Deep breaths, Jasper. Yesterday’s spiral didn’t scream an Abba-love-song level of confidence in me.
“Good morning to you too,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “How’d you sleep?”
“I slept pretty great, thanks. That mattress is about a hundred times more comfortable than my own.”
“Good to know it’s not just me who likes it. Actually, I’m glad you said that because it’s what I ordered for the beds in the big house. I’ll get you the link if you want it.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
We lapsed into an awkward silence, both of us looking around the kitchen—and occasionally at each other—trying to figure out what we were supposed to be doing, or maybe what we weren’t supposed to be doing. I chopped veggies for omelets with more precision than I’d ever done in my life. My mushrooms were so precise they could have gone into battle.
“Jasper, can I ask you a really personal question?”
“Big Daddy,” I said with a wink. “You can ask me anything.” He scoffed at my nickname but pressed on.
“Why are you cooking breakfast in your underwear?”
“Ha. There’s a very uncomplicated answer.”
Hank stared at me like he was waiting for said uncomplicated answer. I, of course, proceeded to complicate it by stalling.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Don’t you think it’s freeing?”
“I think bacon grease hurts like hell.”
“Yeah, it does, but it’s like cardio first thing in the morning. All the jumping out of the way.”
“Hard pass.”
“Spilled coffee down the front of me,” I said with a sigh. “I didn’t want to go back in and risk waking you up, so…off came the clothes and out came the apron.”
“I like the apron. A lot.”
I held it out in front of me and gave a little half-curtsy.
“Do you?”
I looked down at myself, and yeah, it was fab. Clearly, Hank’s taste was as outstanding as my own. What’s not to love about three pigs twerking on poles emblazoned withI Like Big Buttsin pink glitter?
“The glitter poles are a nice touch.”
“Ya think? I like their stripper heels.”
Our matching grins broke the tension in the air, we both took a deep breath, and the tension vanished as quickly as my clothes this morning. Hank came into the kitchen. He looked over my shoulder to see what I was working on. I felt the pads of his fingers pressing into my bare skin where he grasped my shoulders.
The air in my lungs froze, then restarted with a lurch. Hank might have missed my shallow breathing, but considering his finger had moved directly over the pulse point on my throat, no way he’d missed my pounding heart. With the tiniest movement, I shifted back and brushed against Hank. I melted when he crowded forward in response.
“Sugar, whatcha doin’?”
“Why, Daddy, I don’t know whatever you mean.”
“Okay, Blanche, I see you.”
“Do you?” My breath hitched when his fingers flexed against my shoulders. I wanted so much more. “Do you see me, Daddy?”
“Sugar, don’t start something you can’t finish.”
