Chapter 3
CANDACE
" I borrowed your T-shirt. Hope you don't mind."
Those were the first words I spoke to Tank when he came drifting out of his bedroom first thing the next morning. I sat at the small, round table, bear-shaped mug in front of me, sipping coffee that was far less sweet than I preferred.
My words stopped him short, and that was when I had no choice but to look at him. He was dressed identically to last night in those pajama pants and nothing else, but I'd forgotten just how freaking hot the guy was.
He was staring at my chest.
It wasn't the first time—far from it—but his gaze had heat rising to my cheeks. Heat was also pooling in another area of my body. An area that had never seen action.
"That ain't my shirt," he said.
I looked down. Across the chest were the words Clothes Optional Zone . I'd barely registered it last night—I was so tired, and my mind was on texting back and forth with my parents to let them know I was okay and assuring them that Tank wasn't a serial killer.
"Whose shirt is it, then?" I asked, lifting my head to meet his stare.
His eyes were on my face again. I was surprised at the disappointment that flashed through me. I wanted this guy to ogle my chest. What did that say about me?
"One of my military buddies stays with me sometimes. He must've left it. He has a weird sense of humor."
“’Clothes optional zone.’ I'd definitely call that a weird sense of humor."
"I see you figured out the coffee," he said.
"Yeah, we have an old-school coffeepot at the bookstore. I make coffee every morning for my employees.”
His eyebrows arched, and I knew what he was thinking.
Old-school coffeepot. No doubt he'd never even considered a one-cup coffeemaker.
Something about him screamed efficiency.
Maybe it was his military background or the way he'd pulled out food last night, lining everything up on the counter and making good use of his leftovers rather than cooking something new.
I'd always admired people like that because I was the opposite.
I couldn't even check the weather before leaving for an eight-hour trip.
"Breakfast?" he asked as he headed toward the kitchen.
I tried not to gawk at his backside, but it was more than a little difficult. The guy brought new meaning to the word “hot.”
"I'm fine for now. I usually don't eat until lunch."
"That's not good for you. You need fuel to start your day. I'm sure your job's demanding."
I sat back and thought about that. This guy had been in the military. Shelving books and talking to customers was hardly labor-intensive. Not compared to the physical demands of boot camp, anyway.
"I guess I got used to it when I was a kid," I said as Tank cracked eggs into a bowl.
"My parents were both college professors.
Mornings were chaos. They'd be rushing to their eight o'clock classes while I was hurrying to get ready for school.
Breakfast was whatever I could grab on my way out the door. "
"Granola bars?" he asked.
I couldn’t see his hands from here, but from the sound of things, he was whisking the eggs with more force than necessary. The swish-swish-swish of the beater against the bowl was almost relaxing, it was so rhythmic.
"Pretty much,” I said. ”An apple if I was lucky. They meant well. They'd tell me to eat something substantial, but there was never time."
He poured the eggs into a hot pan and moved to the fridge to grab something. Within seconds, the smell was making my stomach growl loud enough that he looked over his shoulder at me.
"When's the last time someone made you breakfast?"
The question caught me off guard. “I…I don't know. Maybe when I was in high school?”
Something shifted in his expression. "That's a damn shame."
He plated the scrambled eggs alongside toast and bacon, setting it in front of me with the same efficiency he'd shown last night. Everything looked perfect, like something from a restaurant.
"This is incredible," I said after the first bite. "Thank you."
“It’s just eggs."
"No, it's not just eggs. Nobody's ever…” I trailed off, realizing how pathetic that sounded.
"Nobody's ever what?"
"Taken care of me like this." Heat rose in my cheeks. "I mean, my parents love me, but they're academics. Very focused on intellectual pursuits. Household chores were more of an afterthought."
Tank sat across from me with his own plate, studying my face. "What about boyfriends?"
The question hit like a punch to the gut. "What about them?"
"Any of them ever make you breakfast? Take care of you?"
I focused on cutting my eggs into perfect squares. "I went to an all-girls prep school. There weren't a lot of opportunities to meet guys."
"And after graduation?”
"By then it was…complicated." I set down my fork and met his eyes. "I'm twenty-three years old, Tank. Most guys my age expect experience I don't have."
Understanding dawned in his dark eyes, followed by something that looked like heat. "Experience?"
"I've never…” I took a breath. "I'm a virgin."
The words hung in the air between us. Tank went very still, his coffee mug halfway to his lips.
"That’s why you're single?"
"Part of it. It becomes this big thing, you know? The longer you wait, the more pressure there is. And then guys either run away or they want to be your 'first,’ like it's some kind of trophy." I pushed eggs around my plate. "Neither option is particularly appealing."
"What would be appealing?"
The question was quiet, but there was an edge to his voice that made my pulse quicken. I looked up to find him watching me with an intensity that stole my breath.
"Someone who doesn't make it a big deal," I said softly. "Someone who just cares about making it good."
The silence stretched between us, charged with something I couldn't name. Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing us in white isolation.
"We're going to be stuck here for a while," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Maybe…maybe you could help me with that experience thing."
Tank's knuckles went white around his coffee mug. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Candace."
"I'm not asking for forever. I'm not asking for love. But you're here, I'm here, and…” I swallowed hard. "I trust you."
He stared at me for a long moment, and I saw the exact second his control started to slip. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I think I do."
"Do you?" He leaned forward, and the air between us crackled. "Because once we cross that line, there's no going back."
"Maybe I don't want to go back."