“Did you just...” She can’t even finish the sentence through her laughter.
“I would never,” I say with mock seriousness, flipping the first pancake.
“You did!” She dips her finger in the batter bowl and reaches toward me. I dodge, laughing despite myself.
“No fair! You have that big spoon!” Livy cries.
“A spatula you mean,” I say and flip another bit of batter at her.
“What’s going on in here?”
The deep voice from the doorway startles us both. Colton stands there in sweatpants and a faded Falcons T-shirt. Despite the casual attire and clear evidence that he just rolled out of bed, there’s something unfairly attractive about him—all broad shoulders and sleepy eyes. How can a person wake up and look like a Calvin Klein model? Also… grey sweatpants. I guess I don’t have to add that they hide little to nothing. My cheeks burn.
“Pancakes,” Livy announces proudly. “Jenna’s making them, but she doesn’t do shapes. And she put batter on my nose!”
“Did she now?” Colton’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Seems like you’re settling in.”
There’s a loaded question beneath the casual observation. Are we really doing this? Can this work? Did we make a terrible mistake?
“We’re managing,” I say, transferring the first pancake to a plate. “Though your daughter is a harsh critic of my pancake geometry.”
“Round is boring,” Livy informs her father and I jab a finger at her ribs. She giggles again.
“Round is classic,” he corrects, moving into the kitchen to make himself coffee. He moves with surprising grace for someone so large. “But shapes are good too.”
He steps in closer than he needs to, reaching past me for a mug, and his arm brushes mine like it’s nothing.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, but itisa big deal.
Because suddenly I’m very aware of him—of the warmth at my side. The clean, subtle scent of his shower gel. The way my brain seems to forget how to function like a normal, rational human being next to him. I’m pretty sure he permanently altered my hormones, and that’s why I ended up blurting out in court that we’re married. It has to be something biochemical, I’m sure.
Then I notice him staring at me.
I follow his gaze—and immediately regret it.
Because riiiight.
I’m wearing my oversized shirt and… my pink panties.
Great. Amazing. Perfect life choices all around, Jenna.
Heat rushes to my face so fast it’s almost impressive, and I move—quickly,veryquickly—around the kitchen island like distance might somehow fix this. It doesn’t. Obviously. But atleast the island hides my bare thighs. I busy myself with a plate, stacking a few pancakes for Livy like I’m not actively trying to disappear.
“Here you go,” I say, a little too bright, setting it in front of her.
Livy doesn’t notice anything, thank God. She just digs in, takes a bite and lets out a happy little sound, like I’ve just handed her the best thing she’s ever tasted.
And just like that, the tension cracks.
I glance back up at him despite myself. He’s still watching, but now there’s something else in the way he looks at me. And… are his cheeks red?
Somehow… that makes it worse.
Or better.
I’m not entirely sure.
He clears his throat and turns on the coffee machine as if this were our normal mornings. “Did you sleep okay?”
