When we get home, the movers are gone and the house is unpacked. It already looks like a home. There are wedding portraits on the walls and prints of the candid shots we took to fake six months of secret dating.
It feels so real.
Jordan gets right to work on something quick that’s still delicious—breakfast burritos. I’m always a fan of breakfast for dinner. Also always a fan of Jordan’s cooking. I should probablystart making a list of the things I lucked out on, besides his hockey brilliance, when I hired him.
New best friend might be top of the list.
Until we upgrade that relationship to something even better.
“How about we skip watching hockey tonight and watch a movie instead,” Jordan says as we’re cleaning up the kitchen. I tried to kick him out—let me do the cleaning since he cooked—but he won’t have any of it. “You choose,” he says.
“You’ll watchanythingI pick?” I ask, drying the pan he used to scramble the eggs and then hang it above the stove.
“Absolutely.”
I tap a finger against my chin. “What aboutAnother Cinderella Story?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t grimace or cringe or even miss a beat.
“Really.” I can’t help that his total lack of reaction surprises me.
“Why not?” He snaps the dishwasher shut and turns to me, completely confused.
“Because it’s kind of a cheesy teen movie.” I lean back against the counter and eye him.
“You love it?” he asks.
I smile, thinking of watching that show with my sisters every weekend. “Yeah.”
“Why would I be bugged doing something with you that you love?”
“You are a marvel,” I say, trying to sound lighthearted, except I mean every word. Is it any wonder that sometimes I’m scared he’s too good to be true?
“No.” He stays on his side of the kitchen, but his expression is intense. “Just someone who wants to be with you.”
“Okay,” I reply, my voice breathless. “Let’s go watch a movie.”
CHAPTER 25
JORDAN
It’s a couple days before Mitchell gets back to me, texting the information for his contact at the bank. Again, it’s suspicious to me that the guy supposedly lost half a million dollars but doesn’t seem in a hurry to recoup it. Or at least to provide the documents I need to reimburse him. Still, if there has been some kind of loss of data at the bank, this probably hasn’t been easy. I dealt with my share of corporate bureaucracy when this all first went down and we were trying to keep my parents and Baylee from losing their homes. Days would go by with no answers, and yet we were held to strict deadlines.
It’s Saturday, so instead of trying to call the contact, I email the contact in hopes that we can get the ball rolling on this by Monday.
Libby’s out to brunch with the wives of the GM and the COO this morning. I told her last night—during our pretty much platonic movie date—that it should be me going to brunch, since it sounded like aspouses of the bigwigskind of thing.
“You probably should. You’d charm their socks right off,” she’d said from where she sat on the big, cushy chair and not on the couch next to me. Pretty sure that’s “for my sake” and “to protect me” because the heat is there between us. It’s fine. I’mletting her take the lead. That’s what Libby needs, so that’s what she gets. Always.
I call Baylee from my late-morning run to update her about Mitchell.
“It’s kind of weird,” she says. “Like he’s one of our biggest claims, and yet … it seems like he’s not in a hurry, right? He waits to apply, takes his time with the documentation.”
“Definitely weird. But I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Just because I think he’s a try-hard doesn’t mean he’s lying automatically. I remember how difficult it was to deal with the banks after Bryce took off.”
“Yeah,” Baylee says in a soft voice. “You’re a good guy, Jord.”
I decide not to call my sister on her obvious attempt to help me feel better about Libby’s rejection. She’s a big sister. She can’t help it. And she’s not here to see what I see—that it’s going to take patience and time. Libby has feelings for me; I’m sure of it.
