Layla woke to the aroma of cinnamon and baking dough, a scent that followed her outside through the manor's open windows when she left for her morning run with Kenzie and Marshall. She knew it meant that Dawson was busy inside, whipping up something that had her mouth watering.

She managed to keep herself away from the kitchen long enough to take a shower and change into a linen button-up and a pair of loose, ripped jeans. Her parents had thought her packing seemed excessive, but she was glad she ignored their advice and had packed more than just workout gear and summer clothes—the dress she brought came in handy for the unexpected girls' night, and now that the weather was cooling down, she was glad to have the warmer options.

Once she was dressed, she couldn't help herself from heading downstairs, feet guiding her through the bright house towards the source of the hunger-inducing scents. Towards Dawson, she knew, which she wouldn't admit was part of the reason she couldn't stop herself from stepping into the kitchen.

He looked up at the sound of the door, hands stilling, both filled with the large blob of dough that was resting on the wax-paper covered island. The smile he gave her made her glad she was holding onto the doorframe. "Hi."

"Hi," she returned, coming all the way inside and letting the door swing behind her. She centered herself with a deep breath. So what if it was the first time they'd been alone since his confession? So what if the memory of it had her heart racing harder than it had been during the morning workout? "It smells amazing."

"Figured I'd get some pies made for the store," he explained. He looked incredibly domestic in a white apron and with a smear of flour on his cheek. The sleeves of his worn flannel were rolled up to his elbows, and Layla found herself distracted by his golden skin and the way his hands worked the dough. "Wanna help?"

She did, and it scared her. Almost as much as the realization that she wanted those hands on her,  wanted them against her skin and tangled up in her hair. It was all the more reason that she shouldn't say yes. Going in there for a quick visit was one thing, but being alone in the kitchen with Dawson for potential hours... "I would, but... I'm not so great at making food."

He tilted his head, narrow eyes studying her. "What about all those recipes you sent Kenz?"

"They're from the nutritionists my parents hire." She strolled through the room, pausing to glance into the double oven. Every rack had two pies on it, each looking like something out of a magazine. On the counter beside them, eight sat cooling, glistening and golden brown. "I try to make them, sometimes, but... Well, let's just say my smoke detector hasn't lived a quiet life."

The laugh that bubbled out of him was well worth the embarrassing confession. "How about chopping?" He nodded to the apples sitting on a cutting board at the end of the island. "You were doing fine the other day with the candles, 'till I came in and riled you up. How is that cut, anyway?"

She raised the hand that had gotten hurt to show off the healed wound, now just a fading red line. "All better."

"Good. I am sorry about that, you know. I should be glad you didn't use that knife on me."

"Well," her voice was light and joking as she stood behind the cutting board, picking up one of the apples and the knife next to them, "Since you apologized."

God, she really was helpless. But why shouldn't she stay? She could control herself, her thoughts. She'd be back in the city before she knew it, and damn it, she wanted to enjoy herself while all this lasted. Didn't she deserve an hour or two in the kitchen with Dawson, drowning in that fuzzy feeling?

It would be useless to avoid it, anyways. Even if she went upstairs and opened her laptop to work, she would only sit there and think about all the fun she might have had if she'd stayed here. She'd still be thinking about his hands whether they were a few feet away or if there was an entire floor between them and her body.

"Thank you." He turned with a smile to grab an aluminum pie pan from the stack behind him. "Normally I get help from my dad, but he's at work today. And Kenzie's got that meeting with the contractors, so she'll be gone for awhile."

"And Jack?" She began chopping, following his quick direction on sizing the chunks.

"Jack's got his own things to worry about, with all the new stuff going on around here. Plus, if we were alone in this kitchen together for more than a few minutes, and I got to bossing him around, he  probably would  use a knife on me." He laughed, shaking his head. "He doesn't like being told what to do. Especially if I'm the one telling him."

The other twin seemed like a total mystery to Layla when compared to the rest of the family. The rest of the McAden's were happy to talk about themselves, sharing stories and anecdotes about their lives. Their personalities were varied, but all sincere and kind—even Dawson, who had her fooled for a while. But Jack, since the day Layla arrived, had spoken about nothing but business. Whether it was the orchard or Foster Fitness, that was it.

"Has he always been so dedicated to the orchard?"

"If by dedicated you mean insufferable, no. This one-track mind crap didn't start until... well, I don't know when, exactly. I came back from college and he was like this." He shrugged a shoulder as his hands began delicately molding the edges of the crust into gentle waves. It was entrancing to watch the expert movements, far too soft for a man so brash. "You go to college?"

"No. I thought about it, you know..." she eluded to the conversation they'd had outside at her car, "but then there was no reason to go. I love working in fitness—I always have. I just got lucky, I guess, being born into it."

"Hey, I know how that goes." He gestured vaguely to the kitchen. "Don't know what I'd be doing if it wasn't this."

"Wish I could have been born into my calling here, instead of New York," she admitted. Even though her eyes were trained on her cutting, she could feel Dawson turn to look at her. Despite what she wanted to believe, she knew the goosebumps rising on her skin weren't from the breeze coming through the open windows.

His voice was gentle when he asked, "Why's that?"

She let out a breath as she tossed an apple core into the trash, turning back to face him, watching him work. "I... I don't know. I'll just miss it here, I guess. I like the open spaces. I like the people."

She liked this. Being in the kitchen with Dawson making pies on a Thursday morning, not worrying about meetings or anything else. She liked working with Kenzie and Marshall and getting to know them as people, people who wanted to know her as more than just a workout coach.

"Well, Red View's not exactly overpopulated. There's always room for one more."

She smiled, and let herself toy with the idea for just a second. Moving into the River's Edge apartments, spending weekends with Kenzie and Annie in town. Stealing moments like this with Dawson and seeing where these feelings took her. Finding out if what he said the other night could really work out.

"But then," he continued, drawing her from her thoughts, "I guess you couldn't run your country-wide business from a little place like this. I know it means a lot to you."

She shrugged, wondered why she was about to refute that when it was the prefect excuse, and yet still couldn't stop herself. "Bride and Groom Boot Camp isn't so special to me because of the concept—I mean, I'd be just as happy running a Pilates studio or teaching yoga classes. The reason I care about it so much... I guess, for once, I just wanted something that was mine. Or, as mine as I could hope for, where Foster Fitness is concerned."

"Well in that case... Red View could use a gym, you know." He stopped his work on the crust, resting his hands against the counter as he looked at her. "There hasn't been one since I was in high school. The owners moved, and it's been vacant since. We both happen to know a real estate agent who could get you a good deal."

"I..." She smiled, letting out a quiet laugh. "It's a nice thought."

"But just a thought."

She nodded, smile faltering. "Yeah. At least I'll get to come back for the wedding."

He walked by her to the ovens, opening the top one to check on the pies. "You bringing Colin?" The question was casual, almost too casual when comparing it to how he usually asked about her fiancé.

"Um, I don't know. He might be busy. Or he might just not want to come." Or, most likely, she would rather not bring him. It would all feel like another level to the lie.

"Why not?" He left the ovens, but instead of going back to his spot, he rested a hip against the countertop beside her. She wondered if he had any idea how hard his proximity made it for her to focus. She was glad she hadn't started slicing another apple—with her nerves so jittery, she might have another accident.

"Colin isn't much for social events that don't involve getting wasted. Not unless they're part of some plan to make him more money, like brunch with a sponsor or golfing with business partners."

"So you two enjoy golfing together, then?"

She couldn't help but grin, even as she gave him a warning look. "Funny."

"Layla, tell me something." Dawson waited until she turned to him, giving him her full attention, to continue. "When you go back to New York... Who do you talk to?"

"Who do I talk to?" she repeated, pretending to not understand what he meant. She was afraid she knew exactly what he was asking, and her answer wasn't one she was eager to share.

"Yeah. And I don't mean about the business, or your wedding plans, or what the weather's like. I mean who do you talk to like this? Who do you work out with on the weekends, or grab a bite to eat with on your lunch break?"

"I don't really have the time to make friends." It was a lie, and she hated herself for how quickly it left her mouth. She sighed, shifting her gaze away from his eyes. "That's not true. I just don't. I'm not good at it—I never learned how."

"You seem to do just fine, from where I'm standing."

She looked at him again, but didn't know what to say. It hadn't really been her doing. It was the warmth of his family that had gotten her to open up—she didn't think anyone could resist.

"I didn't forget about what you told me, about people using you for your success. But I also don't like the idea of you being lonely, Layla."

"Better lonely than hurt, right?" she managed, expecting him to understand. But there was no smile or laugh, no nod of agreement.

"Sometimes it ends up being the same thing." His voice was low and soft, but it didn't stop the words from hurting. She knew they were true. Now that she knew what it was like to feel like a part of something, to feel like someone's friend, the idea of going back to solitude filled her chest with a dull ache.

She wanted to stay. She wanted more workouts with Kenzie and Marshall, more dinners with the McAden's. And she wanted this, this closeness with Dawson that had her pulse going haywire. She wanted him to touch her again, even for a second.

Her gaze flickered down to his mouth, and she let herself wonder just for a second what it would be like to kiss him. Her hands ached with the longing to reach up and cup his face, her body yearned to close the gap, to know what it would be like to have him pressed against her.

How could she leave all of this? How could she go back to the city and stand at the altar next to Colin and feel nothing, when standing in a messy kitchen with Dawson made her feel everything?

When she looked up at his eyes again, she found them trained on her own mouth, a pool of dark brown beneath long lashes. He'd never looked at her so gently, tenderly enough to make her knees weak. Everything in her numbed, then came back to life all at once with a yearning strong enough to tear her apart. She wanted him to lean in, even as she told herself not to. It was only when he inched forward that her body finally decided to listen to her brain, flinching back.

"I should—I have work," she mumbled, dropping her gaze as she stepped back, out of the bubble of longing that seemed to surround them. She looked at him only long enough to see him nod before hurrying out into the hall, heart pounding, regret already blooming in her stomach.

She paused against the wall to catch her breath, and when she reached up to run a hand through her hair, realized she was shaking. He would have kissed her. If she'd let him, he would have.

It was a good thing she didn't really have work—there was no way she'd could focus on anything other than that, especially not when she was caught between thanking herself and hating herself for preventing it from happening.

She should have moved, she should be glad that she did. And yet all she could think about was how badly she wished she hadn't.

A KISS?! 😳 WELL... ALMOST. but not quite 😉

Sorry I didn't update last week! I've been knee-deep in working on the sequel for this book haha. Since my plan is to post 4 times a month and I need to even it out to stay on my schedule, I'll be posting 5 updates in April to make up for it! 😅