“Well, they just so happen to be my specialty and if I remember correctly, you’ve always been a fan of breakfast for dinner.” He winks, causing my heart to stumble over itself. “If you help me with the mix, I’ll cook them.”
My breathing hitches and the organ in my chest kicks into overdrive as the realization seeps into my bones. It’s almost as if Jace has been cataloging these small details about me for years. He might be the only person other than my brothers who knows my favorite thing to have for dinner.
“Deal,” I say, a grin spreading across my lips. Jace grabs an egg and cracks it on the side of the bowl as I measure out the pancake mix. He measures the milk and pours it in while I grab the whisk and stir it until there are no clumps left.
Jace waits patiently, two feet away, standing in front of the stove with a spatula in his right hand. My body turns to face him and I inch closer as I extend my hand for him to take the bowl. He takes it and immediately directs his attention back to the stove as he pours some of the mix into the hot pan.
“Can you grab the butter and syrup from the fridge?”
“Of course,” I say, walking around him to the fridge. I find the cabinet with plates and grab those as well, along with two forks and a knife to take over to the island in the center of the kitchen.
Jace finishes with two pancakes and brings them over, setting them down on my plate before he turns back to the stove to make the rest with the remaining mix. “Don’t wait for me to eat,” he says softly, glancing over his shoulder. When I don’tmove and continue to stare at him, he raises an eyebrow. “I know you, Willow. I’m telling you to go ahead and start without me.”
Biting back a grin, I duck my head as he turns back to the hot surface. “Sorry for having manners,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes as I slide the knife through the butter and smear it across the pancakes.
“I appreciate your manners, I really do,” he says, flipping one of the cakes. “But it’s me. You don’t have to be so proper and polite around me, like you don’t know me.”
His words hit my chest like a ton of bricks. My hand holding the syrup bottle freezes mild air and my eyes widen. The syrup is from our farm. I don’t know why it surprises me, but it does. I look up at him, catching his gaze as he closes the distance between us and sits down next to me. “Have I been acting that way?”
“I don’t know,” he says with a deep breath after a moment and then shakes his head. “Sometimes, the way you talk… it’s just different.”
My eyebrows tug together as I slowly cut my pancakes into smaller squares. “What do you mean?”
“It just feels like you’re trying to be careful, like you might not feel like you can be yourself.” He turns his body to face me and I chew a bite of food as I shift my body, twisting in my seat to meet his gaze. “You can always be yourself around me, Willow. I just want you to know that.”
His words tug at the edges of my heart. I didn’t even realize I had been treating him differently, but after hearing him say the words out loud, I can see where he’s coming from. I know myself well enough to know I have to keep Jace Miller at arms length.
When we were younger, it was different. I could be myself around him because I knew there would never be anything between the two of us. But now—things are different. He looks at me differently. He acts differently.
Not in a bad way, but in a more attentive way.
In a way that has me wondering if just maybe my childhood crush is no longer unrequited. That maybe he came home feeling something more for me than just friendliness. Maybe, whatever this is, it’s worth taking a chance on.
His eyes track from my left to my right and back again before they drop down to my mouth. “You have syrup,” he murmurs, wiping at the corner of his mouth to show me where.
Heat creeps up my neck and a nervous laugh escapes me as I set my fork down and wipe the same place where he showed on his own face. My eyebrows tug downward as I don’t feel anything sticky on my fingers or beside my mouth.
He purses his lips, shaking his head. “You didn’t get it,” he says, pointing his finger at my face. “It’s right there.”
I blow out a breath, my expression relaxing as I try again and he laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know how you keep missing it. It’s literally right there,” he chuckles. His hand lifts instinctively but he stops midair as his eyes flick to mine. “May I?”
“Please,” I half whisper, half breathe out. My heart pounds a bit harder, a bit faster as his eyes drop down to my mouth and the pad of his thumb touches the corner of my mouth. It moves lower, brushing across the smallest spot I missed every time I tried to wipe it away.
Instead of wiping his thumb away from my face, he drags it closer to my mouth, swiping across my bottom lip, ever so slowly. I inhale a sharp breath, it catches in my throat, and time suspends. His eyes flick to mine, his pupils dilating as the muscle in his jaw tightens. His thumb lingers and his gaze burns into mine.
“There,” he finally says, his voice gruff as his eyes draw back to my mouth. His thumb remains and a shallow, ragged breath escapes him. “Got it.”
Leaning into his touch, I feel vulnerability washing over me. This is that chance, that moment to just risk it. I lick my lips and just as I feel myself instinctively leaning closer, I freeze. Doubt pricks the back of my mind. What if I’m reading the situation all wrong?
If I take this chance, if I kiss him and it doesn’t go well, our friendship is gone. Years of knowing one another, down the drain. I can’t ruin the friendship. I can’t take that chance.
Letting out a breath and dropping my gaze down to my lap, I shift back in my seat, away from his touch and out of reach as I swallow roughly. “Thanks,” I say, forcing the word out as I flash a small smile.
His expression fills with conflict and the muscle in his jaw tics once more. “Of course.” He forces a smile of his own. “I can’t let you walk around with syrup on your face.”
“Always the gentleman,” I say, my smile feeling a little less forced as I turn around in my seat and pick up my fork again.
