“Nolan picked up some Ketel One. Should’ve told you it was in the freezer.”
“That’s my vodka!” she hollered.
“I told you: I notice stuff.” He came back into the room and handed her a vodka soda.
She took a sip, watching him. “Why weren’t you drinking at dinner?”
“Don’t when I’m with my girls.”
She nodded. “Then I won’t either.”
His gaze softened. “You sure you’re all right?”
Jamie exhaled. “I just hate being embarrassed.”
Clayton leaned back against the couch, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Hell, darlin’, he’s the one who ought to be embarrassed. Ain’t a single one of his movies worth the popcorn.”
She laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. Then her gaze caught the lifeless horse painting above the fireplace. She pointed at it. “Do you actually like that?”
Clayton sighed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Tammy painted it.” A beat passed. Then, with a wry smirk, he added, “Always hated that damn picture.”
CHAPTER 15
JAMIE
The smell of bacon dragged Jamie out of sleep. She cracked one eye open, scanning the foot of the bed—empty. Poppy was gone. She flopped onto her back with a groan, the ache in her muscles a sharp reminder of where she was. Then she heard it: the clatter of a pan. And a low, unmistakable voice.
Her stomach clenched.
Clayton’s here.
Of course he was. Like a bad habit, impossible to shake.
She stepped into the hall, following the scent of grease, and froze at the kitchen threshold. Clayton stood at the stove, flipping bacon with an easy confidence, his hair a tousled mess, his jeans slung low on his hips. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking onto hers, and smirked.
“Morning, sunshine.” His voice was thick with amusement. “Figured you’d wake up.”
Jamie walked into the kitchen. “What’s all this?” A tray of bacon, eggs, and a stack of pancakes sat on the island counter while both dogs layat Clayton’s feet. It was the opposite of what Derrick ate for breakfast: power bars and protein shakes.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Clayton said, wearing akiss the chefapron over his plaid button-down shirt.
“Nobody believes that, Clayton. It’s something parents say to their kids.” She snatched a slice of bacon from the plate and stuffed it into her mouth. “This is delicious!”
“Poppy likes it too.” Clayton fed the dogs from a cast-iron pan.
“Don’t give her that!” Jamie reached over the counter and grabbed his hand. “I put her on a diet. She’s getting fat.”
“That’s just plain ridiculous.” He gestured toward her guitar. “You get any writing done last night?”
“No.” She sipped her freshly squeezed orange juice. A dozen halved oranges, their insides mangled from a citrus reamer, sat on the island counter. “I brought my guitar to bed, but Duke insisted on lying on my legs, making it impossible to play.”
“Sorry about that,” Clayton said, wiping down the island counter. “I’m going to take the girls to school. Want to join me?”
“Why would I?” She folded a piece of bacon in half before eating it.
He shrugged, continuing to clean up the breakfast mess. “The girls wanted you to come, so I told them I’d ask.”
“Jesus, Clayton.” She pointed her finger, scolding him. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She hated when people committed her to things without asking first. It was a classic Derrick move. Once he’d tricked her into dancing lessons by saying they were going for salsa. Mexican food was her favorite. But of course he meant the dance, not the condiment. That would have meant nachos, and he vehemently opposed fried food.
