“Go ahead,” I said, barely thinking about the request. Cash had been in the cottage plenty of times in the past, and he knew where the bathroom was. I stepped toward the firefighter as Cash walked off. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Everything’s fine. You can let people back in,” he said. Fire Chief Thomas, I read from his badge.

  “I’m so sorry.” I’d said that so many times today that I should just get a T-shirt that said it and save my breath.

  “You’d be surprised how often this kind of thing happens. Part of the job.”

  “I’ll be more careful the next time I bake muffins,” I said, trying to be lighthearted, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I would try to bake the damn muffins ever again. Maybe that should be a job requirement of whoever I hired for morning desk shifts.

  “Sounds like a plan, Ava. I hope your day gets better.”

  “I hope the same for you,” I said, then walked toward the guests. “Hey, everyone. Thank you for being so understanding. I’m happy to say we’ve been given the all clear, and you can go back inside. If you’re checking out this morning, we’ll give you an extra hour if you need it.”

  Gretchen and Della would have to work a little harder to turn over the five rooms that would need cleaning, in addition to the usual daily cleaning duties in the common areas, but I had no doubt they could do it. If not, I’d pitch in and help. We had ten reservations coming in this afternoon, so it was going to be a busier week all the way around.

  As everyone filed into the east wing and Gretchen and Della headed to the housekeeping headquarters, I went into the inn kitchen to see if there were any visible signs remaining of my screwup. It was slightly smoky, with a lingering odor. As I eyed the baking mess I’d left on the counters, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a message from Cash.

  Bring the muffin ingredients to the cottage. I’ll whip some up for your guests while I’m here.

  Damn. This was the “nice” I wasn’t sure I could handle, and the tears that came to my eyes again were proof.

  Another buzz.

  Or you can run to Sugar.

  My stubbornness kicked in.

  I’m not going to Sugar. I can mix some more up.

  We need to make sure they rise.

  Of course that detail hadn’t escaped him.

  Fine. You can bake away.

  With pleasure. Once you bring me the ingredients.

  As I gathered the flour, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, and other items, I heard voices in the lobby. I finished stuffing the ingredients in a grocery sack then went out to find the Bianchis there with their luggage, ready to check out. I set the bag on the back counter and checked them out, chatting about their vacation to Dragonfly Lake.

  “What was your favorite thing?” I asked Lucy, the bolder of the two little girls.

  “Cookies!”

  I laughed. “You must’ve visited Sugar.”

  She nodded, and even Lilac, her quiet sister, perked up at that, her eyes sparkling.

  “We loved Sugar,” Mrs. Bianchi said. “And going on a boat and shopping in the toy store and—”

  “And pizza!” Lucy hollered, jumping up and down.

  “And pizza.” Mr. Bianchi smiled and shook his head. “We could’ve stayed in Cincinnati for cookies and pizza,” he muttered to me good-naturedly.

  “But maybe not boating?” I asked.

  “This lake is breathtaking,” Mrs. Bianchi said, “and the town is adorable. We’ll definitely be back next year.”

  “I hope you’ll stay with us again. We enjoyed having you.” I slid their receipt—handwritten, because that’s how Aunt Phyl did it, and we weren’t yet set up for anything more advanced—across the counter.

  “We wouldn’t stay anywhere else. We’re so sorry about Mrs. Sharp,” Mrs. Bianchi said, more subdued. “You’re doing an admirable job stepping in.”

  I forced a smile, because I could argue that statement but I wouldn’t. “Thank you. You have a safe trip home and we’ll see you next year. Call anytime to reserve your room.”

  The family of four said goodbye, and even shy little Lilac blew me a kiss as they walked out the door. With an exhale, I thought, my first check-out, and the party seemed more than satisfied with their stay at the inn.

  Maybe the morning wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

  I took out the sign that directed guests to text me if they needed me before I returned, placed it front and center on the counter, grabbed the bag of baking ingredients, and set off for the cottage with mixed emotions.

  My plans had been to stay busy and keep my head down, focused on the inn, until I left for my LA meeting on Wednesday. If I concentrated on work, I couldn’t think about Cash or last night or kissing him. But here he was, being nice to me again. Seeming to care. Helping me out of a muffin jam and telling me that everything would be okay.

  He was turning out to be the friend I needed, just when I needed him, and maybe I needed to just embrace that while I was here. Maybe I deserved a bright spot in an otherwise crap-tastic morning.

  I went up the walkway to the front door and entered—and froze.

  There, in the open kitchen, was a wet-haired Cash with his back to me, opening cabinets and shutting them, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

  Chapter 13

  Ava

  Maybe it’d been too long since I’d had sex.

  Just looking at Cash across the cozy living room that was open to the kitchen awoke a kernel of desire deep inside me. Okay, more than a kernel. The man might be almost forty and create and sample food for a living, but it was undebatable that he took excellent care of his body.

  His back was still to me as he pulled a mixing bowl out of the cabinet, his shoulder muscles firm and flexing with every movement. I admired his biceps and triceps as he reached to the side for something, then I stood there for a few seconds appreciating his total confidence and competency in my aunt’s modest, outdated kitchen.

  When I closed the door, I should’ve braced myself, because he spun toward me, giving me a smile and a full view of his chest. It was perfect. Sculpted, with ridges and well-formed pecs, and good lord, those abs… He’d had a baseball player’s physique when we were together all those years ago, long and muscular, firm, with an ass that made a girl long to squeeze it, and I’m here to tell you, he’d filled out and firmed up beautifully since then.

  I swallowed, shook myself mentally, and attempted to act like I wasn’t having a religious moment seeing him nearly naked. “Your clothes disappeared,” I managed.

  “I rinsed them out and threw them in the dryer. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Because my body temperature was not rising just from looking at him. No, not at all. “It’s hot in here,” I said before I could stop the words.

  “I’ve got the oven preheating.”

  “That explains it. I brought what you asked for.” I set the bag on the counter and stepped up next to him to unload it. “What’s that?” I pointed to a bowl of something he’d already stirred up.

  “Glaze. You had what I needed for this on hand. We’re making cinnamon roll muffins with glaze.”

  “I can get behind that. As long as you’re doing the making.”

  “What are you going to do tomorrow morning for muffin time?”

  “Serve leftovers?” I said. “Let’s bake double.”

  “We can do that.” He was going through the ingredients I’d brought and setting them out according to some kind of order in his head. “Baking isn’t hard, Ava. You can master it.”

  “Obviously,” I said dryly. “Just ask Fire Chief Thomas.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said in a gentle, encouraging voice as he poured flour into a measuring cup. “If you do two things, you’ll have it.”

  “One, sit on the counter, and two, watch you?”

  “I was thinking more of following the directions and setting a timer, but you can sit and watch if you’d rather.”

  I kicked my flip-flops to the side and hoisted myself up on the counter not far from his workspace. “Muffins might be one of Aunt Phyl’s traditions that has to end.”

  “And that would be okay. You’re the owner now and you can do things your way.”

  I let out a quiet but caustic laugh. “I don’t have a way. I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing here, Cash.”

  He set aside a third bowl where he’d just dumped the flour and walked over to me. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of me, he looked intently into my eyes and said, “I think you’re doing an amazing job. You’ve run this inn for a week now and kept your customers happy, all while grieving.”

  “More like the inn has run me, most days.” Yes, I was trying to be funny when he was stone-cold serious. His praise made me twitchy. I didn’t deserve it.

  “Ava, your aunt was a sweet, caring lady, and you loved her dearly, but she didn’t leave you in a great situation here.”

  “I don’t think she was planning on keeling over at the grocery store.”

  “What I’m trying to say is that you walked into a mess and you’ve managed it. Managed it well. You’ve been busting your ass to make sure the guests are taken care of, the building is taken care of, the employees are okay, all while taking action toward the future to ensure this place will carry on in the spirit of Phyllis Sharp.”

  He made my eyes water when he said it like that. “I’m trying. I can’t find anyone to manage it—”

  Cash pressed his finger to my lips to quiet me. “You’ve been here for five days. Searching for a manager for half of that.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath and met his gaze. I couldn’t deny what he said, though it felt like I’d been here for a month.

  “Give yourself a break, Ava.”

  With him staring into my eyes with so much compassion, I wanted to give whatever he asked of me.

  I couldn’t help but notice that what he wasn’t doing, in spite of how close we were, in spite of those kisses last night, was making a move on me. Not the way I suddenly wanted him to. He was inches away, surrounding me on three sides but not quite touching me. I could feel the heat of him, breathe in the freshly showered scent of him, and I was drowning in those dreamy eyes once again.

  “Will you do that?” he persisted. “For me?”

  I tried to clear my lust fog enough to remember what he wanted me to do. “Give myself a break,” I repeated.

  “Be gentle on you.”

  My gaze dipped down to his lips and I didn’t give myself time to think about it. I leaned forward and kissed him, catching his unshaven jaw in my palm, loving the roughness of it.

  He kissed me back for several long seconds, then growled and ended the kiss. “Supposed to be baking for your guests.”

  I wanted to tell him to forget my guests, but after what I’d put them through this morning, I should be giving them each a full dozen sweet treats, plus maybe a complimentary dinner at Cash’s restaurant. “I’ll give you five minutes to finish up,” I said, grinning and pointing at the bowls.

  He let out a sort of laugh that told me he didn’t think I was serious, and that made me all the more serious. That and the show he put on for those five or so minutes, stirring, whisking, adding ingredients… Someone was missing out on the next reality show here—hot guys in towels making sugary baked goods.

  As he mixed the wet ingredients in with the dry, his muscled forearm took a backseat to his abs and that trail of dark hair that bisected his abdomen and disappeared beneath the edge of the worn white towel. I imagined what he would do if I reached out and undid the towel so that it fell to the floor.

  “Hungry?” he asked me as he tapped the mixing spoon on the edge of the bowl.

  “Starving,” I said, not thinking about muffins.

  “Let me guess…you forgot breakfast?”

  “I scorched breakfast,” I reminded him.

  “You should eat something.” He was pouring batter into the bottom of each muffin cup. Once all of them were partially filled, he sprinkled a layer of the cinnamon-sugar mixture on.

  The silverware drawer was directly below me, so I widened my legs, opened it, took a small spoon out, and closed it again. I dipped it into the glaze, then tasted it. Creamy, sugary goodness slid over my tongue, and I let out a sound of appreciation. Cash’s gaze leaped to me and he dropped his spoonful of sugar mixture on the counter. I took that as encouragement as he refilled his spoon.

  “Five minutes are almost up,” I said, then licked the back of my spoon to get every drop of frosting off it.

  “Just about done.” He picked up the batter again and poured another layer, the cinnamon–sugar smell wafting to my nose.

  I watched his easy, practiced movements as he alternated batter with cinnamon-sugar crunch, thinking how talented his hands were to create food that was good enough to bring a girl to tears. As soon as he sprinkled the final layer of cinnamon-sugar on top and stuck the pan in the oven, I grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of me, then laced our fingers together. His brows shot up and I yanked him closer, between my legs, and locked them behind him.

  “I’m trying to be good here,” he said in a gravelly voice, gazing into my eyes, our faces inches apart.

  “There are multiple ways of being good.” I brushed my lips lightly over his.

  “I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want.”

  I let out a soft laugh. “Does this feel like you’re pushing me into anything?”

  His reply was a slow, sexy growl from deep in his throat as he peered down at me from under heavy lids.

  In case he needed further convincing, I dipped a finger of my free hand into the glaze and smeared it down the center of his chest. “Oops.” I let go of his hand, slid down from the counter, and licked the frosting off his skin, savoring the mix of sugar from the frosting and saltiness of his skin.

  The sound that came out of his chest was half low chuckle, half growl, one-hundred-percent sexy, so I took my time, making sure I got every last drop of glaze, worshipping the firm ridges and valleys with my tongue. I whisked it over one of his nipples, then kissed my way up, over his collarbone, along his neck, to his jaw, waiting for him to either pull me closer or shut me down, praying with every overheated fiber of my being it was the former.

  Pausing long enough to look into his eyes, gauging whether he was with me, I barely breathed. My heart pounded as he peered down at me, his lips parted, showing me I was affecting him at least a little.

  “Ava…”

  I ran my hands up his chest, to his shoulders. “Yes?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Is this what you want?”

  Letting out a little laugh, I said, breathily, “You really can’t tell?”

  “You were hesitant last night. Just want you to be sure… No regrets?”

  “Only if you turn me away right now.”

  Our gazes were locked for another five seconds, the longest five seconds of my life, and then his lips lowered to mine, his hands wrapped around my waist and pulled my body into his, and he devoured my mouth without warning in the most thorough, passionate kiss ever, as if holding himself back while I’d eaten the frosting off his skin had taken a toll on him.

  He pressed his erection into me, trapping me between him and the counter, leaving no doubt he was as into this as I was. As our tongues swirled and mated, I lowered one hand to the side of his waist, found the lump of towel where it was being held up, and released it. It sprung away from his backside and got caught up where our bodies were touching in front, so I yanked the terry cloth to the side and dropped it on the floor.

  The contact between our mouths broke long enough for him to say, “You still turn aggressive when you want something.”

  “Oops,” I said again, grinning into his mouth as I went back to kissing him.

  His hands trailed lower, over my butt, and before I knew what was happening, he lifted me. I let out a surprised yelp and my legs went around his waist. I held on tighter to his neck as he turned us away from the kitchen counter.

  “Which room are you staying in?” he asked.

  “My old one. Upstairs.”

  He reached the stairs in three long strides, then he darted us up them as if he wasn’t carrying another human. That show of fitness and strength did nothing to cool my jets. He went into the room on the right, familiar with where I’d grown up even though we’d rarely spent time there when my aunt and mom lived in the cottage.

  At the side of my bed, he set me down, my feet sliding to the floor. There was a huge three-paneled window on the wall facing the lake, but I hadn’t bothered to open the blinds yet. The light was filtered, but I could see his naked form when I landed on the mattress. His dick jutted upward, and my body responded to the sight, aching for his intrusion.

  “Get naked,” he said.

  “Mm, you’ve gotten bossy.” I lifted my flowy shirt over my head and playfully tossed it at him.

  “You like bossy?” he asked, coming nearer, crowding his legs against mine.

  “I like you.” I unhooked my bra but kept it over my breasts. “I can’t get naked if you don’t give me space.”

  “You’re taking too long.” He backed up half a step, his eyes locked on my chest.

  “I’m worth the wait.”

  I tugged the bra off and flung it so it draped over his shoulder, then stood to unbutton my shorts. Before I could drop them to the floor, Cash was palming my breasts, kneading them, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples, making my breath catch. He lowered his head and took one in his mouth, and my shorts were forgotten as I arched into him, dropped my head back, and held on to his head, my fingers burrowing through his coarse hair.

  “Your nipples were always so sensitive,” he said between teasing tongue swirls. “Can you still come this way?”