"That's going too far," he said with a chuckle. "I have someone come in and do the deep cleaning once a week. Though we do pick up after ourselves and do our own dishes around here. Right, Jacks?"
She pulled a face and nodded. "Yeah. I hate it."
I rolled my lips in to keep from laughing. If I had a guarantee that my child would turn out like Jacks, I'd be ready to have a baby tomorrow.
And where in the hell did that thought come from?
I'd never had baby fever before and this was freaking me the hell out. The room suddenly felt extremely hot.
"Uh, could I get something cool to drink?" I asked. "It's still pretty hot out there."
"Want a margarita on the rocks?" he asked.
I wanted to yell,Hell yeah!
But I settled for, "That sounds delicious."
He looked down at Jacks. "Wash your hands and then go set the table, please."
Surprisingly, she didn't argue. She scampered off in the direction of the hallway. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Brody reached out and grabbed me. His lips hit mine and my legs immediately went weak. This wasn't one of the sweet kisses he'd been giving me lately. This was hotter and deeper.
I twined my arms around his neck and gave him more of my weight. To be honest, I basically draped myself all over him.
"Dad, I can't reach the plates!" Jacks called. "Where's my stool?"
We broke apart, both of us breathing heavily. Brody winced and reached down to adjust himself. I turned my head away so I wouldn't stare at the zipper of his jeans and imagine what lay behind it.
"Good idea," he murmured.
"What?" I asked, still not looking at him.
"If you don't look at me, I just might be able to keep my hands off you."
My head whipped around and I gaped at him, but he'd already turned his back to me. And holy shit, those jeans looked just as good on him from the back as they did from the front.
"The kitchen's this way," he called over his shoulder.
I looked around for the first time since I entered and noticed that the living room to my left was bright and cheerful. The walls were painted white and the couch was beige. There were also bright blue, turquoise, and yellow pillows on the sofa. The wood floors were a warm amber color and a rug sat beneath the sectional and coffee table in the same colors as the toss pillows, only the hues were muted. The windows were covered with white blinds. The walls were still bare, as though he hadn't had time to hang artwork yet and there were no curtains over the blinds. It was clear the house was still a work in progress but it managed to look comfortable and homey, like you could lounge on the couch on Sundays and binge watch a show on Netflix.
I meandered down the short hall that led to the kitchen. I gaped when I saw what awaited me. Another, smaller living space stood off to the left with a grey microsuede sectional. It was slouchy and appeared soft. It wasn't as sleek or pretty as the one in the other living area, but I bet it was even more comfortable.
A huge flat screen TV was anchored to the wall facing the couch and there was a low coffee table in front of it. A dining area stood between the den and the kitchen. A rectangular table with six seats was set for three. Jacks and Brody were in the kitchen area and envy, pure and sharp, surged through me as I gazed upon perfection.
The long countertops were clean, cool white quartz. Surprisingly, they were a little cluttered with appliances, cooking utensils, and two bowls, one full of apples, oranges, lemons, and bananas, and the other full of onions and garlic. I wondered if he'd already had all this stuff or if he'd just bought it for their new home.
The gas range had four burners and a cast-iron grill over a larger burner in the center. It also had two ovens. A stainless steel fridge with French doors, a cooling drawer, and freezer on the bottom fit perfectly between the cabinets.
And what beautiful cabinets they were. Pale greyish-blue with simple brushed nickel pulls. The center island was large enough for both food prep and people to eat at the bar on the opposite side. The stools were awesome, a matte black with industrial-style screw seats.
It was my dream kitchen. And I wanted it so, so bad.
"Just in time," Brody said as he bent down to pull a pan out of the oven.
It said a lot that I was so distracted by his kitchen I didn't take the time to check out his ass.
He carried the glass pan to the table and set it on a trivet. For some reason, my mind snagged on that detail. Brody Murphy not only owned a trivet, he used it.
I put my hand on the bar and ran my palm over the quartz. So, so pretty.
