Chapter 30
After I take a quick shower and get dressed, I stand in front of the mirror, my fingers caressing my lips. Jordan kissed me—if you consider a barely touching of the mouths a kiss. The man confounds me.
Jordan knows everything. Every horrible, shameful secret. I’m also honestly surprised he hasn’t run out of the house to get as far away from me as possible. Who in their right mind would want to deal with all my shit? I carry more baggage than an Antonov AN-225 cargo plane.
The only other person who knows is Mason. The deep friendship he and I share is born from similar pain. Mason grew up in the foster care system, tossed around from one family to the next until he aged out at eighteen and was taken in by Bennett’s family. Mason never talks much about his time in foster care, but the snippets he has shared with me aren’t good.
“What were you thinking?” I ask my reflection.
Too late to take it all back. Whatever is happening between Jordan and me can’t be built on a foundation of shadows and secrets. There are already too many cracks left by mistrust. And there’s the crux of my problem. I don’t know if I can trust him. I’m scared—no, terrified—that I’m leaving myself wide open for him to destroy me again in a way I may not be able to come back from.
Biding my time, I go through my text messages. Several are from Chase, but I already knew about those since I basically ghosted him after our last text conversation. A couple are from Harper that she sent this morning. I forward a few GIFs showing her all the ways I’m going to get her back for last night’s drop-and-dash, then I reply to Chase.
Me: Still up for coffee?
Chase: Absolutely.
Me: I have some stuff I want to get done today. Is later this morning ok?
Chase: Tell me where and when I’ll be there.
Me: Java Bean. 10 a.m. ok?
Chase: Which one? Main St or Carson Square?
There’s more than one now? How many coffee shops does Woodspire need?
Me: The one on Main.
Chase: See you there.
I toss my phone on the bed. The bed that I woke up in this morning to find Jordan right next to me. I tell my fluttery heart to take a hike as I head toward the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. What I see when I walk in jacks my pulse up to dangerous levels.
It doesn’t matter how many times over the past two weeks I’ve entered Natalie’s kitchen to find a very sexy Jordan standing at the stove cooking breakfast. I like it. A lot.
Nervous, I wipe my hands down the House of Gryffindor graphic T-shirt that took way too long for me to choose. I debated back and forth about wearing something nicer, maybe take the time to tame my hair into soft curls, apply a little more makeup than I’d normally wear, and attempt to shove my flabby parts into the one Spanx bodysuit I own. Then I said screw it and did none of it.
If Jordan is so hell-bent on forcing himself into my life, he’s getting the real Douglass. The not perfect and has a belly pooch Douglass. The graphic tee-and-Chucks-wearing Douglass. The woman who struggles financially working jobs for little pay. A woman who doesn’t fit in his multi-millionaire-dollar world of wealth and privilege. Okay, I’m aware that last thought is bullshit. Neither Jordan nor Harper are anywhere close to fitting the rich, trust-fund baby stereotype.
“You just going to stand there and stare at my ass all morning?”
My stupid face flames scarlet, and my gaze jumps from the toned, shapely ass I was indeed staring at to the window. I can see the top of Natalie’s head.
“How’s she doing?” I ask, walking over to the screened door.
Natalie and I may not see eye to eye when it comes to Amelia, but I love my aunt fiercely and would do anything for her.
Jordan pauses in his movements and looks over his shoulder at me. “Tired. Shaky. She also thought I was Grandpa Jack. Freaked me out a little, to be honest.”
Shit. I hate that he’s already seeing that part of the disease.
“Grab us some plates,” Jordan says, giving the omelet in the pan a flourished flip.
My olfactory senses kick in, and my stomach growls at the smell of… is that dill?
Going to the cupboard, I take three plates down and peek over to see what smells so delicious. I also notice bowls filled with cantaloupe cubes, red seedless grapes, and apple slices on the counter.
“You’re going all out with the spread. Did you add ham, cheese, and dill to the egg?” I ask, sniffing the air.
