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She opened the fridge and pulled out a block of butter, a carton of eggs, and a jug of milk. Setting them on the counter, she reached into a cupboard for flour, sugar, and cinnamon.
As she moved around the kitchen, humming to herself, she found the apples on the counter and began peeling them, the rhythmic motion soothing her nerves.
Lucy diced the apples into perfect slices, their crisp, fresh scent filling the small kitchen. She mixed the flour, sugar, and cinnamon, creating a fragrant mixture that would coat the apples and make the pie irresistible. The butter was cut into the flour for the crust, and she worked the mixture until it resembled coarse crumbs.
With the dough resting and the filling prepared, Lucy rolled out the crust, placing it carefully in a pie dish. She poured the apple mixture into the crust, humming a soft tune under her breath as she worked.
Baking was her escape, a way to lose herself in the process and forget about the worries of the day. As she sprinkled sugar on top of the pie, ready to place it in the oven, a sudden noise caught her attention.
It sounded like a bang, followed by what seemed like a muffled scream. Lucy paused, tensed, her heart pounding in her chest. She strained her ears, waiting for something else to happen. Was something going on in Carver’s apartment?
The seconds stretched on, and when nothing more happened, she forced herself to relax. Maybe Carver was just moving things around, and perhaps his TV was on.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and tried to shake off the unease that had settled over her. Lucy slid the pie into the oven, setting the timer and wiping her hands on a dish towel. The strange noises still lingered in her mind, but she tried to chalk it up to her imagination.
After all, it had been a long day, and she was tired. She reminded herself that Carver had always seemed capable of handling whatever came his way. If something was wrong, surely he would take care of it.
Still, as she moved about the kitchen, tidying up, she couldn’t help but glance toward the wall that separated their apartments. She hoped everything was okay, but a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
Once the pie was done, Lucy carefully took it out of the oven. It looked perfect. She set it on a cooling rack, the aroma filling her apartment and making her mouth water.
Deciding to take a shower while the pie cooled, she headed to the bathroom. As she stood under the warm spray of water, Lucy’s mind wandered back to the mysterious sounds she had heard earlier.
She shook her head, trying to dismiss her concerns. Carver could take care of himself, and there was no reason to let her imagination run wild. She finished her shower, the hot water helping to ease the tension in her muscles.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she wrapped herself in a towel and headed to her bedroom. Standing in front of her closet, she debated what to wear.
She initially decided on her best Sunday dress, a flattering, floral number that hugged her curves in all the right places. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she realized it might make her seem too desperate.
Lucy sighed and put the dress back, rummaging through her clothes until she found a comfy sweater and jeans. The sweater was a soft, creamy color that complemented her skin tone, and the jeans were snug but comfortable. She stood in front of the mirror again, contemplating her hair.
Up or down? After a moment of consideration, she decided to leave it down, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. Feeling more confident, Lucy returned to the kitchen.
The pie had cooled enough to handle, and she carefully cut a generous slice, placing it on a plate. Armed and ready, she took a deep breath and stepped out of her apartment, pie in hand.
Walking the short distance to Carver’s door, Lucy tried to steady her nerves. She took another deep breath and knocked. While waiting, she looked down and realized she was staring at his brown doormat.
There was a noticeable small red stain on the corner, one she couldn’t stop looking at and was fixated on. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.
Before she could think too much about it, the door opened, and Carver stood there, his expression as inscrutable as ever. She drank in every inch of him—his tall, muscled frame, broad shoulders, and short dark hair that she always envisioned running her fingers through.
The stubble on his cheeks and square jaw, the curious scar below his lip that she always pictured tracing with her finger, and those eyes. Such staggering dark-green eyes, reminding her of the forest on a gloomy day.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lucy forced herself to meet his eyes, offering a smile that felt a bit shaky.
“Hi, Carver,” she said, lifting the plate slightly. “I made an apple pie and thought you might like some.”
Carver’s gaze flickered to the pie, then back to her. He seemed to hesitate before answering.
“Thanks, Lucy,” he said, his voice deep, calm, and steady.
Carver looked at her with those deep, grave eyes of his, saying nothing more. An unexpected thrill ran down Lucy’s spine. She quickly forgot about the little red stain on his doormat, her mind now occupied with wondering what was going through his head.
Invite me in already, she thought desperately. But he continued to look at her, his gaze intense, as if she were something good to eat. If Lucy was being honest, she didn’t mind it one bit.
Chapter Two
Lucy stood there, looking gorgeous as sin in her cream sweater and jeans that hugged her in all the right places. Carver was tempted to take a few steps closer, rest his hand over the back of her neck, and taste those lips he’d been dreaming about ever since the day he met her.
