by Beth Michele
I stand up taller. “Like what?”
He pauses, contemplation replacing his amusement. “I don’t know. You’re…different.”
“Different, how?” I ask, canting my head as if to hear better.
“Hard to pinpoint. And I may not know the how, but I certainly know the why.” He stares behind me at the door as if he can see right through it. “She seems pretty cool.” Still looking away, he adds, “And you know, I’m happy for you.” I’m about to respond when I get whiplash from his sudden change in topic. “Man, this lasagna.” He holds up the dish. “It’s fucking amazing. Where’d you get it?”
“I made it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he replies, and I laugh at his undying love of profanity. “I mean,” he clarifies, “I know you can cook but thought you were too busy to do it.”
“I made it the other day at two AM when I couldn’t sleep,” I say, leaning against the wall.
“You need to cook more often.” His brown eyes light up as he swallows another bite. “I just had the best fucking idea: now that I’m here, I think we should have dinners together once a week.”
“You want to have dinners once a week,” I repeat, unable to keep my sarcasm at bay.
He nods, still stuffing his face with my food. “Hell yes. You don’t want to let all that talent go to waste. Oh, and do you think we can get a puppy?”
“You’re an asshole.”
He doubles over laughing, nearly dropping the plate on the hardwood floor. “Man, you should see your face right now.”
“You’re not going to want to see my face if that plate shatters into a million pieces.” I shake my head at him, chuckling lightly. “You never did like to sit at the table, growing up.”
“And it always drove you crazy.”
“Still does. Especially when I have a table that seats twelve.”
He wipes a hand across his mouth. “What the hell do you need that for when it’s just you?”
His question gives me pause, because he’s right. Somehow, as much as I object, I like the fact that Chaz is here, and now Lily is too. It feels right. It feels like I have a life worth living.
“I’ll be in my office.” I bypass his question, unwilling to come to terms with my answer yet. “Glad you enjoyed the lasagna,” I throw in, walking down the hall. “There’s a piece of a chocolate cream pie I made in the bottom bin of the fridge, if you want it.”
“Shit yes. I’m all over that.”
In another few strides, I’m in front of my office door, and Chaz is already headed toward the pie. “Hey, big brother.” My voice summons his attention and he turns.
“Yeah?”
“I have four empty bedrooms. Pick one, and it’s yours—permanently, if you want.”
His brows shoot up to his hairline. It’s rare to see surprise on my brother’s face, but somehow I’ve managed it. “I’ll think about it,” he says, trying to brush off his shock. “What about the puppy?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
His amusement carries down the hall. A puppy, huh? Puppies are cute, and I bet Lily would like one. Of course there is the issue of shedding and slobbering… What is the matter with me? My thoughts are taking me down a horrifying path.
So why the hell am I smiling?
The sound of laughter snags my attention and I glance at the clock. Shit, I’ve been in here for over an hour. It’s not the time that bothers me, though. It’s the sound: Lily’s airy laugh, Chaz’s raspy one. I’m not sure why it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. Perhaps it’s because Chaz has always been innately funny, whereas I have to work at it.
I snap my laptop closed, though I still have much to do. It’ll have to wait. There are more pressing matters at hand, like following the soothing tone of Lily’s voice. “Sorry about that. I lost track of time.” I enter the room and direct my comment at Lily, who naturally responds with a no-nonsense smile.
“It’s absolutely fine. Chaz gave me a tour and we’re just getting to know each other.”
“Did he?” I send my brother an intimidating glare with little success. He just laughs—again.
Lily points to a dish on the coffee table, streaks of chocolate all that’s left on the crisp white plate. “And he let me try your pie. It was amaaaazing,” she exclaims, and I sink down beside her on the couch, kissing her cheek. “When you said you knew how to cook, I didn’t think baking, and I definitely didn’t think pie. I hope there’s more where that came from.”
“For you, there is.” I lift her hand and join it with mine.
“Aww, but what about your favorite brother? Because I’d do just about anything for another piece of that pie.”
“You can start by cleaning up your mess.”
To my surprise, he rises from the sofa to pick up the dirty plate. “I guess I can walk this to the sink.”
“Don’t strain yourself.” A small laugh escapes Lily’s closed lips at my comment. Chaz, on the other hand, offers me his middle finger and a grin.
One point for Jace.
Once Chaz reaches the kitchen, I turn to Lily. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask in a hushed tone, reveling in the smell of my body wash on her skin. “I’m sorry I had to leave you after—”
“After you ravished my body,” she whispers, beaming up at me. “It’s fine. I understand. And that shower? After I figured out how to turn it on, it was glorious.” Her stomach groans on the last word.
“I guess you need food.”
She pats her belly. “Yup.”
Chaz returns, throwing in his two cents as if he’s been listening all along. I’ll have to get used to this if he agrees to live here. I hope I don’t regret my decision. “Actually, Lily and I were saying we were in the mood for waffles and bacon.”
“And garlic mashed potatoes,” Lily adds, offering me an apologetic smile. “You don’t mind, do you? I know you wanted a hot dog.”
“Hot dog?” Chaz questions with a twisted expression. “My brother doesn’t eat hot dogs.”
“But he—”
“I can make that for you, no problem,” I supply, quickly moving on so I don’t have to explain my odd behavior.
“Really? Because we can go out,” she suggests as Chaz salivates in front of us.
“No need.” I kiss her lips, because I can’t resist, then stand. “Let me just make sure I have all the ingredients.”
Chaz stops drooling long enough to smirk. “Yes, please do,” he says, and I casually elbow him on my way past.
Lily follows after me into the kitchen while I search through cabinets and take a quick inventory of the fridge. “Do you have everything you need? Because I can always run out.” She hops on a stool at the marble island, sliding my copy of The New York Times to the side.
I peer over my shoulder. “I don’t have garlic,” I tell her, flashing a confident grin. “But I can improvise.”
“If your pie is any indication of your culinary skills, I’m all for it.” She scans the headlines, continuing to talk. “Gah, I still can’t get over that pie,” she gushes, and pride swells in my chest. “I didn’t expect that at all.”
My gaze drifts to her face, unbidden, lingering on those bright eyes, that joyful smile. I didn’t expect you, Lily Conrad.
I didn’t expect you.
Date a guy who cooks (not planned)—check.
There’s nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around the kitchen. The newspaper I pretend to read serves as a great prop while my eyes are fixed on Jace. He moves with the grace of a dancer, gliding across the natural oak flooring as he shuffles pans this way and that, mixing ingredients with practiced ease. Similar to painting, there’s an art to it, a symphony of spices, flavors, textures, and even colors.
“You’re staring,” he notes without turning around.
“You’re mesmerizing to watch,” I say, feeling freer to speak now that Chaz is preoccupied with television. “Your sister obviously taught you well.”
“That she
did.” From this angle, I see his lips catch on a smile. “I never do it for anyone, so this is…nice.” His words are hesitant, as if he’s trying to make sense of them, like figuring out which puzzle pieces fit together.
“What do you usually do then?” I ask, the sizzle of bacon music to my deprived stomach.
“I usually get home pretty late, so I eat takeout on my dining room table while I work on my laptop. Sometimes, if I can’t sleep, I’ll get up and cook.” My eyes wander to that oversized table, thoughts of him eating alone squeezing my chest. “I’m used to it,” he tacks on, and the resolve in his voice adds to my discomfort.
“Can I do anything to help?” I ask eagerly, needing a way to quiet my mind.
Jace throws a lazy grin over his shoulder. “Nope. I might need a taste-tester, but other than that, just relax.”
The aroma of cinnamon and sweet butter drift on the air. “That smells so good—what is it?”
This time, I get a full frontal view of him in those sexy, low-hanging pants. “That, Miss Conrad, is the scent of cinnamon sugar waffles.”
“Excuse me while I pick my tongue up off the floor,” I say, and his lips dance. “Yes, okay, sold. Definitely beats the frozen boxed ones I buy.”
He pivots back to the stove, using tongs to flip the bacon then pouring more batter into the waffle iron. “By the way, I wanted to tell you I really liked Mona.”
My heart smiles. “Yeah, she’s pretty darn terrific. She’s like a grandmother to me.”
“It’s nice that she can rely on you.”
“She needs that. Everyone needs that,” I quickly correct.
He tosses me a brief glance. “It’s obvious how much she loves you, that’s for sure.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual. You certainly won her over with your rummy-playing ability. Is there anything you’re not good at?”
His head tilts as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so,” he says casually, shoulders quaking with amusement. Even though I’m laughing, I shake my head at his quiet confidence. It’s yet another thing I lo—like about him.
“Okay, I can’t just sit here doing nothing while you prepare our feast.” My eyes roam the full range of cabinets. “I’d like to help. How about I set the table?”
“It’s fine. We can just sit at the island. Chaz probably won’t join us.”
“What do you mean?”
He turns around, leaning against the counter. “He has an issue with anything resembling a table. He doesn’t like to sit at them.”
“Okaaaay.”
“Growing up,” he explains, “he always took his plate in front of the TV. My mother tried over and over to lure him to the table, but it didn’t stick, and with so many kids to manage, she gave up. It still drove her and me absolutely insane, though.”
“Plates?” I remind him.
“Second cabinet from the bottom, all the way to the left. Silverware is in the drawer above.”
“Got it.” I jump down from the stool, and even though I’m in no danger of falling, Jace catches me. With one arm firmly around my waist, he curls a single strand of hair behind my ear. Blue eyes sparkle.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
I look up into an ocean of kindness, wondering about just that—how I got here—and what I did to deserve this man. “Me too.”
The lines around his mouth soften and he brushes his lips against mine. He lets me go with a smack to my ass. “Now get the plates, woman.”
I float over to the cabinets—yes, float—pulling together a stack of dishes and utensils. After setting them down, I join Jace, watching as he lays bacon on rows of paper towels. “So…what’s with all the white?”
A curious glance. “What do you mean?”
“White walls, white plates, white towels, white—”
“Your point has been established.” His mouth tugs up at the corners.
“Some color would do wonders for this place.”
“Says the consummate artist.” He adds a dash of something I can’t name to the mashed potatoes and stirs. “Are you offering your services?” He stretches out the last word, reinforcing his double meaning.
“It’s an all-inclusive package.”
He drops the spoon into the pot and pulls me flush against him. My surprise gives way to desire, the memory of him inside me surfacing, leaving me warm and tingly all over. “Tell me more,” he murmurs as he dips his head, kissing the tender skin along my neck.
“Get a room.” Chaz’s raspy voice propels me out of Jace’s grasp. “Do you have to do that around the food?”
“You mean the food I’m cooking?” Jace volleys back, but there’s no malicious intent in his tone.
Chaz sends me a playful wink. “Just make sure he doesn’t spit in my waffles, Lily. He might try to punish me for my childhood transgressions.”
Jace spoons the mashed potatoes into a serving bowl. “Transgressions—that’s quite a big word.”
He reaches around Jace to steal a piece of bacon, and Jace swats his hand away. “I have my moments.”
“I can’t imagine what you two were like growing up.” I toss my own comment into the ring, interrupting their brotherly rivalry.
Chaz helps me carry the plated food to the island. “Ask him to tell you about the time he thought he was Superman, jumped out of a tree, and broke his arm.”
“I had my Halloween cape on. I thought I could fly.” Jace responds with pride and a sweet defensiveness, and I find myself wanting more glimpses of that adorable little boy.
“Yes, and tell her who used his superhero strength to straighten out your arm and carry you inside to Mom,” he counters, remaining upright while Jace and I grab stools at the island.
“You did rescue me, so to speak,” Jace goes on, something silently passing between them. “Of course, I believe you were smoking behind said tree, isn’t that right?”
“I can’t recall,” Chaz replies, and we all have a laugh before he picks up his plate. “Thanks for making this, little brother.” A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “I’m out.”
He strides away and I turn back to Jace. “No tables, huh?”
“Nope.” Jace pushes the maple syrup toward me. “Shall we eat?”
That first bite of waffle melts in my mouth, hints of cinnamon and sugar hitting my taste buds in perfect harmony. I pour more syrup onto my plate. “This could possibly be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“You haven’t tried the potatoes yet,” he informs me with a delighted smile. He props his fist under his chin and leans closer.
I swirl my fork into the creamy goodness then push it into my mouth. The second the potatoes hit my tongue, I close my eyes in rapture. “Mmm.” My gaze opens to find Jace staring at me. I take one more bite because I can’t resist. “What is that flavor?”
“It’s rosemary, chives, and a little bit of parmesan.” He sits back and samples from his own plate, satisfaction on his lips. “Those are…pretty good.”
On to the crunchy bacon. “You are way too modest.”
“All the credit goes to my sister. If it weren’t for her, we’d be eating burgers and fries.”
“Oh, you just reminded me.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks while I scramble off the stool to snatch my purse from the dining room table. I dig to find my cell, and sure enough, I missed a few texts from Georgia.
Georgia: we’re still on for tonight, right?
Georgia: hola? hello? bonjour?
Georgia: did you leave the country without telling me?
Georgia: you better text me soon so I know you’re okay, don’t make me send out a squad
“I forgot I’m supposed to meet Georgia a little later.” I look up with a smile. “For burgers.”
Wordlessly, he drops his gaze from mine, absently picking at his mashed potatoes. It’s hard to tell what’s going on in his head, and I don’t want to assume.
Before I forget again, I shoot Georgia a text then stuff the
phone in my back pocket. In the time it takes me to reach Jace, he’s already walking his full plate to the sink.
“It’s fine,” he says without meeting my eyes. “You should get going.”
“Okay, stop.” I tug the dish from his hand and wait until I have his attention. “I don’t have to go yet. What just happened?”
His stare is filled with an intensity so overwhelming, now I’m the one who wants to look away. “I don’t know,” he mutters, almost as if he’s having a conversation with himself. “I really don’t know.”
“Okay, well when you know, tell me.” I try for a menacing glare. “In the meantime, sit down at the damn table and eat with me.”
That pulls a smile from his downturned lips. “You know I can’t resist you when you’re bossy.”
We find our seats and slip back into relaxed conversation, any traces of whatever was bothering Jace having disappeared. “I had three capes,” he admits, and my comeback is swift.
“I had three Barbies.”
“Only three?” He crunches on a piece of bacon. “Why only three?”
“Because my mother wasn’t a fan,” I say, dunking a piece of waffle into the pool of syrup. “She thought the doll objectified women.” My eye roll is dramatic. “She’s always had very strong opinions.”
Amusement pulls at his features. “Sounds like someone I know.”
I look left then right. “Who?”
“Funny, Miss Conrad. Very funny.”
“Why thank you,” I say, stuffing another piece of waffle into my smiling mouth.
He cuts his own waffle, eyes never leaving my face.
I pause, mid-chew. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
A simple shrug. “Because I like watching you eat.”
“Then you’re in for a real treat.” I grin, pulling the plate of bacon closer. “Because I intend to eat a lot more.” He chuckles, deep and contagious, and between the two of us, we sound like a pair of hyenas.
“Keep it down over there. I’m trying to watch a movie,” Chaz shouts, and Jace brings a hand up to his temple.
“What is it?”