Page 64 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“I can’t,” she whispered, staring at her rolls.

“It’s okay.” I took her mug and filled it up. This morning wasn’t about sex. Our casual relationship had burned us both. And this morning was her peace offering. “I get it.”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Casual didn’t work out. But how about something different? How about . . . neighbors?”

I nodded. “Neighbors.”

Pushing down my attraction to her would take some getting used to. But it was better this way. Wasn’t it? That’s what I’d been telling myself for two weeks. I didn’t need her in my bed. I’d just keep repeating it over and over until it stuck.

“I have a proposition for you,” Piper said, dishing up her enormous cinnamon rolls on two plates.

“I thought you wanted to just be neighbors.”

She giggled. “Not that kind of proposition.”

“Damn.”

She laughed again. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in building me a dining room table. I’m not sure what your availability is, but I wouldn’t need it for a while. But you know how I feel about your furniture. A custom Kaine Reynolds piece is something I just can’t live without.”

I walked over to the table and sat down, sipping my coffee. “My wait list is two years out.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “I’m not surprised. Can you add me to it? I can just get something temporary in the meantime.”

“Sure.” I sipped my coffee again, hiding a grin.

I’d finished her table three days ago. I might have been doing my best to ignore her, but that table had called to me, begging to be finished. It was currently covered in a canvas cloth in a corner of the shop.

Maybe I’d wait until her house was done, then show up with a surprise delivery.

A stir of anticipation ran through my body. I hadn’t given anyone a gift in years. I used to love giving presents, especially to Mom. She’d sacrificed so much, working long hours so we wouldn’t go without. As soon as I’d been able to afford decent birthday and Christmas gifts, I’d always gone above and beyond. Usually, all Mom had wanted were pieces of my furniture, so I’d set aside time in my schedule to craft my finest.

I would have done anything for Mom.

Which was why it hurt so much that she’d chosen him instead of me.

“Here you go.” Piper set a plate and fork in front of me, then sat with her own.

With the aroma of soft bread, sugar and spice wafting into my nose, all thoug

hts of the past and my mother disappeared. It was steaming, but I cut a huge piece of the cinnamon roll and shoved it in my mouth.

“Oh, Jesus,” I groaned after swallowing the first bite and digging in for more. “This is going to save my life.”

Piper giggled, covering her full mouth with one hand. “I’m glad.”

I demolished that first cinnamon roll, then went back and polished off two more. “Magic. Maybe even better than the cake.”

“No way,” Piper scoffed. “But a close second.”

“Where you’d learn to cook?” I asked, neither of us in a hurry to leave the table. The dirty dishes rested between us as we drank the last of the coffee. “You’re good at it.”

“Lots of places.” She shrugged. “Most of my food comes from things I’ve tried and tweaked. Magic cake I learned to make from my aunt. The cinnamon rolls are my mom’s recipe. In high school, I took a cooking class and learned how to make the best pie crust I’ve ever tasted.”

“Pie?” My ears perked up. I’d take pie over cake any day of the week.

“If I promise to bring you a pie on a regular basis, will that move my dining room table up your waiting list?”

I chuckled. “It can’t hurt.”