Summer woke the next morning on her bedroom floor, which was one step up from the vegetable garden, at least. She rolled over and found herself pressed against six feet of lean British muscle.

Now this was a great start to the day.

She lifted her head and looked around the room. Her sheets and pillows were scattered on the floor, and their clothing was nowhere to be seen—probably because they’d stripped it off downstairs, long before they made it up to bed.

Wow.

There were no other words for it. Just . . . wow.

She yawned and snuggled closer to Grayson, enjoying the warmth of their bodies tucked together and the gentle sound of birdsong outside, until finally he stirred and slowly blinked to life.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Summer kissed his cheek. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Although, if anyone earned a lay-in, it’s you.” She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face, just remembering the night before.

She wouldn’t be able to look at chocolate frosting the same again.

Grayson yawned and looked around. “What time is it?” he said, still sounding sleepy.

“Way too early to be getting up,” Summer reassured him. “Although, I wouldn’t mind moving someplace softer. What do you think, can we make it to the bed?”

But Grayson was already getting to his feet. “I’m late for my run.”

She laughed. “I think you’re covered for your workout. I’m surprised you can even move. I know I can’t . . .” She stretched, feeling that delicious ache in her limbs; the imprint of his body still branded on her in the best way.

“I wish I could stay, but it’s my routine,” Grayson explained. “A run, then coffee, before I go open the bookshop.”

Summer’s vision of a lazy morning disappeared. But she could compromise. A little exercise never killed anyone—even if she had just already had the workout of her life.

“How about I come with you?” she suggested, sitting up. “We could stop by that pond again, take a morning dip after. Then I’ll make us some breakfast,” she said, brightening at the thought. “I’ve got all those zucchini and tomatoes, they’d make an amazing frittata.”

“Sounds great, but not today. On the weekend, maybe.” Grayson dropped a kiss on her lips, then went downstairs in search of his clothes. The sight of him naked in the morning was almost enough to distract Summer from the fact he’d just blown off her idea of spending the morning together.

Almost.

She found a robe and padded downstairs, finding him retrieving the shirt that had somehow wound up hanging off the sink. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with breakfast?” she asked, feeling strangely off balance. It was one thing when he’d ushered her out of the door because of poker night, but it was barely 6:30 a.m., and any sane man would be happy to snuggle in bed for another hour. “I make great coffee, if that’s what you need.”

“Thanks.” Grayson gave her an absent smile. “But I better get back to it.”

“Oh.”

He came closer and kissed her again, softer this time, echoing the slow-burn fever that had consumed them both right here in this kitchen. Summer relaxed into him. “I’ll see you later?” he asked, drawing back. “Come over tonight, and I’ll try to cook you dinner.”

“Try?”

“I can’t make any promises.” Grayson smiled. “Fifty-fifty we’ll be eating the finest takeout Sweetbriar has to offer.”

“Sounds good to me.” Summer smiled. “Say, sixish?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll give you a call when I’m finished with everything.” Grayson fished a sock from the cutlery drawer. “Including laundry.”

He kissed her again, then headed out the back door, across the orchard to his place. Summer lingered in the doorway, watching him leave. Despite his kisses and the plans for tonight, she still couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just ditched her. Again.

Was she reading too much into his disappearing acts? One minute, he was right there with her, caught up in the moment, and the next . . . those walls seemed to come up all over again, leaving her on the outside.

It was fine, she reassured herself, turning back to the kitchen—and all the mess they’d left behind. He was a busy man, he had a whole life going here, but so did she. That journalist Poppy had mentioned would be dropping by for their interview, plus she had to have her part-time staff come by for training before the Memorial Day weekend opening. She should be glad she had the space to focus on the bakery. With a little time, Grayson would open up and make some more room for them in his precious routine. It was an adjustment, that’s all, and Summer was nothing if not flexible.

She’d proven that last night for sure.

But despite her hopes that Grayson would relax and let their new relationship unfold at its own pace, he seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length instead. Sure, they spent every night together, each one more mind-blowing than the last, but almost as soon as her pulse had returned to normal, and they lay there, sweaty and panting in the tangled sheets, she could feel Grayson retreat back into himself, that switch flipping from tender and passionate to cool and calm all over again.

It was maddening. He wouldn’t break his routine, no matter what. He was out the door at 6.30 a.m. every day for his run, back at his place for coffee and the morning newspaper before work, even if she was still dozing in his bed. She could have understood it if he had some high-powered corporate job, or people waiting for him, but who walked out on a naked woman to go sit alone in an empty bookstore instead?

It didn’t make any sense.

“It’s an adjustment period,” she said, as much to herself as Poppy, as they strolled the Sweetbriar town square on Friday. The soft opening of the bakery was the next day: she should have been focused on whether the blackberries were ripe enough for a sticky glaze or if she should stick to cherry, but instead, she was still poring over Grayson’s baffling signals. “He’s used to being alone, so it’s only natural he isn’t exactly Mr. Amiable when it comes to couple stuff. It comes with the territory, right?”

“Mmhmm . . .” Poppy made a vague sound.

“You could at least try to sound like you agree with me,” Summer sighed, and Poppy gave her a quick hug.

“I’m sorry! I’m sure you’re right. It makes sense he’s not used to being with someone, but . . .”

“But what?”

“What do you want?” Poppy asked pointedly. “It sounds like you’re bending over backwards to accommodate his whole Lone Ranger routine, but you like all the couple stuff, don’t you? Being together, opening up, when you can’t get enough of each other and you just want to share everything with them. It’s the best part,” she said, with a private smile that made it clear she was thinking about her own relationship.

“I know . . .” Summer tried not to feel that tremor of insecurity that kept bubbling in her chest. “He’s not treating me like some kind of hook-up,” she added quickly, wanting to defend him. “He took me to dinner last night, at this little place in Provincetown, right on the water. It was really romantic, we talked for hours.”

“That sounds lovely,” Poppy said. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, he up and went back to his place at two in the morning, because he said he just slept better in his own bed,” Summer admitted. She’d tossed and turned all night after that, the space beside her in the bed taunting with his absence.

“Ouch.”

That was an understatement. She still felt the echo of rejection, cutting through her morning-after glow, but he probably hadn’t given it a second thought.

Could anything shake Grayson’s inscrutable calm? How did he do it—stay so steady and self-controlled? She came undone in his arms. The minute she walked out the door, she craved one more kiss, and he stayed there, lodged in the back of her mind all day no matter what she was doing. God, even the thought of him made her stomach flip over, her heart racing in anticipation to see him again. She counted the moments until their next date, but when she showed up to meet him, he almost seemed reluctant, like he’d forgotten they even had plans.

Did he even care about her at all?

“I hate being this girl,” she groaned. “Poring over every little word, trying to get a hint how he feels. I’m never this girl!”

“Because you’ve never cared about a guy like this,” Poppy pointed out. “You should say something. Maybe he doesn’t realize you want him to stay.”

“I know, but maybe I’m the one moving too fast. I mean, what do I know about relationships?” Summer despaired. “The last guy I dated was in a ten-foot radius of me in the kitchen all day long, and it still didn’t work out.”

“That was different. He was a cheating asswipe,” Poppy said fiercely. “Grayson isn’t like that. I mean, you don’t think he’s seeing someone else, do you?”

Summer laughed. “Are you kidding? There’s barely room for one woman in his precious schedule, let alone more of us.”

Poppy grinned. “Well, that’s something.”

Summer sighed. “But what am I supposed to do?” she asked helplessly. “I’m crazy about him. When we’re together, it’s so good, but it’s like he’s keeping me at arm’s length still. I don’t want to be the only one falling here.”

Or the one to hit the ground.

Poppy gave her a supportive squeeze. “Talk about it. Seriously, he’s not a mind-reader.”

Summer shook her head. “I don’t want to seem clingy. It’s still early.”

“It’s never too early to tell someone what you need,” Poppy countered. “Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s pushing you away. Don’t be surprised if you have to spell it out,” she added with a wry grin. “He’s probably so dazzled by all the amazing sex you’re having that he’s walking around in a daze.”

Summer laughed, glad to lighten the mood. “It is pretty damn dazzling,” she agreed. “But that’s what’s confusing me. One minute we’re connecting, and it’s like we’re so close. But out of the bedroom . . .”

And the garden. And the kitchen floor . . .

She shook her head. “Anyway, it’ll be fine. Like I said: adjustment period.” She paused by the newsstand and searched the shelves for the Cape Cod Gazette. “Do you see it? Eliza said my article should be running today, in time for the holiday weekend.”

“I’m glad you guys had a chance to talk. She’s great, isn’t she?”

Summer nodded. “I was kind of nervous, and she asked all kinds of questions, but I think it went OK.” It had been a relief to distract herself from all the Grayson questions and focus on the bakery again. Eliza had happily tasted her éclairs and toured the whole space, promising to be first in line for the opening.

“Here.” Poppy pulled down a copy. “You made the front page!”

“Really?” Summer gulped. There she was, beaming out from behind the counter with a spread of delicious cakes she’d baked just for the photo shoot. “ ‘Sweetbriar’s New Sweet Treats.’ ”

She felt a shiver of excitement. “Oh my god, it’s real!”

“You look great.” Poppy flipped the pages. “You’re number one on their holiday weekend to-do list. Big-city chef Summer Bloom is no stranger to the spotlight,” she started reading aloud. “She’s been turning out sweet treats at some of New York’s finest restaurants, and is now bringing her adventurous, irresistible baking to Sweetbriar Cove. We sat down over a slice of her famous peach cake to talk about making the move—and . . .” Poppy stopped.

“And what?” Summer asked.

“And . . . what it’s like growing up as TV cooking royalty.”

“Oh.” Summer deflated.

Poppy gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted this to just be about you, and not your mom.”

“No, it’s OK.” She sighed, scanning the rest of the article—which was as much about Eve’s many successes as it was her own baking. “I mean, I get it. She’s a star. Of course they’re going to write about that. I just . . .”

Summer paused. She’d just wanted this to be about her. After all her hard work, it still stung to see her mom’s name in print right beside hers, as if that was the only reason she’d made a success of things. But she didn’t even need to say it out loud; Poppy knew exactly what she was thinking and gave her a big hug.

“Look on the bright side, this is a rave review,” Poppy pointed out. “You should have people lining up to visit.”

“I’ll settle for no tumbleweeds,” Summer said, crossing her fingers. “Otherwise it’s you and me eating three dozen gingersnap cookies.”

“Tempting, but I promise we won’t have to,” Poppy said, determined. “You’re going to knock this one out of the park.”

“What? A sports metaphor?” Summer teased. “Cooper really has gotten to you.”

Poppy laughed. “He gets his baseball games, I get my Hallmark movies. It’s a deal.”

See, that was compromise. Instead, she was waiting for Grayson’s call that he was done at the bookshop and could fit her into his schedule.

Her emotions must have shown, because Poppy suddenly brightened. “Hey, I’ve an idea, why don’t you guys come over for dinner with me and Cooper tonight, like a double-date?

“I don’t know . . .” Summer said slowly. “He’s pretty private.”

“But they’re friends. Who knows, maybe he’ll relax more in a group?” Poppy suggested. “It’ll be fun.”

Summer thought about it. They’d been off on their own all this time, and she was curious to see Grayson with his friends. Plus, maybe if he saw how happy Cooper and Poppy were, he’d realize that acting like a real couple wasn’t the end of the world. “OK, thanks. I’ll go by the bookshop now and ask him. Want me to bring dessert?”

“Umm, yes!” Poppy grinned. “When have I ever said no to that?!”

She left Poppy at the coffee shop working on her next novel, and strolled to the bookstore to drop in on Grayson. She should be back in her kitchen, preparing for the soft open, but she couldn’t resist ducking up the leafy pathway and pushing the door open. She found the front room empty—save a hundred books, piled haphazardly on the floor.

“Hello?” she called. “Grayson?”

He materialized from one of the back rooms, with his arms full of books and a puzzled expression on his face. “Summer? Did we have plans?”

“No.” She carefully navigated her way around the stacks and reached up to kiss him hello. “I was just with Poppy and thought I’d drop by and say hello. What is all of this?” she asked, looking around.

“New catalog system,” Grayson replied, going to shelve the books he had in his hands. “It was time for a change.”

Summer watched him work, his shoulder muscles rippling through the thin cotton of his shirt. And even though he’d been naked beneath her not even seven hours ago, she felt that champagne fizz of desire snake through her system again.

“So what’s the new plan here?” she asked, stepping closer. She ran her hands over his shoulders from behind, loving the feel of him, hot beneath his clothes. “Are you trying to magic order from chaos, as usual?”

“Something like that.” Grayson paused, still facing the bookcase, and Summer let her hands wander around to his front. She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch, and she savored the reaction. His voice may stay steady, but he couldn’t deny she affected him, not when his body told her everything she needed to know.

She traced lower, drawing light circles on his abs until Grayson caught her hands and turned. “Not here,” he said, but she could see the desire in his eyes.

“Nobody’s around . . .” Summer looked up at him teasingly. She bit her lip and gave him a smile, and Grayson groaned softly.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing at all.” She grinned, loving how she could raise his temperature. If this was the only way to knock him off balance, then she’d take it—every last flirty moment. “Of course, we could change that any time you like . . .”

Grayson’s eyes dropped to her lips. “I’m working.”

“I can see that.” Summer dropped his hands. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Not so fast.”

Before she could leave, Grayson reached and caught her back against his body. The spark ignited in her bloodstream, hot and bold at his touch. “I need a goodbye kiss,” he murmured, eyes hungry on hers.

“Take it,” she whispered back.

Take me.

Grayson kissed her, light and slow, but that wasn’t enough. Summer reached up, looping her arms around his neck and pressing closer. It was like fuel to the fire. In an instant, Grayson had her pushed up against the bookcase, covering every inch of her body with the hard, lean planes of his own.

Yes…

Summer melted into him, loving the feel of his mouth, hot and demanding, as he eased her lips apart and slid his tongue deep inside. His hands roved over her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

She wanted him. God, she wanted him. This was when it was all so simple: just hands and mouths and bodies pressed, tight with wanting. There was no room for insecurity and doubt, not with Grayson hard against her and his body trembling to her touch. He nudged her thighs open, and she could feel how much he wanted her, his hand sliding around to cup her breast, teasing her through the thin fabric of her shirt as his mouth demanded more.

She gave it. She gave it all. Head spinning, legs weak with desire. The kiss raged on. She tugged his shirt free from his jeans and slid her hands up underneath, skin to skin, as he tore from her lips and dipped his head, kissing down the sensitive column of her neck and teasing at her collarbone, making her moan out loud.

“Ahem,” an amused voice came from the doorway.

Grayson went rigid against her. Summer’s eyes snapped out. Debra was watching them with a smirk. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for those crime books you said you had in.”

“Back room.” Grayson’s voice came out ragged. He stepped back from Summer, but Debra just chuckled.

“Oh, don’t go stopping on my account. I’ll see to it myself.” She winked, then ducked out.

There was silence.

Grayson looked red-faced. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Summer laughed. “It could have been worse.” She tugged her dress back in place, and gave Grayson a smile. “Believe me, it was about to get a lot worse. Or better, from where I’m standing.” She reached for him again to smooth his shirt down, but Grayson flinched back.

“I told you I was working.”

“Yes . . . and I also said I would leave you be,” Summer answered slowly. “You’re the one who wanted more.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have.” Grayson’s face was shadowed. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll call you later.” He turned away and picked up a stack of books again and began shelving them with sharp, abrupt movements.

She was clearly dismissed.

Summer was stunned. “I . . .” She tried to find the words, but it was hard making sense of this. “It’s just Debra, it’s not a big deal. She’s probably seen far worse.”

“Well, not from me.” Grayson was still tight-lipped. “I told you, I don’t like everyone knowing my business.”

Summer took a deep breath, biting back her protest. “Fine. I understand. Look, I only came to ask if you want to get dinner with Poppy and Cooper tonight. They invited us over, grilling and beers. It should be fun,” she added, even though “fun” looked to be the furthest thing from Grayson’s mind.

“Works for me,” he said with a brief nod. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“OK. See you then.”

Summer paused another moment. She still wasn’t sure what just happened, but it wasn’t anything good. Adjustment period, she reminded herself. Give him time. So despite every instinct telling her to stay and try to talk it out, she forced herself to walk slowly to the door. She still half-hoped Grayson would stop her—call her back and apologize for his mood, and pick up that epic kiss where they’d left off. But he kept shelving those books, even when the bell above the door sounded her exit.

Summer stepped out into the sunshine, and he stayed inside, alone.

She shook her head and despaired. What was going on in that man’s mind?