Once three hot cakes were cooking, she set the bowl back on the counter and laid strips of bacon in her other pan.
Still Gil said nothing.
She looked at him again, brows raised. Did he have questions or need something? She should probably explain their morning routine. But if she whispered even a word, Father might wake. Should she take Gil outside to speak? Or maybe just hand him a cup of coffee and gesture for him to sit at the table.
Coffee. Of course, that was what he wanted.
She poured the dark brew into a mug and handed it to Gil with a small smile.
He took it, then stepped closer to her, coming up right beside her. Before she could move or even think what he might be doing, his hand landed on her back—warm and steady—and he leaned in over her shoulder.
She froze. He was so close. That strong palm warm through her dress, the pressure of his chest against her shoulder. Her hair caught in the scruff on his face. The warmth of his breath brushed across her ear.
"Where can I help?" The words, in the barest whisper, sent a shiver through her. He must have felt it. Her entire body had trembled.
She inhaled to steady herself.
But how could she speak or even think with him this close? His breath caressed her cheek, and that hand still anchored her to him.
She shook her head, trying not to let the movement pull her away. Not because she wanted to stay here against him—of course not—but just so he wouldn't think she was reacting. Or maybe so he wouldn’t notice at all.
He didn’t ask more questions though, only held her in place as they watched the hot cakes bubble. His presence felt…overwhelming. Strong yet gentle. The strength of his body seemed to seep into hers, making it impossible for her to move, even if she’d wanted to. And if she turned toward him, those lips would be right there. A breath away
Would he kiss her?
The thought stole everything else. Every unanswered question. Every niggling worry. Even Father’s snores faded until all she knew was Gil, beside her, holding her against him. A man who might kiss her if she gave any indication she wanted him to.
A flash of memory slipped in.
Her first kiss with Alex. She couldn’t even say why she’d allowed it. Other than the fact that she’d wanted something different from this monotony. Something she could control. Allowing the kiss. Then allowing more. She’d been in control…until she’d allowed herself to believe the fantasy that Alex might be her way of escape. And then her own self-control had slipped.
Her throat ached and her eyes stung. One little mistake now…and it could cost her the freedom she wanted more than anything.
“What is it?” Gil’s whisper came just as softly as before, but the weight of his chest against her back eased. He shifted sideways, angling so he could see her face. How had he even known something was wrong?
She blinked to quell the emotion. She shouldn’t have let the memory slip in. She certainly wouldn’t ever again make the mistakes she’d made with Alex. Not with Gil or anyone else. She simply had to make sure she kept herself under control.
She shook her head to show nothing was wrong, then reached for the mug of coffee he’d put down at some point—though she couldn’t have said when—and placed it once more in his hands. With a smile, she pointed to the table, careful not to meet his gaze. He had a way of looking inside that saw too much. And his warm brown eyes drew her in, making her do things she wouldn’t normally do.
He didn’t move.
She turned back to the stove to flip the hotcakes over, the intensity of his gaze warming her neck. But then, he turned to the table.
As he retreated from the edge of her vision, Father’s snore shifted to a grunt. She cringed, in no hurry for him to wake up, then forced herself to relax as the sounds from her father’s chamber faded completely. He would come out soon, and she needed to be ready.
A moment later, the curtain rasped open and Father stepped into the main room, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet cave.
Jess sent him a smile and called out a soft, "Good morning." He always came out fully dressed, and this time he looked as if he’d brushed his hair too.
Gil’s voice also offered a steady, “Good morning.”
Father nodded toward her, the only response she’d get, then his gaze swept across the table toward where Gil sat. He slowed to a halt.
The silence stretched, heavy with tension. With Gil directly behind her, she couldn’t see him, but she could well imagine the sight that made her father pause. Gil at the table, coffee in hand,while she cooked breakfast. The picture of domesticity. But not the one Father was used to.
He started forward again, and his chair scraped across the floor when he pulled it back to sit. “Smells good in here.”
She was already scooping food onto his plate. After adding a fork, she poured his coffee and carried the meal to the table with a smile.
