“How is it?” Jackson comes over to the table and sets my glass of wine down before pulling out his chair to sit. He grins, already knowing my answer. “Good?”
“Very good.” Who knew Jackson Wilder was a skilled chef?
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” I spear a bite of cauliflower on my fork. “How come you never cook for family events?”
His eyes widen as if I’ve caught him off-guard and he takes a moment before he answers, almost as if he’s considering his response. “How do you know that I don’t?”
I guess I don’t know for sure. But Maeve, Val, and Sarah have welcomed me into their homes for many get togethers. Edward and I are basically honorary family members at this point. There hasn’t been a holiday or birthday party that I’ve ever seen Jackson walk in with food or man the grill.
“I pay attention.” I take a sip of wine to clear my throat. “And no one’s ever mentioned you bringing a dish.” I point at my plate with my fork. “Believe me, if you showed up with food tasting this good, one of your siblings would mention it.”
“Damn.” He leans back in his chair and stares at me as if he’s looking for something. Though I don’t know what. “You really do pay attention.”
The last thing I want to do is give him the impression I’ve noticed everything about him since the day we met. “So, why don’t you ever bring food?”
“Honestly? Because no one’s ever asked.”
“Are you serious?” I want to laugh, but refrain. “Why not volunteer?”
“I don’t know if you’ve caught on, but my siblings don’t really expect me to do anything but show up.”
“Ah.” I nod and roll my eyes. “You’re the baby and they still coddle you. Got it.”
I don’t mean to be so direct, but by his laughter it doesn’t offendhim much.
“You could say that.”
“Aren’t you a grown-ass man?”
He tips his chin, a Cheshire smile pulling at his lips. “You know I am.”
He’s not playing fair, bringing up that night. My composure almost slips as memories dance in the back of my mind. But I won’t let him distract me from the point I’m attempting to make.
“Jackson, they’ll always treat you like a child if you continue to act like one.”
“Wow.” His brows shoot up. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I’m not trying to stir the pot. But it’s a shame to be this talented and not share it with the people you love.”
“I’m sharing it with you,” he teases.
My heart almost stops at the implication. He couldn’t possibly mean?—?
“Rosalie, breathe.” His laughter booms. “It was a joke. Oh my God, you should see your face right now!”
Of course he didn’t mean anything by it.
“Okay.” I roll my eyes.
“What?”
“Do you always say something ridiculous or make a joke when the conversation gets too serious?”
He freezes and meets my stare, his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Jackson appear unnerved, but this comes close.
“You.” His chuckle washes over me, sending a thrill down my spine.
