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replaced.” Traci poured rich and creamy yellow batter into three pans of varying sizes before slipping the trio into the pre-heated oven. “While these bake and cool, we’ll finish making the frosting and those fondant pieces. Then we ought to be able to put Humpty Dumpty back together again pretty quickly.”
    Dylan lifted his gaze to grin at her, glad she was beginning to relax. Maybe she wasn’t always so uptight. Maybe he’d just caught her at a bad time—nutrient deprived and at a sugar low. “I’m glad to see you can joke about it now.”
    “I think it’s the giddiness of fatigue setting in.” Her eyes seemed to shift colors beneath the kitchen lights. They were more blue now than green, softer somehow. “It’s been a long day.”
    “I’m sorry I made more work for you.”
    Traci draped a hand along his forearm and flashed a smile. “Apology accepted.”
    In that moment, Dylan longed to lean in and kiss her sugar-dusted lips. He talked himself down from the ledge, knowing that single action would most likely set him back to square one.
    Patience, Dylan…Be patient with her.
    The voice seemed to come from behind, like a gruff whisper in his ear. He turned, studied the area behind him. Nothing but cabinets and cluttered countertops. Music continued to stream softly from the radio—strains of a mellow country twang.
    Trust your heart…You’ll know when the time is right…
    Dylan shrugged it off and turned his attention back to Traci. She worked with an efficient grace, wasting no motion as she began to add ingredients for the frosting to a large plastic bowl. She sang along with the tune on the radio, her voice captivating Dylan as she reached for a stick of butter she’d softened in the microwave. The scent of her perfume, light and citrusy, mingled with sugar and thick cream she whipped into the frosting mix. How, with surroundings of sweet sugar and rich buttercream, was it possible for a woman to smell even better? Dylan’s mouth watered, and he swallowed hard before speaking.
    “You’ve got a really nice voice.”
    “Oh, was I singing?” A hint of blush painted Traci’s cheeks. “Sorry. Bad habit.”
    “I think it’s just the opposite. I like it. Go on.”
    Instead, Traci shifted gears as she manipulated the whisk. “How did you get into the DJ business?”
    Dylan dipped his finger along the edge of the bowl and snagged a taste of the batter. The flavor was music to his taste buds. “It’s a long story.”
    “That’s no problem.” One dainty eyebrow disappeared beneath wispy bands that spilled across Traci’s forehead as she worked. “We still have a lot of cake to finish. You can wash your hands before you dip them into anything else and then tell me.”
    “In that case…” Dylan surveyed the splash of flour and brown sugar, specks of fondant, eggshells, and tools that littered the table as he made his way to the sink. No kidding, they still had a lot of work ahead. There was more to this cake business than he’d thought. What happened to dumping a box of ready-made mix into a bowl, stirring in an egg or two, and tossing it all into the oven for thirty minutes before the eat and enjoy? He rolled the kinks from his shoulders and returned to the fondant where he formed another leaf. “A buddy of mine used to own the business. We did a pair of tours together overseas.”
    “Tours? Like with Triple A?”
    “No. Like with the Navy SEALS.” Dylan slipped a hand beneath the collar of his T-shirt, lifted a pair of dog tags. They jangled as he dropped them against his chest. “We went through training together, got deployed together, spent a year the first time and then almost eight months the second before…there was an accident during a search and rescue operation. Joe was shot down rappelling from one of the search helicopters. He never had a chance.”
    “Oh, Dylan…I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Traci pressed a pair of fingers to the silver tags, flipped one over to