Jazz? That was a first in this house.
He was humming along, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he lifted a pan and expertly poured gravy through a strainer. She leaned against the door frame and ogled him, fully aware she was staring at a very fine specimen of the male species. This was straight out of a fantasy, the way he exuded sexy, competent man. No one could look that good cooking unless it was Hollywood, could they?
She sighed, aware she was objectifying him again, like she had when he’d showed up this afternoon. She would hate it if someone did that to her. She cleared her throat to let him know she was there, and to stow those thoughts.
She steeled herself to make conversation, and put on a smile as best she could.If he was going to stay then she needed to get to know him. She didn’t fully trust him yet—who would, really—but in this situation, they had to figure out how to coexist until Frank could work his magic.
Jake looked up at her, finally noticing her presence. He smiled back and gestured to her.
“I have to tell you, wherever your cook gets their beef, it is fantastic quality.”
“It’s ours. We only ever eat our own beef,” she replied, walking in and leaning on the island, looking over the spread. “Where’s my mom?”
Jake turned back from putting the pot on the stove and wiped his hands on the apron. He pointed to the bedrooms and grimaced a bit, maybe in apology? She looked sharply at him.
“I sent her to lie down after Frank left. She was exhausted. She could barely stand.”
Guilt washed over Liz for having left her mother when she’d stormed out. She should have stayed and made sure Peony was okay. She let her emotions get the better of her, again.Damn it.
“Shit. Thanks for that. I suppose we need to talk about all . . . well, today,” she replied cautiously. “What are your plans? Do you need to run into town for anything?”
Jake shrugged and picked up three plates already mounded with food. Liz picked up the other two. She followed him over to the large table, noticing it was set as if for a holiday meal, with the nice napkins, the good stuff from the side hutch, and matching water glasses. He’d even found wine glasses. When was the last time they had sat down to a meal like this? Christmas? Easter? Her mother would be so pleased.
They set the plates down and looked at one another across the table. The early evening light cast shadows across his face, giving him a dark and dangerous feel. She watched him eyeing the table, straightening a fork, the precision exactly what she might expect from someone who ran high-end restaurants. Again, she found it appealing, and her stomach tightened. He wasn’t rough and tough, weathered from being outside all day. He was different, which was likely why she was examining him like a potential project horse. She stopped herself, blinking at the comparison. She had to stop doing that.
“There are candles in that big hutch over there,” she offered, pointing. “Maybe they would be nice.”
“Trying not to come on too strong, here. I’m expecting Tanner to take one look and attempt to deck me for overstepping. I already feel like I have,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his frustration showing.
Liz frowned. Obviously he and Tanner had chatted. “He’s already come in and yelled at you, hasn’t he?”
“Something like that,” he muttered, and straightened the fork again.
Lizhmmed, uncomfortable. Jake had gone to the effort of cooking their meal, a complete and utter unknown in their house. Right. Jake wasn’t far off the mark with his comment. Tanner would find this an affront and maybe attempt to turf him out of the house. She needed to show some appreciation and make up for the lack of it elsewhere.
“It’s really nice,” she said, changing the subject, looking at the dishes, the steaming plates of food, the wine sitting out, decanted. “You didn’t have to.”
“It helped me relax. I cook, it’s what I do, and this kitchen beckoned—” He stopped and turned to her, clearing his throat. “I needed to do something with myself. This afternoon was stressful.”
She nodded, agreeing with him, knowing that the reason for that stress had been thrust onallof them, and each had their own demons to wrestle. She couldn’t, by any means, understand what he must be thinking, being dragged all the way out here and having complete strangers you shared DNA with now beholden to you for something you neither wanted nor needed. He likely had a family back in New York. Work. Girlfriend, maybe? A quick thought ofI hope notflitted through her brain, and she wrinkled her nose at the ridiculous notion. His face fell when she did, and she pasted a smile back awkwardly.
“Well, I’ll go get Mom. The boys should be in soon. I’ll text them both that dinner is on the table,” she said quickly, before her thoughts could get away from her, and turned toward the master bedroom.
She sent both Tanner and Brady a text while she walked through the house, then quietly opened the door to her mother’s room. Peony was sitting in her favorite wing-backed reading chair, a blanket over her knees, her latest dog-eared romance novel open.
Her mother borrowed all her books from friends, and they had this sharing circle of smutty, bodice-ripping novels. Liz never understood why they loved the stories so much. Life wasn’t happily ever after. Relationships weren’t like the ones in those stories. At least, not in her world they weren’t.
“What’s this one about?” she asked, perching on the windowsill as Peony looked up, smiling tiredly at her daughter.
“Oh, this one is set in Scotland. Time-traveling laird kidnaps a pretty girl, takes her back in time, forces her to marry him.”
“That sounds terrible!” Liz said, shaking her head. “How is that romantic? Sexual assault, here we come!”
“Well, she does kick him in the privates when he tells her he has to bed her for it to be legitimate, if that helps.” Peony chuckled and closed the book, setting it on the teak table beside her chair. Liz stood and helped her mother up, watching her wince as she got to her feet.
“Bad today?” she asked, as Peony stretched and let out a small bleat of pain.
“Last few days have been worse, yes. Jake insisted he cook, and I didn’t have the energy to say no, and honestly? A real New York chef cooking in my house? I shouldn’t say no. I’m famished,” her mother said quickly, changing the subject.
