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they’ll follow you and corner you when you’re not prepared.”
    That would suck, she had to admit. “Okay.”
    He pulled his head back from hers, surprise softening his features. “You’re not mad?”
    “No.” It was the truth. If a reporter cornered her outside of her bakery, she could have a panic attack. In spite of Sloane’s rough morning, he was thinking of her. “You really don’t have to worry about me. Go to work. When the reporters leave, I’ll get a ride. I don’t have to be at the bakery until eleven.”
    Drake cleared his throat. “You can take my car, Kat. I don’t need it.” He tossed some keys on the counter. “Thanks for the muffins. I’m taking a second one to my room with me.” Glancing at Sloane, Drake added, “Try not to be a dumbass.” He shuffled to the hallway.
    Sloane sighed and lifted her gently to the floor. “You don’t need his car. I’ll take you home.” He stacked some muffins on a plate and poured juice. “Let’s take this out on the deck.”
    Kat followed him out to the large deck spreading along the back of his house. Choosing a seat with a view of the ocean, she didn’t care that the sharp sea breeze tangled in her hair and raised goose bumps on her arms. The crashing waves soothed her jitters.
    “Put this on.” Sloane held out a black zip-up sweatshirt.
    After slipping her arms into it, she rolled up the sleeves. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
    He put a muffin on her plate and dug into his. “Soon.” He held up a second muffin. “You made these. It’d be rude not to eat them.”
    “I should have asked if I could use your kitchen. Which is kick-ass by the way. Exactly how I’d design my kitchen right down to the Viking six-burner double ovens and that sweet island—” Shut up. God. She compressed her lips. “Sorry, got off track.”
    Covering her hand with his, Sloane stroked the sensitive spot at the base of her thumb. “You can bake anytime you want in my kitchen, Kat. Did Drake scare you?”
    “Startled me. But no, I didn’t panic.” Surprise had caused her heart to hammer, not a panic attack. “I like him.” Turning her hand so their palms met, she closed her fingers around his. “I’m sorry he’s sick, Sloane. He said he’s known you a long time. This has to be hard.”
    He pulled his hand away and gazed toward the waves. “He saved me. Saved a lot of us. And now they tell me there’s not a goddamned thing I can do.”
    The lead balloon of understanding landed in her chest. Drake was dying, and the rigid lines of Sloane’s brutally square face broadcast his pain. Not close to his mother, his sister dead, and now his friend was dying.
    Shoving back her chair, she dropped onto his lap and hooked an arm around his neck. Sloane had almost a foot in height on her and a hundred pounds, but she curled her body around him as if she could protect him from this hurt. Laying her head into the curve of his neck, she caressed his massive shoulder.
    After a few beats of his heart against her cheek, he softened and wrapped his arms around her. Pressing his face against her head, he combed his fingers through her hair.
    “What are you doing to me?”
    She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of him as she fought a surprising prick of tears. He really didn’t know. “It’s called hugging. Comforting.”
    He dragged in a shaky breath. “You need to know what those reporters are after. In fact, I’m surprised you don’t know. No one has privacy with Google.”
    True. But Kat hadn’t enjoyed the foul-tasting jealousy while looking at the pictures of Sloane with beautifully polished society women, so she’d cut short her Google investigation of him. Her self-confidence didn’t need that kind of battering. “You’re going to have to tell me.” It bothered her to see him like this, tense, edgy, closing off from her. She didn’t want to care this much. But maybe it was a good reminder for her—keep the lines clear.
    She’d believed in