"So you do like cookies," she says. Her gaze is on the cookies on a napkin in my palm.
"We all live for cookies overseas," Riley says and takes one of mine.
Her gaze sharpens. "Petr says you don't. It's why I stopped sending them."
"I don't like cookies," Carson says.
She glares at him.
Carson steps back and grins. "I think I hear the cocoa calling me."
"Ah … yeah. Maybe I don't either." Realizing his mistake, Riley replaces the half-eaten cookie on my napkin. "I think I need some cocoa, too."
Katya raises an eyebrow at Petr, who is trying not to smile.
"So, ah, good to see you here, Sawyer," he says while backpedaling. "I'm going to make a strategic retreat before my sister body slams me."
All four of them escape, leaving me with Katya. She gazes up at me, and I can tell she's as lost as I am right now.
"No one else will tell you this, but your cookies are terrible, Katya," I tell her.
"Your text etiquette is worse! What is this, Sawyer?" She pulls her cell out and shows my message to me. "You don't call, don't text, don't write …" She's trying hard to keep the mood light and then flushes. "Well you did write, but …" She clears her throat.
"Want to start over?" I ask with a half-smile.
"Yes."
We gaze at one another in heavy silence. Any hope I had of not being attracted to her, of not thinking she was the most incredible woman I've ever met, vanishes when I'm standing before her again. From the plump lips to her flushed cheeks, I can't stop scouring her features, trying to memorize them so next time, I'm not caught off guard by her looks.
"Do you want to have coffee or something?" I ask, unaccustomed to feeling so awkward around anyone.
"Yes," she replies. "I, um, can't now. I've got to keep an eye on this." She motions to the club.
"Petr told me you set it up."
"Do Marines like Christmas?" she asks archly.
"Yeah. And this is amazing."
"I'm glad you like it." She smiles, pleased. "Maybe after this is over?"
"Sure."
"Can I give you a time range or will that make your head explode?"
I laugh.
"I can text you." There's an odd look on her features that I can't read. "Are you staying at the house?"
"I am."
"Good." Her voice is soft. She's staring at me. "I mean … better than destroying the environment driving somewhere in your truck." Her blush is getting deeper. "Or something. You always do this to me, Sawyer." Anger flares in her gaze. "You're so calm! Just when I start to think …" With a sound of frustration, she moves away, thoroughly flustered.