And suddenly, some things crystallized for him that he had never realized before.

All the way down to the sugar cubes.

Sammy liked to take the lead so that she knew what was going to happen.

Of course.

And he hadn’t seen it because he was happy enough to labor under the impression that he was protecting her. That he was standing sentry, that he was the steady one. The rock. And by the very nature of those words, that he was in charge.

But it was her. And those careless dances she had done clearly had more intricate and carefully plotted footwork than he ever realized.

He took the sugar cube from the center of his plate and held it up. She looked at him quizzically. “Hold out your hand,” he said.

She obeyed, and then he held the sugar cube out just over her palm, hovering over the skin there. But he didn’t drop it in. Instead, he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing the tender skin on the inside of her wrist gently, knowing full well that his stubble scraped across her skin there. He felt her shiver. Her blue eyes were wide, full of questions, but she didn’t ask any of them. And then, he set the sugar cube in her hand.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to lay bait, Sammy Marshall.”

He took the cup of coffee off the table and lifted it as he stood. “I don’t need any bacon this morning. I have work to do. I will see you later, though.”

That was a promise. Both to him and to her.

And he knew Sammy was a smart enough woman to know that he always kept a promise.

He didn’t know exactly what the end goal of this game was. But what he knew for sure was that they were finally playing his, and not hers.

And that was a victory he was going to take.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SAMMY’S WRIST STILL burned hours later where Ryder had kissed it.

She had the sugar cube in her pocket, and her head felt fuzzy.

She had been filled with resolve this morning. She had laid a trap, very calculated. And she had spent all night planning that. She hadn’t even slept. Because she needed to make sure that she was in the house before anyone else got up, and she had needed to be sure that she was on hand to cook their bacon. A way to get back on the right footing. Almost a restart, she had purposed.

Because she had a lot of apologizing to do. And she was very good at apologizing. Because when you lived your life using spontaneity as a weapon you often had casualties, and she was just used to that.

Overstepping, stepping back, saying she was sorry. And as long as she smiled broadly enough people tended to be okay with it.

But he wasn’t... He wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do.