I was seeing Rowan Derrick without his baseball cap, sleepy in my kitchen.

His dog was sleepy in my kitchen too. Maggie was napping in front of the French doors, her head lifting up to stare at me in good morning before it flopped back down onto the floor.

Memories of last night rushed toward me. It wasn’t like I’d forgotten last night... I wasn’t wasted; my inhibitions were just loosened. But they were in full force now. And embarrassment, hot and thick, rushed up my throat at the memory of just how brazen I’d been.

My eyes darted away from his, finding the coffee machine. “You made coffee?” I asked even though he obviously had, my voice croaky.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rowan’s head swivel toward the machine. “Attempted to. Gotta admit… after tastin’ the coffee at the bakery and realizing what shit I’d been drinking for most of my adult life, I shelled out for an espresso machine. Not one as fancy as this, though.”

I smiled at that. The coffee machine was similar to the one at the bakery, just not on an industrial scale. It was my pride and joy. Stainless steel, shiny, serving as both a piece of art in my kitchen and an instrument necessary to my survival.

His large hands entered my field of vision as they fastened around a steaming mug. “Don’t know if it’s shit. Don’t know how you take it either.”

I focused on the mug then quickly took it from him. Despite my best efforts, our fingers brushed, and my body heated once more. Not with embarrassment this time.

“I take it black,” I replied, thankfully taking a large sip.

“You, the queen of sugar, take your coffee black?” Rowan clarified, obviously surprised.

I grinned into the mug, still not brave enough to look him in the eye. “Well, every other part of my life is sweet to the point of sickly. Gotta even it out a little with some bitter,” I joked lamely.

Oh god. There I was... the dork.

But Rowan did not think I was a dork. Or if he did, he did a good job hiding it behind his warm smile.

“Can I make you some breakfast?” I offered after taking another sip of the coffee, which did nothing to warm me up like Rowan’s smile did.

“You’re always offering to feed me.”

“Well, you’re always in my kitchen at mealtimes,” I countered.

“Wouldn’t call this a mealtime.” Rowan glanced out to the darkness once more.

“Touché.” I took another sip of my coffee, feeling more human by the moment. “I don’t eat this early either. I usually eat at the café once I’ve done my first round of baking.”

He nodded slowly, then we lapsed into silence. I couldn’t tell whether it was comfortable or awkward. I couldn’t trust my judgment right then.

Especially with Rowan’s eyes on me.

I was wearing white today—which was playing with fire considering the amount of chocolate I handled. My tailored pants were high on the smallest part of my waist, an emerald green, chiffon, flouncy blouse tucked in. The sleeves came to my elbows, long enough to cover my bruises but not long enough to get in the way while I was baking.