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I was about to decline the offer of Jeff’s clothes because, before she’d dropped an emotional bomb, I’d been imagining fucking his wife, not wearing his clothes.

“You look about the same size as my brother. If you change, I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.” Long dark lashes framed light green eyes. Her upper lip was slightly fuller than her lower, soft and plump. Lips made for kissing. Her throat fluttered with a swallow.

“I should go,” I whispered. Because if I stayed, I was going to get myself in trouble.

“But it’s still raining.” The rhythmic pattern echoed through the quiet house. Lightning flared, thunder boomed, and the lights flickered.

“I should still go.” Because her voice was whisper-quiet in the shadowed room. Because her skin was smooth, and she was vulnerable in a way that would make me an asshole if I stayed. I wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. Fuck, yeah I would, which was why I needed to go.

“The storm is getting worse. It’s getting cold,” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous for you to ride in this.”

It was dangerous for me to stay, but I took the clothes from her. Maybe she was afraid to be alone with the howling of the wind and rain pelting the windows. “I appreciate it.”

She exhaled and smiled. Fuck, she was pretty.

“While you change, I’m going to light some candles in case we lose power.”

I headed back to the bathroom and quickly stripped. Her brother’s sweats hung low on my hips, and the T-shirt was a bit small, but it felt good to get out of my soaked clothes.

Once changed, I headed back to the kitchen. Flames flickered in several jar candles. Vanilla and spice scents permeated the room.

Jaymi had the fridge open. She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t want you to go to any trouble.” I set my haphazardly folded clothes on the counter and guzzled half my mug of cooling coffee. “It’s enough you’re keeping me out of the rain.”

She faced me but stayed in the protection of the fridge door. “It’s no trouble.” She released a shaky exhale. “I’m hungry, so if you’re hungry, would you like to have dinner with me? It won’t be anything special.”

I could keep dinner casual. “Thanks. I just don’t want to be a bother.”

She snorted as she turned back to the fridge. “If it weren’t for me, you never would’ve been caught in the rain.” She set a head of broccoli on the counter and a package of some kind of pasta.

“Do you care if I top off my coffee?”

“Help yourself.”

I came around the island as she turned on the water at the sink. She washed her hands, grabbed a small pot from the rack on the wall, and filled it with water.

“While that boils, I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.” She grabbed them from the counter.

Once she was gone, I pulled out my phone and sent Lili a text. Initially, I thought she was too young for a phone, but Natalie insisted. Now, I couldn’t complain because I never missed sending her a goodnight text at her bedtime.

Jaymi returned, washed her hands again, and pulled a cutting board from a cabinet. She moved around the kitchen, stretching to reach spices from the cupboard. Her hoodie lifted giving me a peek at her ass, hugged tight by the leggings clinging to her form.

I leaned against the edge of the counter. “Can I help?”

She pulled a large knife from a magnetic strip. “Do you want to chop the onion?” She smiled. “I’ve already cried enough today.”

I could understand the tears. She didn’t have to make excuses. I stood next to her, our hips touching as I washed my hands, then I peeled the dried outer layer from the onion. “You’re entitled to shed a few tears. Bad night to have a blowout.”

“It wasn’t the car,” she said as she washed the broccoli. “I went to the cemetery tonight.”

I glanced at her then continued to cut the onion. “You don’t have to talk about them.” She didn’t owe me shit. I’d lost people who were close to me, like Tommy. I struggled to talk about him but for me, it was because his memory was wrought with guilt. I should’ve protected him.

Losing her kid, that was next level shit I couldn’t conceive. I didn’t know how she survived.

“I took the donut Lili brought me this morning to the grave. I left it on their headstone.” She cast a quick glance at me. “It’s hard to talk about her, and yet, if I don’t talk about her, I’m afraid she’ll be forgotten. People don’t know how to talk to me anymore. I’m not the same woman they used to know.”

“You wouldn’t be. Grief changes a person.”