Page 47 of Tempting Mr. Knightly

Lucy turned off the water. Her hands rested on the edge of the sink, wet, still. “That’s either insightful or insufferable.”

“Both, probably.”

“You say that a lot.”

“It’s become my default.”

She almost laughed. He heard it catch in the back of her throat. She turned the water back on.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said quietly. The admission carried weight she rarely let him hear.

“Do what?”

“This. Whatever this is. The plates and the croissants and the sitting in my bakery on a Saturday while my entire world falls apart. I don’t know what to do with a person who keeps showing up.”

“You could try letting him.”

“I could try a lot of things. Most of them terrify me.”

“Most things worth doing are terrifying.”

“That sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

Knox went very still. “I wouldn’t know anything about those.”

Lucy studied his face, sharp as ever, missing nothing. “Your ears turned red.”

“They did not.”

“They absolutely did. Knox Knightly, are you a secret romantic?”

“I am a man who watches the financial markets and occasionally The Weather Channel.”

“Your ears are still red.”

He picked up another plate. The space between them felt smaller than it had a moment ago. When she turned toward the sink, her lips were pressed together, holding something in.

Lucy was rinsing the piping bag when she paused. A smear of frosting traced the inside of her wrist, left from the demonstration, pale and smooth against her skin.

Knox saw it. He reached for the towel.

His hand stopped.

She was watching him. The water ran between them. Her wrist was extended, the buttercream catching the overhead light, and she hadn’t moved to wipe it, hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t done any of the things a woman did when she wanted the moment to pass.

Knox set the towel down. He took her wrist, gently. His thumb traced the buttercream away, slowly. The pad of his thumb crossed her pulse, and he could feel it beating, fast and hard.

Lucy’s breath caught. He held still. The bakery was silent except for the water running and the cooler humming and the sound of two people standing very still at the edge of something they’d been circling since spring.

“We can’t do this,” Lucy said.

“I know.”

“You’re everything I swore I’d never want.”

“You’re everything I’m terrified of.”

Her eyes were dark and bright at once. She was standing in her kitchen, in the place she’d built, and she was choosing to let him close enough to touch.