“Because another guy doing an ice sculpture might steal the shape?”

She nodded. “Only some of the artists are women. You shouldn’t assume they’re men.”

“Obviously not.” He eyed the bag, tempted by the delicious smell. “I’m trying to eat right.” The comment was aimed more at himself than her.

“What could be wrong with my cookies?” Her blue eyes brightened with humor. “They’re really delicious. You should trust me.”

He wanted to ask why, then remembered she was also trusting him. With her cookies. Which almost sounded dirty. He sighed. The whole virtuous thing was harder than he thought.

“How do you turn ice sculptures into cookies?” he asked.

“I use the outline of the basic shape. I can add a few details, but not too many. If the details are too refined, they’ll bake out. Plus they can’t be too hard to decorate or I’ll spend all my profits frosting them. Not the amount of frosting, but the time.” She held out the bag again. “Sometimes I get a special order where I can really go to town, but the ice-sculpture cookies are an experiment. We’ll be selling them at the festival. In our kiosk.”

She was talking too quickly. Almost nervously. The bag shook a little and he instinctively grabbed it from her. Then wondered if he shouldn’t have.

“Shelby, why are you here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“About cookies?”

“No. I brought those because I’m nice.”

That made him laugh. “Good to know. What do you want to talk about?” He hesitated. “In case it matters, I’ve given up women.”

Her mouth twitched. “Have you? That can’t be very fun.”

“It’s only been a day. So far it’s not so bad.” He was lying, but what the hell. She couldn’t know that.

Her smile returned. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not here because I’m interested in having sex with you. And I don’t want a boyfriend. Well, I do. But not you.”

He had no idea what to make of her or what she was saying. “So I should be grateful for the cookies?”

She laughed. “No. I hope you’ll like them, though.” The humor faded. “The truth is...” She swallowed. “Wow, this is harder than I thought. I want...”

The ice in his gut returned. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it. He told himself, whatever it was, he would say no. He needed practice saying no and this would be how he started. N-O. Easy enough. According to his mother it had been one of his first words.

“I want us to be friends.”

* * *

SHELBY UNLOCKED HER front door. She was cold and nervous. The first would be remedied by the furnace in her small apartment. The second was more of a problem.

Aidan hadn’t laughed at her. That was something. Nor had he walked away. Instead he’d thought for a long second, before saying, “Go on.” Which was when she’d suggested they talk at her place.

Now she waited while he followed her inside. Her already tiny apartment seemed to shrink. She pulled off her hat and fluffed her bangs, then hung both coats on the rack by the front door.

She turned and looked around her place, wondering what he saw. Or thought.

The apartment was newish, with big windows. From where she was standing, she could see the living room, the dining alcove and most of the kitchen. All in all, the place was pretty ordinary and she hadn’t done that much decorating.

She’d left the walls white and added a few posters. Most of them were of wildflowers or sunsets, but the one over the sofa was of Kipling screaming down a mountain. He was in perfect focus, with the background behind him a blur. Both skis were several inches above the ground. His expression was intense, his mouth straight.