Adam usually wore workout clothes when they were together, such as athletic shorts and a tank top that showed off his toned, sculpted biceps. While she always appreciated good arm porn, the jeans and T-shirt look was somehow better.

He seemed…relaxed. And comfortable.

It was strange though. Before today, she’d never even been inside his home. Now, she was not only in it, but she’d showered in his bathroom and slept in his bed. Not that she was complaining. His small two-bedroom apartment had a quaint, homey feel.

On his bar sat a soy wax candle, flickering gently as it gave off a faint cinnamon aroma. At the other end, there was a miniature herb garden in a small wooden box that held three terra-cotta pots labeled BASIL, ROSEMARY, and THYME.

On the opposite counter, two salad plates overflowed with mixed greens next to a glass bottle that held some kind of homemade balsamic vinaigrette dressing that had slightly separated. A wooden cutting board sitting nearby on the counter was covered with a chopped tomato, leftover juice, a sharp-looking knife, and a bunch of scars in the wood.

Apparently Adam cooked. Who knew?

She cleared her throat, and his head whirled in her direction. Their gazes met, and his dark stare made her wish she hadn’t alerted him to her presence. Thick tension congested the air around them. She wanted to look away but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She needed to face him. More for herself than for him. But still…

After the sun they’d received today, the hard planes of his tanned face looked more rugged and manly than before. Veins bulged from his arms, and a muscle twitched in his corded neck. His face was stoic, and she couldn’t read him.

Had Michael told him about the crash diet? If so, what was Adam thinking? Should she say something? Should she wait for him to speak first? She didn’t know what she was supposed to do here.

Finally, he put her out of her misery with a smile. Yet unease still flared to life inside her. What if he was mad and didn’t want to say so?

Adam broke the silence first. “How are you feeling?”

Her shoulders relaxed as she attempted to joke with him. “About fifteen pounds lighter than I was a week ago.”

“I’m not interested in your weight,” he said with a lackluster tone. “I want to know how you feel.” He pivoted toward the stove.

Okay. So maybe he wasn’t mad. But he definitely wasn’t happy either. “I, uh, feel better. The nap helped a lot.”

“Good.” His tone was distant and remote.

She hesitated. “Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“Look at me.”

His back muscles tightened. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us. So if you’re going to be upset, then just give me a verbal lashing now and get it over with.”