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I pull back to go when a touch on my cheek stops me. Gray’s calloused fingertips are gentle on my skin.
“Ivy,” he says with hesitation.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
There’s a look in his eyes, intent yet almost afraid, like he’s struggling, and I’m not sure I want him to say whatever it is he’s going to say. But then slowly his hand glides over my cheek. It’s such a tender caress that my heart gives a little flip.
“Every inch, Ivy.”
My brows knit as I search his face. “What does that mean?”
Gray shakes his head, his mouth tilting with a faint smile. “Nothing really. Just something I say before a game. For luck.”
Swallowing hard, I touch his face. His jaw is warm and rough with stubble. “Well, then,” I say. “Every inch.”
The broad line of his shoulders sags on a sigh, and he nods as if I’ve given him a rare gift.
I leave him then, relief mixing with a strange sense of wrongness within me.
Chapter 11
Ivy
With Gray out of town, I find myself struggling with an excess of restless energy. I don’t know what to do with myself. And, really, I should be figuring it out. I’m a college grad without a job. I know what I want to do, but I dread telling my dad, who’s been footing my bills until now.
Skin twitching and gut clenching, I soothe myself the only way I know how.
Hours later, the house smells of golden, buttery-sweet goodness. I have enough donuts to feed Gray’s entire team. Which sucks since they’re not around to feed.
Fi arrives just as I finish glazing the last batch.
“Hermey, Rudolph, and Yukon Cornelius, what the hell smells so good?” Like a tracking dog, she stalks into the kitchen and nearly sticks her nose into a tray of donuts. “Is that bacon on the top?”
“Yup. Honey-chili bacon. I’m trying to break out from the standard maple bacon.”
She picks up a donut and takes a bite, groaning as she does. “You done good, Iv.”
I select a raspberry-filled with a toasted marshmallow topping. The flavor combination is reminiscent of peanut butter and jelly, but not as heavy and more creamy. Fi steals a bit of it and groans again.
“Hey,” I say with a laugh. “Don’t go getting me sick.”
“Bah. I’m not sick any longer, and if you were going to get sick, it would have already happened. Ooh...what’s that one?”
“Christmas donut. Eggnog flavor with a burnt rum-sugar crust like you’d get on a crème brûlée.”
“Yum.” Fi continues to munch on her bacon donut and speaks around a mouthful of food. “So what’s with all the donuts? You channeling Mom?”
Hedging from answering Fiona, I reach for the bottle of red wine on the counter. “Want a glass?” I ask instead.
She eyes me for a moment then shrugs. “Red wine with donuts? Why not?”
I don’t talk until we both have a full glass of wine. “It relaxes me.”
“Of course it does. It’s in our blood. I mean, I hate it but...” She grins, her cheeks plumping, before becoming serious. “Seriously, Ivy, why are you cringing like a guilty convict over these donuts?”
I take a sip of wine and glance away. “I realized today that I bake—or fry in this case—best when I’m tense.”
The kitchen wall clock ticks away as Fi watches me. “You fried a lot, Ivy Weed.”
