Half Moon Hill by Toni Blake

purposely leaned back a bit.
    Her heart beat too fast as she moved to the sink to wash the remnants of foam off her hand and she stayed there longer than she needed to, trying to gird herself against what, again, felt like intimacy.
    As she dried her hands on a dish towel, she found herself focusing on her every move, on her fingers, on the colors and texture of the towel itself—it felt weirdly as if time had slowed and everything before her had become more detailed and vivid. Because you’re nervous. You’re nervous as hell. Her movements now felt slow and wooden, too.
    But just do this. Do this and then it will be done. And then the closeness will be over once and for all. There won’t be any more haircuts or sprained ankles or near falls from ladders to bring your bodies back together again—and then you can just move on to fixing up the house, opening the B&B, and getting on with your new life in a good, healthy way.
    With those thoughts in mind, she turned boldly back toward him and retrieved the razor from the counter where she’d set it.
    Then she handed him a bowl for plopping the removed shaving cream into.
    And after that, she began carefully shaving his chin.
    She concentrated closely on her work, but also tried not to bring her face back too near to his. She tried to keep from looking into his eyes. She watched the dark, wiry hair come away and studied the bare skin the razor left behind. She made slow, smooth, steady downward swipes, one after another, revealing more and more of his face.
    It was strange to see him changing so dramatically right before her. She wouldn’t have believed it, but maybe she’d actually grown accustomed to him being all hairy and unkempt.
    He’d always worn a goatee before, but she didn’t know how to go about creating that, so she shaved all the hair away, bit by bit, her stomach tightening as she began to realize that . . . Duke Dawson was a much more handsome man than she’d ever realized.
    Even with the scar.
    When she got to that area of his face—which she left until last because it seemed like it would be harder to shave, easier to hurt him there—she found herself biting her lip, working ever so gently and carefully to remove the hair that partially covered it.
    She wondered if the skin there was more tender, if it caused him any pain to have her working around it. She wondered if it embarrassed him to know she was so very aware of his scar in that moment and that she was exposing still more of it. In fact, the scar was longer than she’d realized, stretching down his right cheek almost all the way to his jawbone. It reminded her that he’d been through terrible things and made her feel too tender toward him.
    That was when she lifted her hand to his other freshly shaven cheek, their eyes meeting. His skin was warm to her palm, his gaze paralyzing.
    What are you doing, touching him? Despite her best intentions, she’d brought her face far too close again.
    Lord. She wanted to kiss him.
    Her mouth literally ached from the longing.
    And—oh—from the look in his eyes, she thought he might want that, too.
    But wait. You can’t do that. You just can’t.
    So she sucked in her breath, dropped her hand, and stood upright next to him.
    Turning away, she set down the razor, steadied herself. Her heart rose to her throat, but she tried to push down all the awkward emotion and desire currently throttling her.
    You have to sound normal when you talk, not all breathy. “Okay, all done. Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to check out a mirror.”
    He took slightly too long to answer, and when he did, his voice sounded shallow. “Okay. Thanks.”
    It was only after he stood, set aside the bowl he’d held, and walked away that Anna let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
    It’s okay. You didn’t do it, you didn’t kiss him. And yes, this is crazy awkward. But it will pass. And he’ll act normal. And you’ll act normal. And everything will be