The temperature was in the twenties and her windshield had a layer of ice and snow on the glass. “I should have warmed up my car.”
“You need an automatic starter.”
She laughed. “I think my car’s too old for that sort of technology.” The ice covering the door cracked when she opened it. She ducked inside and started the engine. It sputtered like an asthmatic kitten.
“Take my car.”
She frowned, holding a pathetic little ice scraper. “What?”
He took the scraper out of her hands and reached for his keys. “I have four-wheel drive and my car’s still warm.”
“I can’t take your car.”
“Why not? You’ll bring it back in the morning. You’re only on the other end of town.” Her family lived on the mountain, and he didn’t want her sliding around on the back roads. “How are your tires?” If she was driving Addison around, he should probably make sure her vehicle was safe.”
“My tires?”
He reached into her car and shut off the engine, pocketing the keys. Lifting the box with the mixer, he walked it over to his SUV and put it inside. With the press of a button, the Escalade started.
“I’ll feel better if you take this. The roads are icy.” He held open the driver’s side door and she hesitated. “Please.”
She looked completely unsure, but he wanted her to take the car. He would feel safer. Somehow, she had become someone essential to his daughter’s life and his happiness, and he needed to keep her out of danger.
“Take the car, Skylar.”
She bit her lower lip and his cock twitched. “You’re sure?”
He was sure he wanted her body in his vehicle, her hands on his gears, and her scent trapped there for days. God, he was pathetic. He nodded and she climbed in.
He stood inside the door and watched as she buckled the seatbelt and adjusted the seat and mirrors, wishing he could do the simple task for her so he’d have an excuse to touch her. Something about seeing her held securely in place made him want to lean in and kiss her. Would she slap him if he tried?
Probably. He cleared his throat and forced himself to take a step back.
She gripped the wheel and gave an awkward smile. “This is weird.”
Distracted by the flour still dusting her jaw, he reached for her. “You have flour…”
She glanced in the mirror. “Oh.” Licking her thumb, she scrubbed the powder off. “I’m a graceless chef.”
More like graceful. He’d go as far as calling her angelic. More than usual, she smelled like cookies.
“Well, goodnight,” she whispered softly.
“Drive safe.”
“I will.” She glanced back at the house. “Your dinner’s getting cold.”
And Addy was waiting. He stepped back and shut the door, standing in the bitter wind until the taillights disappeared. Surprisingly, he wasn’t cold.
8
“Don’t take things from this house without asking, Skylar. I spent an hour looking for that mixer. Like I don’t have enough on my mind.”
“Sorry. You weren’t here and I didn’t want to bother you at work.”
Her mother plugged in the mixer and dumped a bunch of dry ingredients into the bowl, not measuring a single one. “Doesn’t he have his own appliances?”
“Not really. The house is pretty empty.”
“That big house? That can’t be true. He’s not the first mayor to live there.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not lived in. They have furniture and books and curtains, but it feels more like a museum than a home.”
Her mother cracked several eggs and plopped a stick of softened butter into the bowl, then set it to low. “Well, it’s not your job to provide these things. You’re going to have to be more assertive and ask him for the supplies you need. I’m going to be up until midnight making these cookies for Vinny’s class, now.”
This wasn’t about cookies. This was about one more thing filling her mother’s plate when she was already overworked, under rested, and stressed to the max. “I’ll help you.”
“I thought you had to pack.”
“I do, but I have all weekend.”
Her mom sighed. “Thank you.”
For the next two hours they worked diligently mixing, baking, and powdering several hundred Russian Tea cake cookies. Hannah interrupted once, needing help with an algebra assignment. Vinny and Ciera disturbed their process several times, asking for snacks and drinks until their mom threatened to call Santa if they didn’t go play. And James just camped out at their feet, playing with trucks, spatulas, and pots and pans.
The kids were all sleeping by the time the last batch was boxed up, and Skylar’s feet were killing her. Just after eleven, when they moved the boxes onto the table in the hall, her father came home, looking just as exhausted as her mom.
“Hey, Sky, what’s all this?” He hung his coat on the cluttered rack and toed off his shoes by the door.
“Cookies for Vinny’s cookie swap.”