James is going to take the contract with AFD, which takes a lot of pressure off me to make this restaurant boom immediately, but now I feel a little competitive. Maybe Icanmake it boom? Why not try? For James. For me.
So I took Josie’s advice. I pulled the nepotism card—aka I called my super-famous pop star sister-in-law and asked for a favor. Of course she was willing (eager) to help and had her manager leak itto the press that she’d be attending the soft opening and paparazzi were encouraged to attend. Since they’ll be there foaming at the mouth to catch a glimpse of Rae Rose walking in and leaving the restaurant, she’s called in more bodyguards. All of this will help put the Greenhouse on the map, and I’m just trying not to hurl.
After showering, I tie my navy-blue bandanna around my hair, cottagecore style. Later, I’ll slick my hair back in a stubby little ponytail and don my chef’s coat, but for now I’m in my comfy cutoffs and James’s baggy T-shirt to gather produce.
When I come out, he’s at my table eating breakfast. Hat on, word search open, too big for the table, coffee steaming. It’s a sight to cherish.
When he looks up he smiles, and my heart flips. I think I might be glowing. Or blushing. Or melting.
I pad over to the coffeepot, pour a cup, then take the seat across from him at the table. “It looks like coffee,” I say, staring down into the cup. I sniff it. “Smells like coffee.”
He lifts a brow, smirking. “Taste it, I dare you.”
I stare at him as I sip. The flavor that hits my tongue is . . . “Delicious.”
“Mm-hmm.” He sits back, proud. “I got a fancy coffee at the store. And I even watched a YouTube video on how to actually make it instead of just dumping a shit-ton of grounds into the basket.”
I bat my eyes. “For me?”
“For you.” He smiles, bumps my knee under the table.
Fireworks explode in my belly. “Hey, do you live here now?”
He laughs. “I’ve stayed with you two days.”
I grin over my cup, shrugging slightly. “Longest anyone has ever stayed over.”
“I have my own house,” he says, but it’s not really an answer. After a short pause, he adds, “I like yours better, though.”
I look around. “Mine is pretty great. But arguably yours is better.”
He doesn’t look like he agrees. “Mine is too big and empty.”
“Ah.” I had wondered. It’s a large space that used to be filled with family. When he’s in there alone, I imagine it’s gaping.
“Doesn’t feel like mine either. Feels like my mom and dad’s.”
“For now maybe. But maybe one day you’ll fill it up with a wife and kids.”
“Do you want that? Kids?” he asks, like I’m the wife in question. And I have no idea why but it fills me with so much joy I want to go give him a lap dance.
I shrug. “I don’t know actually. I’ve never really seen myself that way.”
“Me neither.”
“Really?” I’m shocked, eyes wide and bugging. I thought for sure James pictured himself driving a tractor with a James Jr. in his lap.
“I’m not big on kids. But I could be, if that’s what you want.”
I’m so pleased by this answer I could pop. Pleased with this whole conversation, actually. This whole relationship so far.
I sip my coffee, face warming with tinges of pink delight. “We’ll see. For now, you can stay here with me in my cozy cottage as much as you want.”
He gives me a smile that feels like a sweet, lazy kiss. And then he rips out a page of his word search and slides it across to me.
And there it is. I think I’ve found the secret I’ve been looking for: I’d like to be restless with adventure, go out and see and do and be, and then comehome.
To this.
