“It’s a maybe.”

Actually, it was a punt. Same as the day she’d pressed him for a loan at Sea Glass Cottage. And his ultimate intent was the same now as it had been then. To say no. But not tonight. He had to decide how best to frame it first.

Of course, that was the strategy he’d planned to follow with the loan request too—and look how that had turned out.

A wave of queasiness swept over him.

As if sensing that further pushing tonight would be unwise, Christi rose. “How soon do you think you could give me your answer?”

“By the weekend?” That would buy him two or three days to come up with a more solid excuse to refuse.

“There’s a meeting Sunday afternoon for all the participants and committee chairs Marci’s rounded up. I’m going to present my fleshed-out plan.” She waved the sheaf of papers in her hand.

“I can let you know before that.”

“Great.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, same time, same place.”

“Let me walk you out.”

“No!” She scuttled toward the door, papers crackling as she crimped them in her fingers, a hint of panic in her eyes. “My, uh, car’s close. I won’t get lost.” She flashed him a smile that seemed shaky around the edges.

Her message was clear.

She didn’t want a repeat of Tuesday night’s parting.

Neither did he.

“I’ll go as far as the porch.”

“That works.” She slipped out and hightailed it toward her car.

By the time he reached the threshold, she was already sliding behind the wheel of her Nissan.

He waited while she pulled out, watched until her taillights disappeared, then wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water.

A plate of what appeared to be homemade cookies sat on his counter beside the window over the sink.

Christi also baked?

That was definitely not a skill she’d had in St. Louis.

He crossed to the plate, worked the plastic wrap free, and pulled out a cookie. Sank his teeth into the crumbly richness, savoring the flavor as a chocolate chip dissolved on his tongue.

When had he last had homemade cookies—not counting the ones from Sweet Dreams that were as close to home baked as you could get?

Too long ago to remember. The only ones he could recall were his mom’s gooey butter cookies. They’d always been his favorite.

But these were a close second. Tender and delectable and tempting, with just the right amount of sweetness.

Like the woman who’d made them.

Jack finished off the cookie in two bites, brushed his hands over the sink, and surveyed the moon that cast a luminous glow on the landscape, mitigating the darkness.

Again, like Christi had done for his world since her arrival.