Page 23 of Mixed Signals
His thumb brushes against his bottom lip and his stare slips from my eyes to the curve of my chin. The slope of my neck. My bright red apron with cartoon strawberries printed all over it.
“You really do,” he says faintly.
He clears his throat and blinks away towards my clear glass display case. A deep, rumbling groan slips out of his mouth. It is a sound of pure, unadulterated appreciation. A lick of heat caresses the back of my neck.
“Are those bear claws?”
I brush my palms against my apron, my face hot. “Yes, they are.” My sudden appreciation for how Caleb looks and sounds and acts is jarring. It’s all jumbled up with our friendly banter, my peripheral awareness of him. I’m turned completely upside down and left scrambling. I clear my throat. “Would you like one?”
His face says he would like several. But all he does is lick at his bottom lip and continue staring at my baked goods. I pick up my tongs and carefully transfer a bear claw that’s still warm from the oven. I wave it back and forth in front of his face.
“Caramel and sea salt,” I sing-song.
“I shouldn’t.” He’s already swaying closer like a lust-drunk sailor.
“You absolutely should.”
Caleb stares at the bear claw like he’s never seen anything so tempting in the entirety of his life. He is heavy eyes and a deep breath that starts in his chest and rolls down over his shoulders. Pink cheeks. This is a look meant for the dead of night. For grasping palms and sweaty skin. His tongue appears at the corner of his mouth again, the palm of his hand working at his jaw. His other hand braces his weight against the counter, forearm flexing. I stare hard at the two inches of skin exposed by his rolled sleeve.
“Why are you restricting yourself to butter croissants, Caleb?” I keep my voice low. Lilting. Teasing. He makes another soft groaning sound. “There’s a whole world of fried dough waiting for you.”
He blinks away from the treat in my hand and shakes himself out of his stupor. He levels me with a look. “You’re playing dirty.”
I snicker and plop the dessert in a to-go bag. “You have no idea.” There are few things I enjoy more than feeding people. I hold the bag over the counter for him to grab. “Yes, I’ll go out with you tomorrow. But if you leave me hanging again, we will explore this arrangement no further. I don’t want to be jerked around.”
Not by you.I keep that part to myself.
“I won’t,” he tells me, his eyes losing a little bit of their caramel and sea salt haze. “I promise I won’t. I never meant to in the first place.”
Something right beneath my lungs twists and tugs. “I’m going out on a limb, suspending myno dating in townrule.”
He looks amused, but he doesn’t laugh. “Well—” He stops abruptly and scratches once behind his ear.
“Well, what?”
“We’re not technically dating, right?”
“Fine.” I wiggle his paper bag back and forth, probably a little bit more aggressively than I should. “I am suspending myno going on dates with men I know from townrule.”
“Ah, I see. I understand now.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
He snatches the bag out of my hand and turns away.
Bemused, I watch him give the handle on my door a wide berth. “See you then!”
He waves a hand over his head and disappears down the steps. He weaves between the trees that hug the walkway, each step sure on the stone slabs. He unbuttons his collar as he moves through the summer heat and I get a flashback to that damned Hawaiian shirt.
Pineapples.
Flowers.
Collar bones.
My phone vibrates on the counter.
