A moment later, as the last drops of coffee dripped into the carafe, there was a knock on the door. I frowned. Who in the world was knocking on my door? It better be Girl Scouts with cookies to save the day.
I checked the peephole and had to look twice to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. Sunny was here? Why? No matter the reason, my entire body quivered at the sight of him, at the nearness of him, and just when I’d thought I had this under control.
I checked my phone after the second knock.
Sunny: I’m at your door.
Bhanu: Creeper.
Sunny:
Rebuking jitters never worked; they only got wilder, reverberating against every nerve, snapping them in half. My stomach tied into knots, the kind that sent flutters sweeping through my insides. I swore I was floating away.
I braced for a conversation about how badly we’d behaved and how it could never happen again.
Easy. I was leaving.
When I opened the door, I wasn’t prepared to be devoured by Sunny’s mere presence. Everything in my peripheral vision blurred.
Sunny stood a couple of feet away. So close that I could smell him. So close that his body heat prowled toward me like a hungry lover. He was tall and broad and took up space in the best way.
He had his hands behind his back, stretching the fabric of his black T-shirt over a broad chest and flat stomach, his chin high so that his hooded eyes were looking down at me with a hint of longing. His hair was its usual disheveled mess, and he was wearing the absolute glory out of a pair of gray joggers—that, um, showcased a bulge that I was well acquainted with. Damn, he looked fine. I couldn’t stop staring.
“My eyes are up here,” he said in that husky voice, one brow cocked and looking all kinds of smug.
Heat made its theatrical return across my cheeks and neck. “What are you doing here?” Great! I still knew how to use words, but they came out breathy, labored.
“I was hoping to talk.”
“Sunny. Really?” I groaned.
He closed his eyes, his expression relaxing. “Damn, I missed how you say my name.”
Wait. What? No, don’t jump to conclusions! But hope bubbled through me.
“Mmm.” He took a deep breath. “Did you make coffee?”
I nodded, wanting him to go back to what he was just saying. Who cared about the damn coffee?
He pulled an aluminum tray from behind his back. A reusable bag hung from his wrist. Sunny watched me as I frowned. He slowly peeled back the aluminum top. Okay. He had me intrigued, I gave him that. I peered over the lip, but he raised the container until I was stepping onto the threshold and on my tiptoes.
“What is that?” I asked, inhaling the sweet aroma of something delicious.
He was going too high now. I grabbed his forearms, careful not to make him drop the contents. His skin was warm, and my body raged. His scent of shampoo and soap and deodorant crashed over me. Our body heat met and mingled around us, and I was about one flirty move away from pouncing on him.
Sunny stilled as soon as our flesh made contact, his nostrils flaring. Just my hands on his arms, but enough to command us. Our eyes locked and I lowered his arms down. Well, actually, he lowered them. At this angle and with those muscles, I could probably hang from his forearms like a monkey, and he wouldn’t budge.
I released Sunny so he could proudly reveal a tray of golden triangular pastries with a sheath of glaze and bluish-purple filling that had bubbled out during baking.
“Blueberry turnovers?” I asked, suddenly starving.
“Ube,” he corrected, his voice sleek.
My eyes flitted up. “What!”
He grinned. “Ah, someone’s excited.”
“You came all the way here, in the Tacoma rain, to bring me ube turnovers?”
He nodded, as if this weren’t a big deal, as if people did this for each other all the time.
I smiled. “Where did you even find these?”
“I made them.”
“Shut up. You did not.”
“Come look at the mess in my kitchen and tell me I didn’t.”
“How…where…” I had so many questions, but my focus was pinned to the pastries. “These are for me?”
“If you’d like.”
“I’d like.”
“And extras.” He lifted the bag. “For your anxiety.”
“What?” I choked out.
