Page 37 of Resting Beach Face
“Ooh, those look fabulous!” Jasmine turned toward the door that led into the kitchen. “Abe!”
A giant of a man came through the swinging door, brow furrowed. Jasmine pointed toward the strawberries. Without a single word, he picked them up and returned to the kitchen.
“Sorry, he’s focused on baking right now,” Jasmine said.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, thinking of my own less than stellar people skills. “He should apply his talent where it’s best suited.”
The same way I will by going back to the finance sector.
By leaving Swallow Cove.
Leaving Cash.
The memory of kissing him resurfaced. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not so much the kiss itself. It wasn’t the warmth of his lips, his small gasp of surprise, or the firmness of the body leaning into mine that played on a loop through my mind.
It was the sweet ache in my chest that bloomed and spread into warmth. It was the look in his eyes when we parted, a look that said I was the most important person in the room. Cash had always looked at me that way, tempting me to try again, to trust that this time it would be different.
But it was never different. Three failed relationships was evidence enough of that.
And now I’d gone and agreed to this foolish plan that would mean spending even more time around him.
My stomach fluttered, and I huffed in annoyance. I wasnotgoing to develop some kind of schoolboy crush now. Not after deflecting Cash’s interest for the better part of two years. Not after making the choice to finally leave town.
I said goodbye to Jasmine and carried my pastries to my boat, waving distractedly when Fisher called out a greeting from the dock in front of the Bait & Swallow fueling station near the marina as I passed.
I let myself in through the back entrance of the B&B after I docked, going straight to the kitchen to transfer the pastriesfrom the box to the serving platter. I arranged the cinnamon rolls around the outer edge, then the larger tarts formed the next circle, with the scones piled in the center. In the space remaining, I placed fresh strawberries.
“Looks almost as delicious as you do,” a low voice murmured behind me.
I jumped, tilting the platter and sending my carefully arranged pastries tumbling over one another.
Cash must have come in the front entrance. I shot him a glare over my shoulder. “Really?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He held out a large coffee cup. “Picked you up theCinnamon Do-Me Lattefrom Just The Sip. Don’t worry. I know you won’t actuallydo me.” He winked. “A guy can dream, though.”
Cash was a flirt. With everyone. It was something I’d learned to let roll over me. But today—after giving in to the urge to kiss him—it didn’t blow right by me, but danced along my skin, making heat rise in my cheeks.
“You know my coffee order?” I asked, seizing on the only part of our exchange that wasn’t a landmine.
“Of course I do.”
“Most people assume I take my coffee black,” I mused.
“Most people haven’t seen how much chocolate gravy you pour over your biscuits,” he said. “Or how much syrup you drench French toast in when you make it. Or how much sugar you add to?—”
I picked up a scone and shoved it into his mouth.
“Mmph.” Cash raised his hand to take the scone from his mouth, but only after taking a bite and chewing with a hum of pleasure.
I’d forgotten how many breakfasts he’d spent at the B&B. After rolling out of bed with one of my guests. I took a drink of my coffee to hide my scowl.
Of course, he knew my breakfast preferences. I knew his, too. That’s why I’d subconsciously requested the lemon-raspberry scones, wasn’t it? I’d known for two days that Cash would come by this morning to tour the property and come up with a plan of attack for renovations.
The cinnamon dolce was delicious as usual, the sweetness and spice of cinnamon and sugar blending with the bold espresso flavor. I gulped half of the cup before I could stop myself.
Cash finished the scone, chasing it with a few swallows of his own coffee from Just The Sip. I nodded toward it.
“You like the DP, right?”
