The girls are spending the night with their grandparents, so we’ve had the entire day together.
“Should I be writing this down, sir?” I lean against the tiled counter, the coolness pressing against the back of my thighs. A tiny bruise on my leg stings with pleasure. Finally, Jamie looks up, eyes widening as they land on my pink silky pajamas, my nipples peeking through.
I’m still a little sore from this afternoon, but seeing him happy makes my core throb all over again.
“Go on. Write it on the mirror.” He juts his chin toward the steamed glass.
I smile and comply, setting my phone down, then turn around to drag my finger over the condensation as I jot down his list. I wiggle my hips, knowing how good my ass looks. There are still red handprints branded on my skin.
“Go ahead,” I purr, looking over my shoulder.
He takes a step forward, and my body vibrates. The towel slips lower to reveal the trail of hair below his belly button. The fabric near his cock shifts.
“You expect me to focus?”
I face forward, digging the front of my stomach into the counter and writingTours. “You could even host tours. Show people what you do here. You’re a very good teacher.”
“Joy.”
“I’ll come out and help,” I continue. “And to check on my girl, Jiji, of course.”
“I’d like that.” I can hear his feet pad against the floor as he crosses the space between us. He wraps his hand around my neck, tilting my face back to meet his eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you. The adoptions, the money, all of it. I’ve been running on fumes for years, and you just…walked in and fixed it.”
“I love to help.” I lean into him.
“I like having you here.” He kisses me. His length hits the back of my thigh. “I’ll have to think of a proper way to thank you.”
“We’re going to be late meeting Winnie at Grandpa’s Basement,” I say, though I don’t sound convincing.
“I think she can wait.”
Chapter 18
Be Patient
Twelve Days Left of Feeling Like I’m Part of a Family
Jamie opensthe oven and carefully pulls out the red Dutch oven. Outside, another three inches of snow have fallen since we dropped the girls at school, coating the ground in a pale, muffled gray light. He’s in a white tee and flannel pajama pants. A tiny fleck of flour clings to his jaw.
“Your first sourdough,” he announces, removing the lid with his potholders. Inside sits a perfect golden-brown loaf. The crust is crackling, and steam fills the kitchen with that toasty, yeasty smell that makes everything feel like home.
“I love carbs,” I breathe, leaning forward like I could inhale the whole thing. “I’ll get the butter.”
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head, green eyes catching mine as a stray curl falls over his forehead. “We gotta wait at least an hour for it to cool.”
“You didn’t tell me that when we started!” I groan, swatting him lightly with a candy cane linen dish towel.
“Keep complaining.” He plops the loaf onto a wooden cutting board. “I usually wait two hours.”
“I’m only waiting for one. Even setting a timer for fifty-seven minutes.”
I pick up my phone to set the timer and notice an email from the lab. Scanning it quickly, I feel a small surge of vindication.
“The lab got the sample back,” I say, rereading the findings.
“Already?”
“Iamthe best in the city,” I say, smirking. “The moss samples from the trees the other day are a mild irritant. No long-term effects expected, but the moss should be scraped off and the spores killed with white vinegar.”
