“Good to see you again.” I paused. “So…will you be training me?”
He drew a tense breath. “Yep. Guess so.” Without looking at me again, he strode over to a cabinet and pulled out two little index card boxes. One was blue, one was yellow. “Yellow is cowboy meal recipes and blue is for the guests.”
Panic grabbed my throat. No, hello? Good morning? Good to see you again? Or how was your drive? My heart rate tripled its tempo. Even though our kisses were wildly inappropriate, I didn’t regret meeting him, knowing him, or our time together. I certainly wasn’tangryat him.
But he seemed angry at me.
Why? What did I do wrong?
Our rapport had been great—near perfect. We had chemistry, and I could even see us being good friends during my time here. Why would he not even look at me?
A hot squeezing sensation wrapped around my throat. I reached for the card boxes, lifting the lid on the yellow one. “Is there a schedule?”
Jesse strode over to the refrigerator, tapping a piece of paper on the side. “Right here.”
I walked over and let my eyes run over the list, hardly recognizing the words as English. Forcing my head into the game, I found the way the chart worked—day of the week on the left side, with the wordscowboyandguestsat the top. Today’s cowboy breakfast was jalapeño corn bread, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
Jesse began prepping a pot of coffee.
Surely he was just tired. Some people were incapable of coherent conversation in the morning.
I walked back to the middle of the kitchen, fretting. Should I wait for instructions or go ahead and rummage around? My thumb nail found a cuticle and dug in. I caught myself and stopped then reached for the yellow box of cards for the cornbread recipe.
Jesse turned to the sink with the coffee carafe. “We make cornbread the night before.” He flipped the faucet on and nodded toward the corner. “It’s in that dish over there.”
My eyes followed his nod, landing on a foil-wrapped metal dish against the wall.
“I would lay the bacon on baking sheets, which are in the cabinet beside the oven, cook those first and then at the end, pop the cornbread in to warm it a little.”
“Okay.” I found the sheet pans and pulled two out. “Any parchment paper?”
He wrapped his hand around the handle on the drawer behind him, yanking it open without a word.
I lined the sheets with paper and the two packages of bacon Jesse had pulled from the fridge while he cracked eggs into a bowl. My hands shook as I tried to read his body language. His shoulders wereturned away, a wordless barrier protecting him from even having to look at me.
My cheeks burned—they had to be beet red, justhadto be.
Why did I follow him after the wedding? He had admitted to being sad and missing his wife and then Ithrewmyself at him. He probably thought I took advantage of him. Of course he wouldn’t be happy to see me. I lifted a sheet off the table and placed it into the oven—the pan, laden with bacon, slipped from my fingers at the last second, making a loud clattering sound against the metal rack.
I cringed at the invasion of the sound, hoping I didn’t disturb any guests.
Jesse instinctively shushed me.
Shhh.
Which reminded me of that night. Again.
When he’d shushed me because I was enjoying our kiss a little too much. Nausea ripped through my stomach so violently, I quaked. Jesse had seen me likethat—open and hungry and vulnerable. Why had I ever let him see me like that? No wonder he wouldn’t even look my direction. The memory of me, shaky and sweaty, probably disgusted him. Just like any sexually functioning adult male, he’d take what was offered to him, but that didn’t mean he’d value it forever. Few did.
Garrett didn’t, that was for damn sure.
Maybe, unintentionally, I’d cornered Jesse into physical affection. I’d made myself too available. What man could resist a woman who was practically on her knees, begging for love? To think I believed, for a fleeting moment, that Jesse was safe.
Fool.
I found a frying pan and turned on a burner. A juicyflupp-flupp-fluppfilled the kitchen as Jesse beat the eggs with a fork. When he brought them to the stove, I relieved him of the bowl, disallowing my eyes to find his face. “I can take it from here.”
“Thanks. Pam’s in the upper cabinet.” I grabbed it and sprayed the pan as he pulled out two mugs, filled them both with steaming coffee, and dropped one on the counter next to the range. Before I could protest the black coffee, he dropped a carton of half-n-half beside itand fished a spoon out of the drawer. My voice sounded lame as I thanked him quietly again.
