Cade’s broad shoulders relax. He takes two strides to his dresser, pulls out boxers, jeans, and a sweatshirt. He really looks incredible in that towel. Look away, I tell the voyeur. And just as I turn, he drops the towel and I get a fine view of his firm butt. I scramble backward and tumble in the snow.

Several seconds later, Cade yanks up the blinds. Kneeling on his bed, he cups his hand over his eyes and presses his forehead to the windowpane. He’s not wearing a shirt, but he has jeans on.

“Cade!”

“Logan?”

“It’s me,” I say, getting to my feet.

He unlatches the window and lifts the sill. “You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing here?”

“Making snow angels and freezing my butt off.”

He laughs, and it warms me to my toes.

He motions toward my path. “I’ll meet you at the back entrance.”

As I retrace my footsteps, I try to convince myself that the shiver that ran down my spine had nothing to do with seeing Cade in a towel. Suddenly, I’m much too hot in my winter coat. Who am I fooling? Best friend falls for her best friend. I am such a cliché and I hate clichés. I so need to shut this down. Besides, I’m pretty sure Cade doesn’t feel anything more for me than friendship. If he did, wouldn’t he have made a move ages ago?

I take a deep breath and let it go, watch the steam float away. The moment I reach the apartment door, Cade opens it for me. He’s fully dressed, including his rare Dimple Zone smile. I melt right there.

“So, you came for breakfast?”

He’s teasing. I’ve never come over for any meal uninvited, even though I’ve been told I’m welcome anytime. I pull off my hat and gloves. “I got your text last night and I texted you back. If you’d had your phone on, you’d know why I’m here.” To punctuate the point, I spread my arms wide, then hang my coat on a hook as I inhale heaven. “Oh man. Nana made cinnamon rolls?”

“Fresh out of the oven.” His eyes shift to my hair, then back to my face. His lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. I reach up, smooth down the strands as tiny sparks of electricity make my palm tingle. He shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and leans against the wall. “What did the text say?”

I sigh dramatically. “It said that I emailed Mr. Bartley and asked him to meet us before school to discuss the assignment.” I reach into my coat pocket and once again check my email. Mr. Bartley still hasn’t responded.