In the Line of Duty: First Responders, Book 2 by Donna Alward Page A

turkey sandwich tasted bland next to the idea of beef smothered in gravy and topped with flaky pastry. She pushed the remaining pieces away.
    He looked around her apartment. “Nice place. A little on the sparse side.”
    She knew it wasn’t overly cozy. Even his place above the pub had some homey touches—a family picture on the coffee table, a homemade quilt on the arm of a chair. Kendra’s place was functional, she knew that. She’d never learned how to make a home even though she’d always wanted one. They had moved so often that it had seemed pointless. Besides, making it their own would have meant getting attached, and keeping things easy and bare had become a form of self-preservation.
    “I work, I sleep,” she answered.
    “And work out.” He nodded towards the corner of the living room that was set up with a weight bench, the racks of dumbbells against the wall. Her yoga mat was rolled up again.
    “That too.” Uncomfortable with his assessment, she gave her shoulder a shrug. “Was the golf tournament all you wanted?”
    He stared at her for such a long moment she started to squirm on the inside, even though she kept her outer body calm. “I thought we were going to keep this friendly,” he said, putting his hands in his jeans pockets.
    This was friendly—for her. He probably didn’t realize she’d never entertained here, never had people over. She always kept to herself.
    “I’m sorry,” she answered, going back into the kitchen and keeping her hands busy by scraping the rest of her sandwich into the compost bin. “You took me by surprise, Jake, and I’m not very good at this.”
    “Good at what?”
    Good at pretending. Good at trying to be blasé and all platonic when what she really wanted was to kiss him again and see if he tasted like she remembered. She dropped the plate into the sink a little loudly.
    “Any of this, actually. The after stuff. I’ve never had to do it before.”
    “Never?”
    It was all coming out wrong. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
    He laughed. “It’s kind of cute seeing you all flustered. You’re usually in control.”
    Control. The very word sent her straight back to his bedroom, straddling his thighs. She swallowed the saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth. That morning was supposed to be it. Supposed to get him out of her system, relieve her stress, move on. Instead he was standing in the middle of her colorless apartment making her want him simply by breathing in the same space she was.
    “What do you want, Jake?”
    “ Well …” He drew out the word suggestively. “Other than the golf thing, I can’t stop thinking about cake in a cup. I was thinking you might offer me dessert. Since it only takes three minutes. Or so you claimed.”
    Of course he would remember. “You want me to make you cake in a cup.”
    “Come on, I’ve cooked for you twice now. You owe me.”
    He was right, of course. Each time they’d been on his turf, at Jake’s. Even the day at the beach had been courtesy of a family friend of his. She went to the cupboard and took out two mugs. “Fine,” she said. “Cake in a cup coming up. Have a seat.”
    She mixed the sugar, egg, oil, cocoa, milk, flour and vanilla in the cup and put it in the microwave to let it cook while she mixed up the next cake. While it was cooking, she took the first one out of the mug and put it on a plate. “Ice cream?”
    “Of course. What’s warm cake without ice cream?”
    The microwave beeped as she scooped out the ice cream—the premium kind with dark flecks of vanilla bean throughout. What the hell, she thought, reaching inside the fridge for the fudge sauce. She poured some in a small cup and heated it too, then poured it over both cakes. She took both into the living room and handed one to Jake, who was sitting on the couch.
    “Hmm,” he said. “It looks like cake.”
    Her lips twitched. “It is cake. Fast cake.” She aimed a significant look at him. “Emergency cake.”
    He laughed, took