Leah studied him like a textbook, grasping the opportunity to run her eyes over him while he examined the floor. The frown he was rarely without was not in evidence on his forehead, his mouth relaxed, showing less strain than usual. He looked physically tired but mentally refreshed, if that was even possible.
“I think you’re enjoying yourself.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Jackson’s glance was unreadable. “What’s not to love,” he said eventually. “Rolling around in some stranger’s DNA really does it for me.” He put his glass down on the side in the kitchen. “I need a shower.”
“Don’t disturb the skeeter-eater in the top corner. He flew in last night and we have an agreement that he can stay if he doesn’t flap in my face.” Leah shuddered. “I hate it when they do that.”
Jackson paused in the doorway. “I could go one better than ignoring him, Leah. I could put him outside for you.”
She stared at his back as he disappeared. It’d been so long since she’d asked anyone for help that she’d forgotten it was an option.
“Bare minimum. Don’t get emotional over someone offering to do the bare minimum,” Leah reminded herself as she examined the contents of the fridge while the water pipes began to clank overhead. She stared particularly hard at a tomato until she managed to drive the image of Jackson’s sweaty torso out of her mind. “And think about food, not about muscles. Food, food, food. Ah, tuna pasta bake!” The perfect option for dinner. Even she couldn’t mess that up. There would be plenty if Jackson wanted to share but, if he didn’t, she could portion it up and have it throughout the week.
Stacking the ingredients on the countertop, she was frying the vegetables when there was a tap on the kitchen door. Hazel’s face peered through the glass; Leah beckoned her inside. “It’s open!”
“Hello, lovely. I fancied some fresh air, a stroll, and a little company. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you!” Leah gave her a one-armed hug, the other hand still clutching a wooden spoon. She’d been desperate for a chance to talk to Hazel about Esther’s diary but she hadn’t gotten around to telling Jackson about it yet and didn’t want him to walk in to find her gossiping about his grandmother’s private life. “Feeling better?”
“Much, thank you.”
They chatted as she cooked, and Hazel wandered to the door of the living room to admire Jackson’s work. “What an improvement! Imagine how glorious it will be with a coat of stain and some rugs. For a white-collar dude, the boy doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.”
“Did you seriously just use the word ‘dude’?”
“I did.” Hazel looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure I’ll do it again. It felt weird on my tongue.”
Leah checked the pasta to see if it was ready and turned on the oven. “Well, I need to make sure the dude doesn’t regret saying I can stay here while the house is on the market.” She opened a jar of white sauce to add to the vegetables. “I’m hoping to buy his tolerance with carbs.”
“You have friends, sweetie. None of us will see you turned out with nowhere to go.” Hazel patted her arm.
“I know.” Leah shot her a grateful smile. “And I really appreciate you all. It’s just that staying somewhere temporarily isn’t the same as having a proper base.”
“Your next step will become clear in plenty of time. You need to place your trust in the cosmos.”
“Hmm.” Leah wasn’t so sure. “The cosmos and I have a rocky relationship.” She stirred the vegetables and sauce through the cooked pasta and tipped everything into a large oven dish.
“What are you making, dear? It smells delicious.”
“Tuna pasta bake.”
“Light on the tuna?” Jackson’s voice, deep and low, had them both turning around. He stood unsmiling in the doorway, in casual clothes and with damp hair, leaning against the wooden frame. He was awkward, austere, and appealing in equal measures.
“Huh?” Leah frowned through the alliteration avalanche free-falling in her brain.
He nodded toward the counter. “Most tuna pasta bakes usually contain a little tuna.” She turned to see the can sitting, unopened, on the side. “But I’m no chef, so what do I know?” There was the smallest lift to his lips. So infinitesimal that Leah couldn’t swear she’d seen it, though she knew she had.
“Well, I don’t always subscribe to the norm.” Keeping her voice airy, she ignored, but relished, Jackson’s soft snort. “You take away the option of creating something truly unique if you always do what’s expected.” Opening and draining the tin, she stirred the contents into the casserole dish. “However, on this occasion, I believe a little tuna could work.”
“Hello, Jackson. I love what you’ve done in the living room.” Hazel’s eyes twinkled at him.
“There’s a long way to go yet.” He hovered in the doorway, seemingly uncertain if he wanted to come in or leave them to it. His stomach growled loudly and he flushed.
“This will be ready in twenty minutes or so,” Leah told him. “And there are rolls in the bread box if you want something to tide you over.”
He hesitated but finally pushed away from the doorframe. The kitchen shrank in deference to his huge proportions.
Hazel noticed it, too. “Goodness me, you’re a sky-high swizzle stick, aren’t you? If you were a tree, you’d definitely be a redwood.”
