That's a lot of pastries," he said, slamming the door on thoughts he couldn't let wander too far, focusing on the pictures of the pastel-colored confections she had pulled up.

"I know we wouldn't be able to make all of them, but this is just for inspiration."

"I like the looks of that one," he said, pointing to a chocolate cake frosted with white icing, sprinkled with chocolate shavings. "Simple. Elegant, and chocolate."

"Sounds like you're a fan." She chuckled.

"Huge fan. Huge." He pointed to another picture. "I'm guessing that's supposed to be bread?"

"I want to try some artisan-type bread, and these ovens will make that easier," she said.

"Bread is bread, isn't it?"

"Hush your mouth. Never say that to a baker." She put her finger on his lips, smiling, her eyes glinting.

Wyatt couldn't stop himself. He caught her wrist then pressed a gentle kiss to the inside, his eyes still on hers.

"Really. What else should I never say to a baker?" he teased.

"That margarine is just as good as butter."

"It isn't?"

"No. Of course not." She looked almost indignant. "Butter gives everything a richer flavor. Margarine is made of oil and water, so—"

He stopped her flow of words with another kiss. Then another. She swept her free arm around his, pulling him close, holding him close, their mouths melding.

Her laptop fell to the floor with a clunk and Adele pulled back, her eyes wide.

Wyatt bent over to pick it up, handing it to her. "I hope it's okay."

"It's fallen before," she whispered, her fingers pressed against her mouth, as if unsure of what just happened.

Wyatt set the laptop aside, his hands holding her arms, unable to keep his eyes off her.

He wanted to ask her what was going on between them. What he dared expect. What she wanted.

But just then a small voice called out from the top of the stairs.

"Dean is thirsty, Daddy."

Maya.

A gentle reminder of his obligations.

"I can get it," Adele said, getting to her feet.

"No. I'll do it," he said, waving away her offer.

Adele sat down again, a curious expression on her face, as if realizing that this would be Wyatt's job from here on in.

He grabbed the flashlight and checked the snow in the pail. Thankfully enough was melted for at least one drink of water. And thankfully, it looked clean.

He took it up the stairs. Maya was crouched at the top of the stairs, her nightgown tucked around her upraised knees. "I told Dean he could ask you, but he didn't want to."

Wyatt felt a tiny twist of his heart at her words. "I'll take this to him," he said, flashlight in one hand and the glass of ice-cold water in the other.

They walked together to the bedroom. Dean was sitting up in the bed, his hands resting on either side of him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Wyatt shook his head and brought the cup to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed, setting the flashlight on the bedside table. "You never have to apologize for asking for water," he said, giving him the glass. "Don't drink it too fast. It's really cold and you'll get brain freeze."

"Like when I eat ice cream?"

"Yes. Just like that," Wyatt said, smiling at the little guy.

Dean took a few careful drinks, then handed him the cup. "Maya said I could ask, but I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"That you would be mad."

"I wouldn't be mad." That Dean would think that hurt him somehow. He turned to his daughters, who were both awake now, watching him, their eyes gleaming in the half-dark. "Have I ever been mad at you for asking for a drink?"

They shook their heads. "Daddy always gets a drink for us," Maya put in, looking at Dean.

"And if you ask, I'll always get one for you," he said to Dean.

"But not four drinks," Maria said. "Four is too many."

Wyatt had