“Got it.” He picked up the plates and retrieved the items she mentioned while she put her water in the microwave and poured his into the coffeemaker. “I’m going to enjoy every bite of this. Homemade cake isn’t on my menu very often these days.”

“Not a baker, huh?”

“Not a chef, period. I don’t have the time—or the inclination—for the culinary arts. I’m more in Cate’s camp—eating is my specialty.”

“I don’t dally in the kitchen, either. If I have any openings in my schedule, I’d rather bike or spin. But I know all the basics.”

He inspected the cake. “This is way beyond the basics.”

“I do excel at a few items.”

She swiveled away and fiddled with the coffeemaker. While she’d shared pieces of her history with him over the past eight days, he’d told her nothing about his background other than a brief reference to his grandparents. Yet he had mentioned his childhood a few minutes ago. Would he be willing to offer her a few tidbits about his growing-up years tonight?

Why not test the waters?

“So did licking the knife bring back happy memories from your childhood?” She kept her tone casual and conversational.

Behind her, the thump of ceramic against wood told her he’d deposited their plates on the table.

Several silent seconds ticked by.

Shoot.

Introducing a potentially sensitive subject had been a bad call.

Fix this, Eve, or he’s going to leave as soon as he scarfs down his cake. Like he did last time, after the subject of his grandparents came up.

“Um . . . do you want cream or sugar?”

Of course he didn’t. Brent was the kind of guy who took his coffee black and strong, with no hint of sweetness.

But the innocuous question would break the uncomfortable silence.

“No thanks.”

The microwave pinged, and she took out her mug. Added a bag of her favorite, soothing peppermint tea.

Yet as she retrieved his mug from the coffeemaker, the almost palpable tension emanating from her guest might be too much for even her favorite comfort beverage to overcome.

He shouldn’t have caved and accepted Eve’s invitation.

This cozy kitchen that invited the sharing of confidences was undermining his resolve to keep his distance.

Though truth be told, it had been crumbling from the moment he’d met her.

Brent regarded the cake he no longer wanted and curled his fingers in his lap.

Walking through her door had been his first mistake—but why had he set himself up for further danger by tossing out that remark about licking the knife . . . and childhood memories? If he hadn’t made that stupid comment, she wouldn’t have asked the follow-up question he’d ignored.

Thankfully she hadn’t repeated it. No doubt she’d realized it was an off-limits topic.

Or it had been all these years.