Trying not to wince at the pain, I hobble over to the oven as quickly as I can. My clumsy, unnecessary eagerness is embarrassing, but I just want to put an end to that conversation. I already know Elise and Grant think I’m unintelligent. They think that, because I run an inn for a living, it means I wasn’t capable of doing anything more.

But I love what I do. I chose this. I may not be saving lives like a doctor, but I provide a service which makes people happy. The most important thing, though, is that I work hard so I can ensure May will have the opportunity to pursue whatever career she chooses, because she’s capable of doing anything.

In my frazzled state, I open the oven door and reach inside with my bare hand. My fingers make contact with the hot metal cookie sheet before my brain catches up to me. “Shit!”

I yank my hand away, stumbling backward. I probably would’ve fallen on my ass, making an even bigger fool of myself, if it weren’t for the solid body right behind me. Both of Travis’s arms circle my waist and I sag in relief, letting him brace me for a second.

“Are you okay?” he asks, so close his breath tickles the side of my neck.

I try to tell him yes, but then the burning in my fingertips registers, and a tiny whimper escapes me instead.

“Come on.” He keeps me in his hold as he steps over to the sink, forcing me to go with him. He turns on the tap, and his hands are gentle as they guide mine under the cold water.

His chest remains solidly pressed against my back as he takes care of me. I feel like a child. And who knew he had these nurturing instincts? I’m the parent here. I’m supposed to be the one who’s good at this stuff.

I guess I am with May—just apparently not so much with myself.

“Now I understand why you don’t cook,” he says, his chuckle vibrating against me.

I’d turn around and shoot him a glare, if only I could move. He’s not holding me that tightly. But I seem to be under some sort of spell that’s made me lose control of my motor functions. I think I like being taken care of. Or maybe it’s him specifically. Maybe I like Travis taking care of me.

He keeps my hands under the water longer than probably necessary. Until I murmur, “It’s cold,” and then he lets go of me to turn off the tap. But he doesn’t step away.