I had it bad.

As did our chief, apparently. He wasn’t looking at me or anyone else, just Lori. He paused in the doorway, his jaw hard as he considered her with intensity, with something that could only be described as longing.

I was the only one who noticed it since he got a hold of himself quickly, visibly shaking himself out of it before striding over for a man-huddle with Lori’s brother.

Love was in the air, it seemed.

* * *

My entire body relaxed when Rowan sauntered through the door of the bakery. And it was a saunter. Not forced or on purpose. He just had a way about him. His walk communicated that he was a man in control of his body, of everyone and everything around him.

When his eyes locked on mine, an ache formed between my legs, need thrumming through my body.

I remembered last night, me on my knees in front of him, him… eating me. My whole body quivered with the memory.

Rowan’s eyes flared, and his lips turned up in a smirk as he noted my blush, likely having guessed what was going through my mind right then.

Kip followed behind him, and I noted the strange, intense look on his face directed at Fiona—who was clearing tables—before a lazy grin settled over it, covering up that foreign look.

I didn’t have time to ponder what that meant because Rowan had rounded the counter and pulled me into his arms for his usual greeting. I was well past protesting by then. And the bakery customers were all used to it too.

We were officially a ‘couple,’ by our small town’s standards, at least. Rowan had informed me that at least three different people had threatened his life and limbs should he hurt me, including Dot who made sure to mention her baseball bat.

“What is it?” Rowan asked when he stopped kissing me.

He was still holding me tight, studying me intently. It was unnerving that the man could read me so well.

“It’s nothing.” I shook my head, trying to school my expression, not realizing I was still wearing the unease from Claire’s visit.

My stomach had been churning all day, including a sharp throbbing in my side. The physical manifestations of my anxieties had taken a hiatus since Rowan and I had become… Rowan and I, but I wasn’t cured. I was never going to be cured. Not unless I underwent some extensive therapy, and I really didn’t want to open up that can of worms.

I could live with it. But I wondered if Rowan could. If it would affect his feelings for me. Sure, he knew I was dorky, maybe slightly neurotic, but he had no idea just how fucked-up I really was.

And no matter how unhealthy it was, I was planning on hiding that from him for as long as I could.

I tried to pull out of his grip, but as always, that didn’t work. He held me tightly, watching me with concern.