I pull open the door with a welcoming smile.
“Hi, Violet. You look lovely.”
Jason’s raspy voice hits low in my belly. When he speaks, it’s like smooth honey over bourbon, hot and sweet. That’s what I get for not speaking to men in so long. Well, except Sam.
“Thank you. Come on in.”
“Ah… before I do that, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
I feel another presence step forward, like he entered the stage on cue. Someone tall. Very tall.
Stretched-on-a-medieval-rack tall.
And when he speaks, it’s in the thickest Cockney accent I’ve ever heard outside BBC dramas.
“Afternoon, love. I’m Reggie. Here to help you set up your ADA modifications. You got a lovely place ’ere.”
Just like when Beau introduced himself the other day, this man’s voice also comes from at least two feet above me.
My brain does a record scratch.
Is everyone in this program giant-sized? Is being tall a prerequisite? Did I accidentally sign up for ADA: The NBA Edition?
Human-Jason coughs like he’s trying not to laugh—rude—and says, “I thought it might be good to introduce you two early. Reggie’s handling the tactile markers and kitchen layout adjustments.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. We’ll get you sorted proper. I used to install accessibility layouts for the royals.”
The royals? Somehow, I doubt it, but I don’t think Human-Jason would allow him into the house if he was a bad person. An overactive imagination? Sure.
Dog-Jason appears out of nowhere and bumps my leg. His growl is different from anything I’ve heard before—like he’s saying:“What is happening? Why is this man so loud? Why is he so tall? Should I bite him?”
I mutter back, “We don’t bite people, Jason. It’s rude.”
Human-Jason snorts. “He’s fine. Mostly.”
I step back to let them in. “Okay, seriously, though… is everyone in this program tall? Should I be worried?”
Reggie laughs like I’ve said the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“Oh, aye. We breed ’em big in my line o’ work.”
Fantastic. By the end of the night, I’ll have neck strain from “looking” up.
Something cool hits my hands, and I startle back.
“Shit, sorry. It’s wine. I thought we could have some with dinner.”
Warmth flows through me, like I’ve already taken a large gulp of it. How sweet. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you.”
“Ready to cook?”
I nod, suddenly glad I put on lip balm because he always sounds like he’s smiling when he talks to me, and somehow that makes me want to look nicer. More put-together.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Did you bring that flame retardant suit I warned you to bring?”
He chuckles, and it sinks into places that haven’t felt a spark in a while. I wonder what he looks like. If the face and biceps and wrists match the voice.Down, Violet. You’re learning how to create heat in the kitchen, not in your panties.
Behind him, claws click on tile.
