I froze.

  He froze.

  Even the cookies froze.

  “Hi,” Kane said, after a weird beat. “I’m here to repair a shelf. Fred said his friend Estell called him?”

  My throat did that embarrassing squeaky thing it always did when I wanted to sound smooth. “Uh, hi. You’re…uh, here. Wow. Oh, you fix shelves?”

  He blinked, maybe thrown by my voice or the fact that I was wearing a pastel apron and holding something that looked suspiciously like a broken spatula.

  “I can. I do, sometimes? Fred said Estell needed a hand?”

  Fire spread across my face. I couldn’t look away but also couldn’t breathe. He looked taller standing in the doorframe than he had behind the bingo cage, and up close, I could see faint stubble on his jaw. He smelled sort of clean and crisp, like he’d just showered, which made sense but also hit me straight in the glands.

  Estell appeared behind me, shoving my shoulder with biscotti-level force. “Kane! So glad you made it. Ignore Elijah, he’s always this slow before noon.”

  She slipped past me, all holiday print and flour smudges, and gestured Kane inside, slippers squeaking on the linoleum. “Come on, come on. The shelf is back here. Sophia loaded it with three hundred pounds of glass bells.”

  Kane let himself in and flashed a small smile. “No problem. I’ll check it out.”

  He followed Estell toward the spare bedroom, toolbox swinging at his side.

  I had to steady myself on the wall. My heart was throbbing like I’d swallowed a hummingbird. All I could think about was how Kane had winked at me last week, how his voice sounded when he called the numbers, or the fact that he had probably seen my Instagram and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.

  Sophia and Mabel were waiting for me at the kitchen pass-through, eyebrows raised to the ceiling.

  Mabel mouthed, “He’s here for you,” then made a kissing motion.

  Sophia waggled her eyebrows and did an old lady version of flossing, but one hip kept popping out too far.

  I tried to ignore them but couldn’t resist peeking down the hallway at Kane, who was already crouched in front of the wobbly shelf, rolling up his sleeves. There was something about the way he moved. I would’ve watched him tie his shoes and found it fascinating.

  Rejoining the ladies at the kitchen table, I poured myself a mug of extra-strong coffee to steady my nerves.

  Estell returned after a minute, hands on hips, cheeks glowing with satisfaction. “That boy’s got it handled,” she announced. “If you ladies ruin my shelf again, you’re buying me a new one out of your daily slot winnings.”

  Sophia slid a cookie toward me. “Kane’s got nice hands, don’t you think?”

  I nearly spat out my coffee. “You just noticed?”

  She smirked, then lowered her voice. “Bet he’s strong, too.”

  Estell grinned. “He could fix all my shelves anytime.”

  Mabel waited for the perfect moment, then said, “Bet he’d look good in nothing but an apron.”

  I gave up. “You three better not terrorize him.”

  Kane would never be the same again if they dialed up their shenanigans on him. I could only handle them because we’d been friends for the past five years. And I was just as warped as them.

  Kindred souls.

  Mabel snorted. “We’re being nice. See? I didn’t grab his ass or anything.”

  Sophia sipped her coffee, then fixed me with a pointed stare. “You should offer him a cookie. Or a drink. Or your phone number.”

  “Or ask if he wants to eat your cookie.” She smirked at my apron.

  Estell flapped a hand. “Child, he keeps looking down the hall at you. I saw it.”

  I hunched over my mug, hoping my face didn’t glow like Rudolph’s nose. “Pretty sure he’s just here for the shelves,” I said, mostly to myself, which was the safest way to talk.

  Mabel rolled her eyes. “You see? Always the pessimist. You’re a good-looking young man. You need to put yourself out there.”

  “I can barely get myself out of a chair,” I grumbled, then immediately considered sitting down again.

  My legs felt as wobbly as Estell’s shelf.

  The thud of a power screwdriver echoed from the back room.

  Sophia nudged my forearm. “Dollar he says yes if you ask him to dinner.”

  “Two dollars says nosy yourself out of my dating life,” I countered.

  “Not until you’re sickeningly happy,” she said, and didn’t blink.

  When he came back to the kitchen, Estell at his side, he dusted his hands and grinned. “Shelf is solid now. You could probably store bricks on it.”

  “That’s perfect, thank you!” Estell beamed. “Want some cookies?”

  “Sure,” Kane said, easy. “They smell incredible. Been torturing me for ten minutes.”

  “Sit,” Estell commanded, gesturing to the end of the table. “Elijah, serve the man cookies.”

  Was there a polite way to crawl under the rug and die? No? I grabbed a plate, shaking off powdered sugar, and handed it to Kane.

  “Um. Whatever you do, don’t let them wrangle you into judging,” I whispered. “They’re holding me hostage as taste tester, unless you’re into old ladies shoving cookies down your throat.”

  He took a bite of lemon bar first, wincing a little when the zing hit. “That’s bright,” he said. “But good.”

  Sophia looked smug. Mabel, not to be outdone, shoved the fudge brownie at him next.

  “Too late,” I said under my breath. “You didn’t escape fast enough.”

  Kane didn’t hesitate. He inhaled the whole square, then made a sound that was suspiciously close to a moan. “Damn. That’s amazing.”

  I wanted to hear that moan again. In my bedroom. While naked.

  She preened. “Told you.”

  “I don’t mind being held hostage with you,” he whispered when the ladies moved to the stove to pick out other cookies to fatten us up with. “At least we’ll be in it together.”

  Nope. Uh-uh. I was ignoring that comment. My sugared-up brain was not ready for it.

  I poured him coffee from the pot, trying not to let my hand shake. My cheeks probably looked radioactive, but whatever.

  Mabel and Sophia exchanged glances, clearly pondering ways to get more compliments from Kane, but they kept it subtle, just beaming like proud aunts. Estell stayed busy with the box of ornaments in the corner, though she snuck peeks over her shoulder.

  It was almost…normal? For a second, I felt something warm settle in my stomach, and it wasn’t just the million calories.

  Kane strolled over when the others got distracted swapping recipes. “Is it really safe in here?”

  I snorted. “If you survive the cookies, you get a medal.”

  He looked at my apron, then my face. “I like the slogan,” he said, deadpan.

  My throat closed up.

  Even though the ladies were busy, I felt their eyes glued to us. I motioned for Kane to exit the kitchen. They were already nosy enough. I didn’t need them prying in…whatever this was.

  “You live in this building or just hanging out with your friends?” Kane bit into a cookie I didn’t know he had in his hand.

  “Next door.” I never knew chewing could be so erotic.

  “No shit.” He grinned. I wanted to roll naked in sugar and beg him to lick it off. “I just moved in. Wanted to keep a closer eye on my granddad. Not in the same apartment though. His snores could wake the dead.”

  Same building. We were living in the same building? This building? My brain didn’t know what to do with that information.

  “Could use some help unpacking, if you’re free.” He glanced past me. “Bring some cookies.” His gaze once again fell to my apron. “Apartment 4C.”

  He walked out before I could answer him.

  Which was a good thing, because I had no idea what to say.

  * * * *

  Two hours and three outfit changes later, I examined myself in the bedroom mirror. Turned this way, then that, bent my knees a little to assess the jeans situation. Had my ass always looked this…optimistically padded? Hard to say.

  I tried a smile but ended up with something between a wince and a smirk. I was one catch-phrase apron away from a full meltdown.

  Because I apparently enjoyed indecision, I changed jeans then checked myself in the mirror for the last time, mostly to make sure I didn’t look like a deranged squirrel in human drag. The jeans were passably hot. The pink polo wasn’t exactly screaming “come fuck me,” but it didn’t make me look like I lived in a bingo hall, either.

  A step up.

  My hair had taken a solid ten minutes to de-flour, but I’d wrestled it into something presentable. My brain still couldn’t decide if I looked more like “fresh twink off the bakery line” or “tired event planner at a cousin’s wedding.”

  Either way, it would have to do.

  Cookies. I grabbed the plate, which I’d rearranged four times until Mabel’s ginger snaps looked properly intimidating and Estell’s spritz stars weren’t plotting a coup against the brownies.

  This was not a date. Not even a coffee hookup. It was neighborly.

  Casual. Just two guys and some sugar.

  Totally not a date.

  So I tried hard not to think about the fact that I’d shaved, applied lotion to every inch of skin, and checked my teeth for sprinkles.

  Still not a date.

  The hallway outside my apartment was dead quiet, except for the humming of discontented lighting, and I got a faint whiff of someone’s fried chicken. I walked with an exaggerated casualness, footsteps echoing in the corridor, literally passing the elevator before remembering Kane said he was on the fourth floor.

  With an eyeroll, I reversed course.

  Buttons were smudged with a year’s worth of fingerprints. I hit the “up” button, then tapped my foot while the elevator crawled up from the lobby.

  God forbid it ever be waiting on my floor. People designed these buildings for punishment. Great, now I sounded like Estell.

  Stepping in when the door slid open, I balanced the plate on my palm, trying to act natural. Each mirrored panel showed my dumb, hopeful face lit up with anticipation I was trying to suppress.

  If this didn’t work out, I still had the girls. They really were great friends, the best. One breakup a year ago had been pretty bad. It was Mabel, Estell, and Sophia who’d helped me through it.

  Mabel constantly made me soup, like I had a cold instead of heartbreak.

  Three knitted sweaters were tucked in the back of my closet, because Sophia had insisted I learn to knit away my pain. What I’d knitted would’ve frightened small children.

  Estell just kept asking for his address. I wasn’t sure if I was touched that she’d just wanted to talk to him or terrified because she’d just wanted to “talk” to him.

  Never found out which one.

  I arrived at four, then made the short shuffle to 4C. His damned door had a wreath with a plaid ribbon, tiny pine cones, even a little Santa that might’ve been glaring at me. I made a note to find out if his grandmother sent it or if Kane had bought it himself.

  If it was the latter, I was in so much trouble.

  After a deep breath, I raised my hand to knock.

  Dropped it.

  Went for it again.

  Drew back again.

  “You can totally do this,” I said under my breath, even as butterflies were unionizing in my belly. “Just raise your hand and knock.”

  Cradling the plate in one hand, I squared my shoulders and rapped my knuckles three times. This was it. No turning back. Unless he didn’t answer. Then I could run away and never show my face again.

  This is why you don’t have a dating life. The girls didn’t count.

  Except Kane swung the door open fast enough to jerk me from my spiral. Saliva pooled in my mouth. Sweet rainbow hell.

  He wore dark jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, sleeves hugging his biceps. He looked even better than two hours ago. Tall, relaxed, a little dangerous. Hair rumpled, mouth curved up at one side. The light caught his eyes, green-gold, bright enough to punch the air out of my lungs.

  “Hey,” he said. That was it. Just hey. Very chill, as though I wasn’t standing in his hallway trembling with a plate heaped with cookies.

  My only response was a dumb smile and a desperate urge to apologize for showing up. I didn’t.

  Instead, I offered the plate. Some of the cookies had started to slide. “Mostly cookies. Maybe a minor chemical weapon in the ginger ones.” My hand was a little clammy, but I pretended it wasn’t.

  Kane laughed, a low, warm sound I could feel all the way to my toes. “Good. I skipped breakfast, so this is perfect.” He took the plate right from my hands, fingers brushing mine. Warm, solid. He didn’t let go immediately, which did things to my insides.

  “Come in,” he said, stepping back. “Unless you’ve got a cookie delivery service and you’re rushing off to the next address?”

  I shrugged. “Not unless you want me to.”

  “Not a chance.” He set the cookies on the console table by the wall, sweeping a set of keys and his phone aside to make room.

  Stepping into his place was a shock. I’d pictured bare walls, boxes everywhere, maybe a ratty futon and beer cans. Instead, the apartment was nice. Actually nice-nice. Tasteful. The kitchen had granite counters. The living room held a broad, low-slung, chocolate-brown couch that looked criminally comfortable, a coffee table with books stacked up in neat piles, and a brushed-steel lamp in the corner glowing yellow against the gloom.

  Boxes lined the walls, but they were labeled, stacked. Not chaos, just in-process.

  Already, a Christmas tree stood by the window. Real, not plastic. Kane had strung it with tiny gold lights, nothing overdone but just enough to fill the corner with warmth.

  Stockings hung from a makeshift hook on the wall, and someone had unpacked a set of moose-themed Christmas mugs.

  The fresh pine smell surprised me.

  I inhaled deep, lips parting.

  A classic rock station buzzed softly from speakers somewhere down the hall, the kind of music that made you want to drive a muscle car through a thunderstorm.

  I didn’t even try to hide my envy.

  Kane caught me looking. “Trying to make it feel like a real place, you know?” His gaze flicked over me. “You want a drink? Coffee, Diet Coke, something stronger?”

  Coffee was safe. I clung to it like a life raft. “Coffee’s perfect. Unless you want to up the ante with beer?”

  He grinned. “I can do both, if you’re feeling bold.”

  “Not that bold. I bruise easy.”

  He padded to the kitchen, opening a drawer one-handed as I trailed after him, pretending I belonged anywhere near a countertop this clean.

  After setting the cookies on the counter, he poured mugs with practiced ease, thumb along the rim. He offered me first pick then sat on a barstool, shoving a hand through his hair.

  I tried to ignore the way he watched me over the edge of his mug.

  “So,” I said, breaking the tension, “what’s the plan? Or do you just want someone to taste-test baked goods while you unpack your sock drawer?”

  He gave a slow smile. “Bedroom’s the main issue,” he said. “Frame’s in pieces, mattress is living on the floor, and I’d like to stop tripping over my own shoes at three a.m.”

  I sipped the coffee. Hot, strong, hint of cinnamon. “I’m not great with manual labor, but I do know how IKEA hex screws work,” I said. “My last boyfriend made me assemble all his furniture. I’m basically the queer Bob Vila of this building.”

  Kane’s eyes sparkled, but he didn’t laugh this time. He simply gave a little head tilt, a tiny appraisal. “You’re more than you let on, aren’t you?”

  Blood shot straight to my face.

  Play it cool.

  I shrugged. “If you mean, can I eat an entire spritz cookie in one bite, then, yes, I have hidden talents.”

  He motioned to the boxes. “Bet you can. Bring the coffee. We’ll tackle the puzzle in there.”

  The bedroom was bigger than mine by a mile. The window was open a crack, letting in chilled rain-scented air. It made my skin prickle.

  Mattress was in the center, sheets rumpled, one pillow. His clothes were piled in a laundry basket. Kane’s scent filled the air, clean, musky, with a hit of whatever he’d showered with before I arrived.

  Bed frame parts sprawled over the carpet. Chrome. Real wood slats. Kane knelt among the pieces, reading directions with a furrowed brow, which was almost unfairly sexy.

  “Just so you know,” I announced, “there’s a fifty percent chance we’ll have two leftover bolts and a bed that can’t legally hold weight.”

  He laughed, short and sharp. “That’s what the floor is for.”

  Kneeling beside him, I studied the instructions while trying not to become dizzy from his scent. He handed me a plastic baggie of hardware, his fingers grazing my palm.

  Not an accident.

  My pulse quickened.

  Kane grabbed the end of the frame box. “Ready?”

  “Define ready.” I bent down, fingers gripping the cardboard. Fuck, it was heavy. My muscles protested instantly, but I didn’t quit. Kane barely seemed to notice the weight. He dragged it into the middle of the room, eyes on me the whole time.

  He wasn’t even winded, while I needed a nap.

  Screws went through the wrong holes twice, and the cross-support bar fell and nearly broke my ankle, but Kane steadied the slats while I tried to align things with a screwdriver.

  He smelled amazing, and every time he braced the frame or reached over my shoulder, his forearm flexed a little, close enough that I wanted to taste it.

  The bed wasn’t easy. Every time I leaned down, my shirt rode up. Kane didn’t miss once, eyes tracking the waistband of my jeans, but he never commented. There was just a hint of heat in the air, which I tried not to choke on.

  I managed to wedge my hand between two frame pieces and immediately flinched, shaking it out. “Ow!”

  “Careful.” Kane reached over and laced his fingers around my wrist on a warm grip. He checked for redness, then brushed his thumb across my knuckles. “Gotta be gentle with yourself.”