But Piper was charming-smile resistant. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“Shee-it,” Emmitt said on a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Excuse me a minute.”

When they were alone, Cam looked at her. “What did you tell him?”

“That if I caught him with alcohol or sweets, or anything not on his new diet, I was going to eat and drink it myself.”

He snorted.

“So how bad are you hurt?” she asked quietly. “And where?”

“I’m fine.”

He appeared okay but had his hands hidden in his pockets, so she suspected one of them was where he was cut. “I could just check—”

“Not necessary. I’m not your patient.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice laced with good humor now, along with what her hormones tried to convince her was heat.

“Why?” she asked.

“Maybe I’d rather be something else.”

Huh. Most definitely heat. She worked very hard at not responding to that but failed. “And what would that something else be?”

He just looked at her.

Oh, boy. She could deny it all she wanted, but she was one hundred percent attracted to him. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to be. “You said you weren’t flirting with me.”

“And you said you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not.” Shaking her head at the both of them, she moved to the kitchen in time to catch Emmitt hiding a box of cookies, two bags of chips, and a summer sausage. He was stuffing them into his pantry when she cleared her throat.

With a sigh, he turned to face her, looking only slightly ashamed of himself. “Hey,” he said. “Stressed is desserts spelled backward.”

Piper heard Cam’s sigh behind her, and she crossed her arms. “I made you lists, Emmitt. One with a bunch of great food options. Another with easy recipes. And a third with the rules and restrictions.” She pulled her journal from where it was still in her inside jacket pocket. “I kept the originals.”

Emmitt took the journal and read out loud. “Things I can do to help control my blood sugar. ‘Exercise three to four times a week, which can include walking, getting on a treadmill, or yoga.’” He swiveled a long look in Piper’s direction. “Yoga’s for uppity hipsters from California who eat avocados.”

“You’re from California. And I see you eat guacamole all the time. But fine. Skip yoga. Stretch instead. And eating right is everything.”

“Here’s another problem,” he said, jabbing a finger at her journal. “This here says no white foods.”

“Right,” she said. “Like sugar and starch—”

“I know what white foods are. I love them.”

Piper shook her head. “Emmitt—”