Chapter 7

ChapterSeven

Sadie

I have Viennese Whirl cookies and butter tarts—Mom was Canadian. She met Dad on a girl’s trip to Arizona and she never left. That was how intense their love was. Her parents didn’t want anything to do with her after she did that, moved to another country. Her parents didn’t seem to be all that great anyway, so it was nice to think she had Dad, and she had his parents too. Until they passed. Along with the Whirl cookies and butter tarts, I have Dad’s favorite peanut butter and marshmallows squares, otherwise known as confetti squares.

I also made sugar cookies. The cute cut-out kind with the icing. I made these because Lucy said they were her husband’s favorite. And I figure if they were her husband’s favorite, they’re a familiar cookie to Nick. Maybe I can sweeten him up with a cookie or two, being that he likes sugar.

The icing decorating my sugar cookies isn’t the kind of icing that makes the cookies look fancy. I don’t like that icing. It tastes off. I like the icing that’s thick and creamy. So that’s what I have on my Christmas sugar cookies. They’re red and green with sprinkles of gold, and although they look like something a five-year-old might have whipped up, they also look freaking delicious.

I love them.

I’ve piled samples of fresh treats on a big plate, and I’m on my way to Nick’s office. He’s been in there for hours. Honestly, it takes hours to bake all this, and I haven’t seen him at all. He didn’t come out for lunch, and it’s almost dinner. I’m not even sure he ate breakfast.

I feel like shit. I have felt like shit since I said what I said.

I’d been joking, but he didn’t take it as a joke. I think he might even be sensitive.

There’s nothing wrong with that. I kind of like it. Maybe once I know how to handle it, I’d appreciate it a little more. But I’d hurt him, even though I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

The door next to my bedroom is closed, so I figure it definitely is his office. My heart feels like it’s in my throat as I lift a fist and knock.

He calls out instantly, “Yeah?”

I’m not sure if ‘yeah’ means I have permission to enter, but I twist the knob anyway. The door opens and I see him instantly. He’s sitting; a big man behind a big desk. His hair looks mussed, like he’s run his fingers through more than once. His eyes, even though I’m sure he has to be tired after sitting here staring at a computer for hours, are sharp on me. Tingles erupt on my skin as his gaze moves from my body, landing on the plate.

“You baked,” he observes.

“You couldn’t smell it? I mean, I know you have the door closed, but surely you smelled the sweet aroma of baking in your kitchen?”

I’m trying to be funny, but he doesn’t crack a smile. “I was distracted. I’ve been working.”

“Right,” I breathe, repeat, “Right.” Pulling in a shaky breath, I force a smile that feels brittle and shaky as I cross the distance between us. “I brought you a plate. I thought—I thought maybe since you like sugar in your coffee that you also might like sweets. It’s a peace offering.”

I slide the plate across the desk, but his eyes stay fixed on my face. He does this thing where he looks at me with the intensity of a black hole. I feel like he’s pulling me in. Like there’s nowhere I can run. Nothing I can escape to. If there’s a time where I ever do fall in, I’m not sure I’ll ever climb back out. I’m not sure I would want to.

There could be peace in that darkness…

“What do I need a peace offering for, Sadie?” My heart clenches. I feel emotion clog my throat because I like when he calls me Sunshine better than Sadie.

“I didn’t mean it. Not the way that it came out,” I explain, feeling pathetic.

He leans back in his chair. He angles his jaw up to me, his expression one of dark thought as he crosses thick arms over a thicker chest. “Mean what?”

I shift. He’s really going to make me do this. “I didn’t mean it when I said I wanted to escape. I don’t.”

One brow arches. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.” I close my fists nervously over the cuffs of my sleeves. “I’m quite happy here.”

I can’t be certain, but I think that’s surprise that flashes in his eyes.

“You’re happy here?”

“Yes. Very.” I gesture around me. “You have a lovely home. You have an amazing kitchen—I mean, you have a double wall oven.” I nod to the cookies on the plate. “My favorite are the Whirls.”

He lifts a big hand, fingering the cookies. “These?”

He doesn’t wait for my reply as he lifts the cookie to his mouth, taking a big bite.

I’ll start by saying that I’ve never had a serious boyfriend, and therefore, apart from Dad, I’ve never cooked for a man. Not ever. Watching Nick take a big bite out of something I’d made—for him—it’s affecting.

My stomach literally pulses, and I feel an intense heat sweep through my entire body. In the back of my mind, I know what this is. I just don’t want to know. Because like everything else in my life as of late, it’s insane. That pulse and this heat—it’s arousal. Desire. Hunger…

I want this man. My body wants him.

My heart might even want him. I’m not sure. My thoughts feel muddled and confused.

I’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours and he’s accomplished what no man in my life has accomplished in my twenty-two years.

How can this be?

His voice, deep and rumbly and decadent infiltrates my thoughts. “Cookies are good, Sadie. Really good.”

“I thought it was Sunshine,” I say, and am flooded by instant regret.

I hadn’t meant to let him know that I like it when he calls me Sunshine. It’s silly. It’s inappropriate. And it’s not something strangers say to each other.

Or maybe it is. I don’t know. Like I said, there’s no handbook for this situation.

Damn Lucy.

“Sunshine,” he says gently, but even though it’s gentle there’s a roughness to it.

When he calls me Sunshine, I suddenly feel like I do need to escape. Like if I don’t, he’ll devour me. Nerves have my limbs moving to the door.

I’m still facing him, walking backwards as I call, “Well, I’m glad you like them. It’s almost time for dinner. And I don’t know how much more work you have to do. But I’m hungry. I was thinking of making something. I don’t know what yet. I haven’t—I haven’t really snooped through your freezers or your fridge. Or,” I stop talking because he is definitely amused. As he watches me, lazily leaning back in his chair, I feel my face heat to an impossibly hot shade of red. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry.” I’m so embarrassed, I almost want to cry as I admit quietly, “You make me nervous.”

He tips his head to the side, surprised. “I make you nervous?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “I think you would make pretty much any woman nervous, Nick.”

He frowns like he doesn’t know what to make of me. He’s not the only one. Then he speaks, “I planned to grill steak tonight.”

“Of course,” I laugh, feeling silly. “You cook.”

“I do.” He leans forward in his chair, his hand moving to the keys on his laptop. “I’ll see you soon, Sunshine.”

“Okay,” I breathe, or maybe I wheeze—and then I run from his office. Desperate to escape, to regroup, to get a friggin handle on my friggin emotions.

What the hell is going on?