I roll my eyes.
Two hours later, everything is back to normal. The night turned out to be really fun. Everyone I met was great. Most of the guests have left and Callie has offered to teach the kids the tips and tricks she learned when she started cooking for her sisters as a kid, and Jessie has offered to give a talk on what her childhood was like. And all three of them have offered donations.
Now the only people left are Jessie and Jordan, me and Alex. Jordan helps me pick up empty glasses and carry them to the kitchen area while Alex loads his dishwasher.
“So where’d you get the name for the place?” Jordan asks casually. “Who is Daphne?”
“She was my birth mother,” I tell him and Alex stops loading the dishwasher. “She died when I was almost two.”
I can feel Alex’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over. Jordan looks the way people always look when I tell them—stunned and sad. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I smile softly and out of the corner of my eye I see Jessie yawn where she’s stretched out on the couch. “I think you need to get her home. Congratulations, by the way.”
Jordan looks back at Jessie and his face softens into pure love. It’s the kind of look you see in movies or read about in romance books and dream someone will give you one day. It’s nice to know it actually exists.
“Thanks. I’m thrilled,” Jordan replies. “And I think having Callie going through it too will be great for Jessie. And hysterical for me. So there’s that.”
He chuckles and walks over to the couch. “Let’s go home, babe.”
Jessie stands up and smiles at me. “It was great seeing you again, Brie. And I can’t wait to come by Daphne’s.”
I give them a little wave as they head for the door and glance around for my purse so I can get the hell out of here too. Being alone with Alex doesn’t seem like the best idea, even though he did seem to relax as the night went on.
I see my purse hanging on the back of one of the chairs by the island so I walk over and grab it. Before I can tell him I’m leaving he curses in French. “How do you work this thing?”
He doesn’t know how to work the dishwasher? I walk over and watch him stare helplessly at the inside as he holds a small detergent pod in his big hand. “Where the hell does this thing go?”
“You’ve never used your dishwasher?” I ask.
“I’ve always had one but never used it. I usually eat out, and I hand wash the one or two plates I use.” He looks up at me with helpless, almost puppy dog, eyes.
“Mon Dieu,”I say with a smile and my use of French makes him smile too. I walk over and take the pod from him. I pop it into the little holder on the inside of the door and close it then punch the appropriate buttons on the front. It makes a soft gushing sound as it begins its cycle.
“Merci,” he replies softly.
“Anything else you need help with?” I ask and I can’t help but flash him a cheeky smile. “Like how to use a washing machine or set your alarm clock?”
“You’re hilarious,” he snarks back. “Making fun of a man in need.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”
He’s standing so close I can smell the woodsy scent that engulfed me seconds before he kissed me the other night. My skin starts to tingle. I try to take a deep breath, but it’s hard suddenly. He’s smiling but it’s dark, in the most delicious way. “You have a nice place.”
“Thanks.”
“Very open.”
“Yeah. I like open spaces,” he says. “You know why.”
I adjust my purse on my shoulder and suddenly remember. “I brought you a housewarming gift.”
“What?” He looks startled and not in a good way. He takes a step back and blinks. “I told the girls to make sure no one brought gifts.”
“I know. I wasn’t going to, but there’s this little store near the courthouse.” I feel suddenly stupid again. Why does he always make me feel like this? “I bought it on a whim. It cost nothing and if you really don’t want it, I’ll keep it for myself.”
I pull out the bag and shove it into his chest. He doesn’t take it so I just hold it there. My knuckles are between the gift and his chest and it’s like pressing them into a rock. He’s pure, solid muscle. I think of how he looked in that tight shirt after the game and I flush. “Just take it. It’s not a big deal.”
He makes a noise almost like a groan and finally takes the bag. It’s a simple paper bag. The gift is unwrapped inside because I wasn’t lying when I said it really wasn’t a big deal. He looks inside. The scowl on his face softens and softens until it’s nothing but amazement. He pulls out the tiny metal, handmade fleur-de-lis with little LED lights hammered into it.
