He turned them off, not bothering to hide his smile. “I think you’re safe.”

She draped the towel over the tub and with a smile of her own, left the bathroom. “I have something for you, Mr. Clayton,” he heard.

He sighed to himself, rising with reluctance. She was impossible.

When he met her in the kitchen, that same fear clouded her eyes. It wasn’t fear, though, he realized. Insecurity, perhaps? Hesitantly, she extended a plate, and atop it was a large mound of chocolate chip cookies. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a cookie. The scent got him though, right in the hungry part of his gut: sweet, with just the right twinge of salty.

He lifted his hands, stepping back. “I can’t take these, Ms. Ashton.”

Sighing, she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her face managed to darken a shade within a second. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and her voice was slightly elevated, slightly emotional. “Please, take them. It’s the very least I owe you.”

“A simple thank you is enough.”

“No, it isn’t.” Now she met his eyes, her tone brusque. “I know I don’t have much to offer, Mr. Clayton, and frankly I feel a little foolish giving you something as silly as cookies, but it’s all I’ve got. This is all I’m good at. So…please just take them. I need you to.” She forced the plate into his hands. He had no choice but to hold it now, if he didn’t want it to fall to the floor. Her voice softened. “I’ve wanted to say thank you, but haven’t known how. Thank you for giving me a chance. Thank you for helping me fix a pipe that isn’t yours anymore. And thank you for sending the town my way this morning, whether they wanted to come or not.”

His eyes narrowed.

“They…told me they had your okay.”

He sighed. “Believe it or not, Ms. Ashton, I find the dependence as bothersome as you. And in their defense, they did want to come. They just needed a push.”

She smiled, even though he frowned. But her smile fell as she continued, “But mostly, thank you for this morning.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Really. What you did…”

“It was nothing,” he said quickly, uncomfortably.

“It’s something. A big something that’s everything. And I’m…ill-equipped to repay you.”

He relaxed his shoulders. She was impossible. Every single thing about her was utterly likable, even the side of her she thought shameful. The truth was, Elizabeth Ashton didn’t have an unlikable trait buried anywhere inside her. She was what she presented herself to be. Her true colors were bravery and compassion and acceptance, and an unfathomable beauty from within.

Damn her.

“Ms. Ashton,” he finally said. “I’m not looking for payment. I’m just…doing what needs to be done. I was there at the right time, that’s all. I don’t ask for anything in return.”

“They’re just cookies, I know.” Again she appeared flustered at her payment. Regardless of how irritatingly perfect it was. “And I understand if you don’t eat them. But take them anyway. It’s the last thing I’ll ask of you.” A teasing smile lifted her lips. “I know it’s hard sometimes, doing things for people you don’t like, especially when you’ve already done so much for them.”

He only stared, her words sinking him. Before he could respond, she added, “Oh, and if you ever decide to come into Jean’s, you’ll have free coffee. As long as you keep coming, actually.”

He couldn’t address her absurd free coffee remark, not when her previous words sizzled in his mind. They shouldn’t have surprised him, since he’d wanted her to think that very thing: that he didn’t like her. But hearing her say it made him suddenly realize how much he didn’t want her to think it. “I never said I dislike you,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Yes, you did. But even without the words, Mr. Clayton…”

He recalled the moment after he’d sold her his cottage, when he did in fact say those words, and never did he think he would regret them. “I could say the same about you.”

Her eyes captivated him in a stare-down. “Yeah, but…you started it.”

He smiled, before his resistance could stop it. Turning to the door, he said, “And Ms. Ashton? To prevent you from sabotaging Arne with more personal questions about me, I own the second largest oil field in America. Admiralty Bay Oil Fields in North Slope Borough, Alaska.” Her eyes grew sheepish. “Is that enough information?”

It took her a moment to resume as normal, and when she did, she folded her arms. “It’ll do for now.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “For now?”

She shrugged. Then with a hint of a smile, she repeated, “For now.”

Words stopped up inside him so he turned, twisting the knob and letting himself out before he could change his mind. As he left with her cookies in hand, the sun dwelled at its low place in the sky, and he quickened his pace. An anxiety bordering on excitement motivated him; he would see her again soon, when darkness would attempt—and fail—to hide her features. Night was the only time he could drop his guard. It was the time he wasn’t himself, the only time he didn’t need to hide behind Henry Clayton. And it had taken Elizabeth, and all her unfathomable acceptance, for him to realize that.

***

Elizabeth crouched on her porch, over the azalea Mr. Clayton had issued a death sentence to only thirty minutes before. She thought it best to trust him on the subject, since his landscape was immaculate and beautiful. She tried picturing, again, Mr. Clayton gardening. The thought made her smile and she bit her lip, shaking her head. It was impossible to imagine, but at the same time, after seeing him on the floor fixing her pipe, his large hands strangely capable of manipulating small things, the thought came a little easier.

After sticking her finger in the moist soil she stood, planning to replant it tomorrow in the very place he’d suggested. In staring into the forest, darkening with the setting sun, her mind slipped thirty minutes back in time, to the moment he fixed that pipe. There was something alluring about it, even sensual—the way the fancy, wealthy Mr. Clayton, whose man servant protected him with an umbrella through town, lay on her bathroom floor in a snug white t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, not giving a second thought to the water leaking all over him. She found this side of him so appealing that she knew she would think about him on her bathroom floor for days to come, his shirt riding up his abdomen. She would think about his dark beard, short and in its beginning stage, with a faint trace of silver sprinkled within, and how it complimented the rest of his features.

But it wasn’t just the thought of him on her bathroom floor. It was the way she’d seen him in a startling new light since that morning. Since she’d fit the pieces together. She saw it now, what his eyes hid. He didn’t in fact hate her, or most the town he fought so hard to protect. That’s what it was: protection. He was protecting her from himself, from what he was. He was trying, with everything in him, to push her away. Regardless of the way he didn’t want to.

That was when she’d decided—tonight, after he admitted to liking her in his round-about way—she wouldn’t allow him to push her away. She might annoy him, the same way he annoyed her at times, but just like he’d given her a second chance, she would give him one. A second chance at acceptance. A chance at understanding. Something warm hid inside Mr. Clayton, something she had been too prideful to notice before. He deserved to be liked, deserved to be seen as the man he was—not the monster he thought himself.

The first mistake, however, would be revealing she knew his secret. She could see it now, the way all Hell would break loose. He’d kick her out of town for sure. And she didn’t want to lose this place or the being she saw at night, who seemed to share more of an understanding with her than anyone ever had, simply by looking her in the eyes.