Nonstop (Open Skies #3) - Becca Jameson Page 0,1

away abruptly, biting her lower lip as she resumed rolling out the dough for the scones.

Part of Bracken was itching to help with the baking. After all, his nickname wasn’t Sweets for no good reason. He loved baking. He’d made pastries in his downtime in the Army to center himself after a tough mission. The guys had made fun of him for only a few months. Eventually, they learned to keep their mouths shut if they wanted to get a bite of his confections. From then on, they called him Sweets—a very goofy name for a man of his size.

As Christa opened the oven and removed the scones, the scent of blueberries and pastry filled the air, making Bracken groan.

Kraft chuckled but didn’t say a word.

A few minutes later, both women wandered across the great room with plates of warm scones in their hands.

Christa laughed as she handed a plate to Kraft. “Not exactly afternoon baseball snacks, but I bet you won’t turn them down.”

Bracken’s chest tightened as Bex handed him a plate. “Now that I know you’re a baker yourself, I’m hesitant to let you try my scones,” she teased, her voice soft. He imagined her voice was always a bit soft, at least when she was in uncomfortable situations.

He brought the plate to his nose and inhaled, the steam still wafting off of the scones. “Smells delicious. They look amazing. I’m impressed.”

She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip for a moment and then released it. “Well, you haven’t tasted them yet.”

Bracken picked up one of the triangles and took a bite, hoping he didn’t burn his mouth. Luckily, they had cooled down enough to avoid that embarrassment. As soon as he bit into it, he moaned. Perfect. Possibly better than he’d ever had. “Wow. Those are amazing, Bex.”

She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “My grandma’s recipe.”

He pushed to standing. “Gonna need a bottle of water.”

She followed him into the kitchen, just as he’d hoped. Christa had settled on the couch practically in Kraft’s lap.

While Bex began to clean up the mess, Bracken sat at the island with a water and his plate. “How have you been doing?” he asked, eyeing her closely, making sure she understood his meaning.

Christa and Bex had been responsible for stopping a human trafficking ring on one of their flights a few weeks ago. They were on leave right now, so neither of them was working. Christa had been taken hostage, so she technically suffered the brunt of the drama, but Bracken knew better than most people not to judge how people process intense situations in the aftermath.

Bex shrugged as she put the flour away. “Okay.” She didn’t meet his gaze.

He knew she was not exactly okay. Word got around. She was struggling. He couldn’t be sure how traumatized she was, but he suspected more than she liked to admit to her friends.

He watched her move around the kitchen, putting things away, loading the dishwasher, wiping the counters. “You’re meeting with a counselor, right? Someone from the airline?”

She nodded. “Yep. It’s mandatory.”

“How much time do you get to take off?”

“Four more weeks.”

He wasn’t sure if she was avoiding his gaze because it was her natural inclination or if she didn’t like to discuss this subject. It was hard to read her, and he didn’t know her well enough to be sure. Or hell, maybe she didn’t really care for him.

He continued to watch her, pondering his options. Everything about her made his heart rate pick up. She was exactly the kind of woman he was attracted to. Cute, shy, petite. But damn, she was young. This was probably a bad idea, but he decided to go for it. “Have dinner with me.”

She flinched and then lifted her gaze. For a moment, he thought she might turn him down, but then she swallowed. “Okay. When?”

“Tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder at the lovebirds on the couch and then returned his gaze to Bex. “Now. They won’t even notice if we leave,” he joked.

Bex’s eyes got big and she glanced down at herself. “I’m not exactly dressed for a, um, date.”

“I think you look perfect. We can keep it casual. Do you like Mexican? I know a place that’s totally laid back.” He wasn’t dressed any different from her. Jeans. Black T-shirt. Vans.

She chewed on that lower lip again, holding his gaze, thinking. “I guess I could do that.” She looked over his shoulder toward the living room. “They certainly won’t notice us missing,