English Girl in New York by Scarlet Wilson

Not now. She had to be strong. She had to be focused. Her hand moved again—one last final touch of the silver box of memories—before she tore herself away and headed inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
    * * *
    There was a whimper in the corner. Dan’s pancakes were sizzling; was the noise going to wake the baby? He sure hoped not. He didn’t know if he could take another cryfest.
    The television newscaster looked tired. He’d probably been stuck inside the New York studio all night. The yellow information strip ran along the bottom of the news constantly. Telling them how much snow had fallen, how the city was stranded, all businesses were closed, food supplies couldn’t get in. Nothing about how to look after a newborn baby.
    It was time to do an internet search again. They must have done something wrong last night. There was no way a baby would cry like that for nothing. At least he hoped not.
    He tossed the pancakes and his stomach growled loudly. He was starving and they smelled great.
    A jar of raspberry jam landed on the counter next to him. She was back. And she smelled like wild flowers—even better than pancakes.
    â€˜What’s that for?’
    â€˜The pancakes.’
    â€˜Jelly?’ He shook his head. ‘Pancakes need bacon and maple syrup. That’s what a real pancake wants.’
    She opened his fridge. ‘Pancakes need butter and raspberry jam. It’s the only way to eat them.’
    He wrinkled his nose, watching as she flicked on the kettle.
    â€˜And tea. Pancakes need tea.’
    He grimaced. ‘You might be out of luck, then. I’ve only got extra-strong coffee.’
    She waved a bag at him. ‘Just as well I brought my own, then.’
    Dan served the pancakes onto two plates and carried them over to the table, pulling some syrup from his empty cupboards and lifting the brewing coffee pot. ‘I can’t tempt you, then?’
    Something flickered in her eyes. Something else. Something different. She gave him a hesitant smile. ‘I’m an English girl. It’s tea and butter and jam all the way.’
    They both knew that the flirtation was continuing.
    And right now he wanted to tempt her. The cop in him wanted to forget about the mountain of paperwork he’d need to complete about this baby. The cop in him wanted to forget about the investigation that would have to be carried out.
    The guy in him wanted to concentrate on the woman in the lovely blue sweater sitting at his table with her jar of raspberry jam. He wanted to reach over to touch the curls that were coiling around her face, springing free from the clip that was trying to hold them back. He wanted to see if he could say something to make her cheeks flush even pinker than they currently were. He wanted a chance to stare into those cornflower-blue eyes and ask her what she was hiding from him. What she was guarding herself from.
    He lifted the maple syrup and squirted it onto his pancakes. She was concentrating on spreading butter on her pancakes smoothly and evenly with one hand while stirring her tea with the other hand.
    He’d opened the blinds partly to let a little natural light into the apartment. And seeing Carrie McKenzie in the cold light of day was more than just a little shock to his system.
    The girl was beautiful. From the little sprinkle of freckles over her nose to the way she wrinkled her brow when she was concentrating.
    He’d felt a pull towards her last night, when he’d seen her in the dim lights of his apartment. But now he had a chance to look at her—to really look at her—and all he could think about was why on earth he hadn’t noticed her before.
    How on earth could he have stayed in an apartment building with someone so incredibly pretty and not have noticed? He could just imagine the cops at the station if they ever got wind of that.
    Carrie put a teaspoon into the jam jar and spread some jam onto her pancakes.