He’d work on that part, Jacob decided. He’d work on it for her.
Chapter Nineteen
Eve was singing.
She’d been singing ever since last night, in fact, and having a jolly good time of it. Today, instead of humming her usual absent-minded refrains, she let every ounce of her joy shine through her voice, creating her own backing track. Luckily, Jacob didn’t seem to mind.
She looked up from the blueberry-and-lemon sponge cake she was icing to gaze at him like a moony, devoted cow. Fortunately, he was studying the Gingerbread Festival event map he’d brought down to the kitchen, and therefore completely missed her heart eyes. She took advantage of the moment to explore his now-familiar face: the golden gleam of his severely parted hair, the deep furrow of his lovely scowl, the sunshine-colored lashes hiding his stormy gray gaze. Beautiful, beautiful man. She was of half a mind to drag him upstairs to the store cupboard and have her wicked way with him before high tea.
Again.
Just as Eve began to seriously consider the idea, the kitchen door swung open, shattering her thoughts. She jumped, dropped her icing bag directly on top of the almost finished cake, and released a deep sigh. “Oh, fudge.”
Jacob saw the mess she’d made of her cake and leapt to his feet with a determined expression. Apparently, he thought he could rescue her from ruined icing like a knight in shining armor. She was tempted to let him try, just to see what happened.
Then Mont, who was leaning in the open doorway with a smirk on his face, finally spoke. “Hm. Well, now. Whatcha doing down here, Jake?” There was more than a little triumph in his voice.
Jacob scowled at his friend. “Stop the Jake shit.” His tone softened as he approached Eve. “How’s the cake?”
“Oh, you know,” she replied, deeply annoyed with herself as she picked the bag out of the icing. “Splotchy. Slightly dented. Ever so appetizing.” She bit her lower lip, her gaze flicking to the clock as she considered her options. “Maybe I can cover up the, er . . . indent with something.”
“Something like this?” Jacob asked, and then he reached over her shoulder to snag the glass of fresh-cut lavender she’d placed on the table that morning.
She stared at the flowers for a moment before a slow smile spread over her face. “Yes. Something exactly like that. Thanks, darling, you’re a peach.” She popped up on her toes and kissed him—just a quick, sweet press of their mouths, already familiar after a single day. Then she remembered Mont, froze, and pulled back sharply—or tried to. But Jacob caught her by the hip, surprise and pleasure merging in his gaze.
Eve blushed. She wasn’t embarrassed, or anything; she just got rather warm when he looked at her like that.
He held her close a moment longer, ducking his head to murmur in her ear. “You kissed me.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “I’ve kissed you many times since last night, in case you’d forgotten.”
His voice dropped an octave. “I hadn’t forgotten.”
“Right here, guys,” Mont said from the doorway. “Literally standing right here.”
“Shut up,” Jacob advised, before turning his attention back to Eve. “You kissed me in public.”
“Does Mont count as public?”
“Interesting question,” Mont drawled.
Jacob, who had apparently decided to ignore his best friend, continued. “I like you kissing me in public. We should do that more. Whenever we want. Like a couple. Do you agree that we’re a couple?”
Eve laughed softly, letting her head fall forward against his shoulder. She’d sort of thought last night made them a couple—not the sex, but rather, all the lovely mushy things she’d managed to make him say. Of course, Jacob was more black and white than that. He needed actual, clear-cut words, and she was happy to give them to him.
But for Eve, even the air between them was everything. It was so absolutely everything that she’d decided, once and for all, to stay in Skybriar. She was going to tell Florence to fuck off—albeit more professionally, since Eve was now associated with Castell Cottage and had certain standards of behavior to uphold. She was going to forget about little Freddy’s cursed bloody birthday party . . .
And then she was going to make a trip home and tell her parents in person that she was sorry, and that she was changing, and that she believed in her own power now. That the things she did—feeding people, helping people, making them feel good—were just as important as counting money or writing contracts. That she respected her own skills enough to use them, fear of failure be damned.
She’d inform her parents, honestly, that she’d found something she loved. (And someone, too, but she’d likely keep that part to herself for now.)
Maybe they wouldn’t believe her—she could barely believe it, sometimes—but she knew it was the truth. Because when she thought about leaving Castell Cottage, about making it a temporary blip in her past, something inside her said calmly but firmly, No.
And when she thought about leaving Jacob, the voice became a hundred times louder.
So, “Yes,” she whispered in his ear. “We are absolutely a couple.”
He grinned at her as if she’d just single-handedly disinfected and restocked every bathroom in the building, and then he grabbed her about the waist as if they’d spent the last six years apart, dragged her against his body, and kissed her breathless.
“Jesus Christ,” Mont muttered, but he actually sounded quite pleased.
He sounded less pleased a moment later when he cleared his throat and said, “Er, not to interrupt, you two, but it looks like there’s a goose outside.”
* * *
Eve had learned many things since arriving at Castell Cottage, but it seemed her education was far from complete. Case in point: she had no idea of the grave threat posed by certain waterfowl until Jacob dragged her outside and told her sternly, “Ducks are little shits. Geese are worse. Swans are worst.”
“Ah,” she said, “right.” She was still faintly dizzy from all the semipublic kissing—and of course, Jacob’s We’re a couple moment, which she had found adorable.
Being this happy should be illegal. Even the goose couldn’t dampen her mood.
But it was certainly dampening the mood of Castell Cottage, if the scene on the gravel driveway was anything to go by. A big, gray goose waddled toward Mr. Packard, who’d checked into the Daisy Room with his wife just that morning. At the time, Mr. Packard had been a calm but friendly man in a nice check shirt. At present, he was a pink and nervous man climbing on top of his own car.
“Get it!” he shouted. Then he pointed at the goose, as if anyone could mistake his meaning.
“Are geese dangerous?” Eve asked no one in particular. It wasn’t a question she’d thought much on before, but Mr. Packard looked liable to lose control of his bladder, so she was forced to wonder.
“Sometimes,” Mont smiled, just as Jacob said grimly, “They are a great danger to the peace and dignity of my establishment, yes.”
“A goose can break an arm if it really gets going,” Mont went on, “but Jacob’s arm is already broken, so he’ll be fine.”
Eve was horrified. “He has another arm to break!”