Lakeside Reunion by Lisa Jordan

“Can I come in?”
    She wanted to wipe that silly grin off his face. As if he always crawled out of bed looking like a cover model for GQ . “And if I say no?”
    â€œYour choice.” He shrugged and turned away.
    Lindsey’s conscience gave her a mental kick. She sighed. Why was he always around when she looked her worst? “Wait.” She stepped back for him to pass, then shut the door. She crossed her arms over her chest.
    Stephen handed her a white bag.
    â€œWhat’s this?” She took it, inhaled the delicious aroma of cinnamon and sugar and looked inside. Two yeasty swirled rolls half-wrapped in tissue sat in the bottom of the bag.
    â€œA peace offering.” Stephen shoved his hands in the front pockets of his faded Levi’s, leaning one shoulder against the wall near the refrigerator.
    â€œFor what?”
    He rubbed a hand across his nape. “Truce. I acted like a jerk last night—”
    â€œGlad to know we finally agree on something.”
    â€œCan I continue?”
    â€œOh, by all means. You were saying something about being a jerk.”
    â€œLook, I’m sorry. I just wanted to say thanks for bringingTy home. The kid took about ten years off my life. I appreciate your kindness even though I didn’t show it last night.” He paused and held her gaze a moment. “Being in the cemetery must have been tough for you.”
    Lindsey looked down at her feet. Tough? Every second spent in Shelby Lake was tough. But she didn’t say that. “I probably owe you an apology. I said some mean things yesterday at the hospital. You were only trying to help. I was just so upset about Mom, and my mouth opened before my brain could properly supervise.”
    The corner of his mouth twitched. “We’re even, then. Truce?” Stephen stuck out his hand. Lindsey hesitated for a moment before taking it. His touch set off a series of sparks charging through her arm. Stephen must have felt it, too, because he dropped her hand quickly and shoved his fingers in his front pocket.
    Now what? Were they friends?
    Letters floated inside Lindsey’s head like a bowl of alphabet soup. She couldn’t piece them together to form coherent words, let alone sentences.
    Stephen shifted from one foot to the other.
    At least she wasn’t the only one uncomfortable here.
    The teakettle whistled, breaking the silence. Lindsey breathed a silent sigh of relief and flicked off the heat. “I’m making some tea. Would you like some, or would you prefer coffee?”
    Hello, what are you doing?
    Inviting him to stay for coffee? What happened to needing some distance?
    Please say no. Please say no.
    â€œCoffee would be nice.”
    â€œHope you don’t mind instant. Mom keeps it on hand for company.” Lindsey grabbed two cobalt-blue café mugs outof the oak cabinet. Warmth spread up her neck. She fought back a shiver. Why did he have to watch her?
    â€œIs that what I am, Linds? Company?” His voice was as smooth and rich as dark roast.
    What could she say?
    She reached for the teakettle. Her hand trembled so badly that she couldn’t pour water into the mugs without sloshing it onto the counter.
    She grabbed the belly of the mug to hand it to Stephen. Heat spread through the glass and scorched her hand. She yelped as the mug slipped from her and smashed on the ceramic tile, splashing her bare feet with boiling water.
    She jumped back, landing on a shard of glass. Pain sliced through the ball of her foot. She lost her balance and landed hard on her bottom. She clenched her teeth to hold back a scream. The tops of her bright pink feet throbbed to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
    â€œDon’t move.”
    Stephen crossed over in two large strides, crunching broken glass under his worn sneakers. He scooped her against his chest and deposited her on the counter, pivoting her feet into the sink. He adjusted the water temperature, grabbed the