Left in the doorway alone for a second, he turned to Faith. “What was that look about?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Come on. Let’s load you up on sugar.” She headed down the hallway.

“Fine, distract me with cookies, but you’ll only make me more curious. You women have this ESP communication thing that could bury NASA in research for—”

She sighed and halted. “Mia thinks something’s going on between us.” She paused, then added, “NASA doesn’t need to be informed.”

Ha. Humor. He liked that. First, time to backtrack. “What does she think is going on?” Apparently he wasn’t above playing coy either.

One eyebrow lifted as her lips twisted in the cutest Oh, please expression. “You’re a writer. Figure it out.”

“I’m not a romance writer.”

They neared the end of the hallway. “Yet you managed to catch on, all on your own.”

She had spunk buried under all that stoicism. The first stirrings of attraction started to pull in his gut. Okay, maybe not the first. “Why does this upset you?” He followed her into the kitchen.

She stuck her head in the fridge. “Because nothing is going on.”

He should really, really just let this go. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this. “Why does it bother you if people think there is?”

She went oddly quiet, setting two sticks of butter and a carton of eggs on the island.

“You’re not going to answer me, Faith?” The tone of his voice held a challenge, but damn, his temple was starting to throb in frustration.

What was wrong with the possibility of something brewing between them? Sure, they were a bizarre mix, and it wasn’t likely they’d immediately shift into romance mode. Tearing off clothes and panting . . .

And yet, stranger things had happened.

He drew in a breath. Gave himself a mental slap. He couldn’t have her. Faith was more than a one-night gal, and he couldn’t have anyone for longer than that.

Because he was already taken.

“I—” Faith’s gaze darted to the corner and widened. “Ginny, you ready to make cookies?”

Alec hadn’t seen Ginny at the table when they entered, being too engrossed in sparring with Faith. Ginny was watching them with round eyes but looked no worse for wear.

Faith pulled out a cookbook and paged through it as if the conversation never existed. “Read the ingredients and tell me what we need,” she said with utmost patience to Ginny. She leveled her golden eyes on him. “You said you needed help with your writing. What can I do?”

Was he insane for thinking he’d rather find out why the thought of being with him put her in a funk?

He cleared his throat. “You did some kind of juju to help me write last time. I need you to do it again. I haven’t gotten past the first paragraph.”

Slowly, she nodded. Something close to disappointment filled her eyes before she blinked it away. She directed Ginny to the pantry to gather items and set a notebook in front of him. “Write down every move Ginny and I make.”

The idea was as stupid as copying the contents from the brownie box, but he pulled up a stool and grabbed a pen. Outside, the storm had hit their area. Rain splattered the windows and thunder rolled in the distance. He loved the smell of rain.

As if he wasn’t there, Faith patiently directed Ginny through the steps of making chocolate chip cookies. He absorbed her lilting mermaid voice, let it wash over him, until his strained muscles relaxed and his head cleared. The pen scratched the paper as he wrote their procedures, throwing in a random thought here and there to make things more interesting.

By the time they’d put the first batch in the oven, he didn’t know how much time had passed or what he’d even written.

Faith leaned over the island to glance at his notebook. “Looks like you’re doing just fine to me.”

He focused on the paper instead of her sugary scent. There were three pages of scribbles. Scribbles that had nothing to do with Ginny or cookies or the Covington kitchen. Instead, scattered fragments of sentences penned the page.

The air seeped from his lungs. Without thinking, he stood, leaned over the island, cupped Faith’s cheeks, and smacked a big one right on her mouth. He barely registered her wide eyes. Grabbing the notebook, he ran to the door.

“I owe you, Faith!”

He was off the back deck and jogging toward the dunes when her voice drifted to him. “But it’s raining.”

*   *   *

Ginny was having a difficult time concentrating on her math equations. Faith had tried redirecting her and making it fun, but it was useless. The teenager’s gaze kept wandering around the kitchen. Ginny didn’t have the best attention span, but it was typically better than this.

“What’s wrong, Ginny?”

Ginny shrugged.

Faith took a page out of Mia’s book and said, “Talk to me.”

Ginny let out an exaggerated sigh. “Alec didn’t like my cookies.”

Faith drew in a deep breath and tried to figure out how to explain the thought process of authors when she didn’t have a clue herself. Alec had run out into the rain yesterday after some kind of epiphany.

And he had kissed her.

It was gratitude, nothing more. A spur of the moment, entirely unsexual . . . kiss.

So why couldn’t she quit thinking about it?

Ginny rocked in her chair, a comfort measure Faith had seen before. Poor Ginny thought her cookies tasted bad and took Alec’s sudden exit as a direct hit.

“I think he was in a hurry to get home before it rained and he forgot. Would it make you feel better if we took some over to him?”

“Yeah!”

Faith patted her hand. “Okay, but we have to finish your math when we get back.”

Ginny arranged some cookies on a paper plate and Faith covered it with plastic wrap. They went out the front door so they didn’t drag any sand in with them upon returning and made the trek through the grove.

Nerves fluttered in Faith’s belly at the thought of seeing him again. It was silly. Childish. Their conversation yesterday ran through her head, including his confusion about why she was upset over Mia’s theory of something going on between them.

Faith wasn’t immune to passion. She wasn’t a virgin, either, but she didn’t have the experience that Alec would no doubt be used to in women. Her only true familiarity with actual sex had been with a classmate in college. They’d been in the same study group and he’d asked her out during one late-night session. After a month, she’d just wanted the deed over with, and had let him do his thing. It had hurt. A lot. They’d done it a handful of times after that, but the guy had been unnerved by taking her virginity and broken up with her a few weeks later. At the time, she’d been too relieved to care. Not knowing what to do with her hands or how to turn him on had caused her brain to go into overload and prevented her from enjoying the act. She’d had a few boyfriends since, a few close calls and heavy petting. Nothing long term, and nothing that lit a fire deep within.

Nothing like what Alec Winston was beginning to make her feel. Just thinking about him made her face heat and her stomach clench with want. He was so, so far out of her league. If they were to cross that line as more than acquaintances, he’d be disappointed in her lack of skill, perhaps even pity her. Just like all the others. She’d gone her whole twenty-seven years without a broken heart. No sense in opening herself to one now.

Nothing would happen between them. It was dangerous to think like this. She knew better than to even daydream. Almost from birth she’d known her place in life. She didn’t invoke fire and passion and fantasies. She didn’t even invoke much interest as a friend. Or daughter.

Ginny knocked on Alec’s door and Faith took an uneven breath to calm down, pulling herself from her dreary thoughts.

The door swung wide to show Alec standing before her in a fitted black tee and plaid boxer shorts. His black hair stood up at odd angles, as if he’d fisted his hands in the strands. Redness rimmed his eyes, indicating he hadn’t slept. Confusion marred his brow until he lifted a finger and pointed at Faith. “You!” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside. “Take a look at this.”