Torture? It just showed up at my door.
Chapter 19
HAYDEN
My puffy eyes lock on themselves in the bathroom mirror and I groan. Of course, he’d drop in when I look like a pink marshmallow again. The guy has to have the most perceptive Hayden’s a mess radar ever.
When insistent knuckles rap again, loud enough to wake Jett, I hurry to the kitchen and throw open the door with my best I-feel-so-many-things-for-you-but-can’t-tell-you smile.
“Hey,” I say breathlessly. “I was just about to call you.”
Jesse leans against the doorjamb, messing around on his phone for a second before he tucks it away. “And I was just about to call 911 since it took you so long to come to the door.”
I roll my eyes. “I was changing. And let’s be real—if you were that worried, you would have broken down the door.”
He flashes a grin and rocks back on the heels of his work boots. “Damn right, I would have.”
“Men.” I step aside and wave him in. He chuckles as he passes by and my nose is assaulted by the deliciousness that can only be described as Jesse. Fresh deodorant and laundry detergent, mixed with whatever he did at work today.
The view isn’t bad, either. Dirt-smudged jeans, a black Enders Excavating T-shirt, his beloved Carhartt beanie, and of course the boots. The fact that he also looks comfortable as heck inside my personal space is nice, too. Then again, he spent just as much time here as I did five summers ago.
“Wow, this place hasn’t changed a bit,” he says, casually strolling into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.
“Nope, not at all.” I follow behind him and go to the fridge. “Something to drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?”
I lean in to scan the options and sigh. “Shoot, I didn’t grab beer when I was at the store. I only have wine and water. Or I can make coffee.”
“Water is perfect. I haven’t eaten yet, anyway.”
“What?” I stand tall again. “Jesse, it’s almost nine o’clock. Why have you not eaten?”
“Haven’t been home yet.” He shrugs one of those big shoulders, stretching his T-shirt tight. “I’ll grab something when I get there.”
“In, what, an hour? Sit.” I point to one of the stools at the island and he cocks his head to the side, his eyes sparkling.
“Are you scolding me, city girl?”
“I am. Now sit.” I pull the pan of lasagna Jett and I had for dinner from the fridge and grab a plate from the cupboard, feeling Jesse’s stare on me the whole time.
“You don’t have to feed me, Hayden.”
“Maybe not, but I’m going to.” It’s what any friend would do.
Another low laugh rolls in his chest, followed by the screech of the stool sliding across the tiled floor. I glance back to catch him smirking and shaking his head. Sitting like I told him to do, too.
“Smart man.”
He lifts his hands. “Hey, I’ve heard how mean you can be when Jett doesn’t eat his dinner.”
I tip my head. “You have not.”
He just grins as he tugs off his beanie, sets it in his lap, and runs a hand back through his hair. It’s short on the sides and longer on top, so it stands on end, going in every direction.
The mess is sexy as hell and my stomach rises just thinking about how soft it used to feel between my fingers. What it might feel like now…
Gulping, I turn back to the lasagna and bite my lip. If I’m going to pull off this whole friend thing, I can’t go there. At least not with him sitting just a few feet away.
“So, long day today?” I clear my throat and pop the plate with a generous helping into the microwave.
“Early actually.”
“Early? You’re kidding me.”
He rests his elbows on the island with a sigh. “Nope.”
“Jesse…” He said he’d been logging extra hours, but I didn’t know it was this bad. “Why?”
“Why what?” He stifles a yawn and my heart hurts watching the exhaustion settle across his shoulders.
“Why are you working yourself to death?”
He gives a gruff laugh. “I kinda don’t have a choice. It’s what I signed up for.”
The ache in my chest grips a little tighter. “Your grandpa wouldn’t want you to run yourself ragged like this, Jesse, you know that.”
He laughs again, trying to make light of it, but I know better. “Are you saying I look like shit? Gee, thanks, city girl.”
“I’m serious.”
Our eyes meet again and he swallows. We’d talked about his dream of carrying on the family legacy so many times during our time together that I know his vision like it’s my own. Which is why I know what he’s doing… and the price he’s paying for it, too, though he’s not about to complain about it.
The microwave beeps and, even though we’re not done talking about this, I’ll cut him slack for now. At least he’s letting me feed him.
“Let me know if it’s not warm enough.” I set the plate in front of him before I grab him a fork and a bottle of water, too.
“Thank you,” he says humbly before digging in. There’s something endearing—satisfying, too—about watching him devour my food, in my kitchen. Especially when I know there’s another woman in Cole Creek he could be with, instead.
“I have stuff for salad, too,” I offer, but he shakes his head and swallows down a big bite.
“No, this is perfect.” He flicks a grateful glance my way and that ache in my chest eases. Warms, even. Because I’ve missed this. Just being in the same space as him.
A few minutes later, with his lasagna almost gone, I cut into the pie I promised him but didn’t officially hand over since Jett came home with me straight from the birthday party.
“Oh, my God,” he groans when I swap out the empty dinner plate for dessert. “You were worried about work killing me, but you’re doing a fine job yourself.”
I laugh, rewrap the pie, and set it on the corner of the counter. “Take this home with you. If you eat nothing else this week, at least I’ll know you’ve had pie.”
A crooked smirk tugs up one corner of his mouth. “Babe, that’s not going to make it until tomorrow night, let alone the week.”
Babe? I hold my breath, expecting him to retract the faux pas like he did his hands Saturday night, but he doesn’t. In fact, he goes back to eating so quickly that I’m not sure he even realizes he said it.
I smile to myself… until I remember why he knocked on my door in the first place. And then I go to the fridge for the wine I know I’m going to need.
“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh, right.” He sniffs and uncaps his water. “I was hoping you’d be alright with—”
“You don’t need my permission.” I press my lips into what I hope comes off as a sincere smile, because it is… mostly. “Besides, Jett seems to like her. That’s all that matters.”
Jesse’s brow creases for a half second before he leans back with a smirk. “I was hoping you’d be alright with pinning down what we’re going to tell Jett about you and Lane and, by association, us.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and I want to curl up in a ball and roll away like one of those creatures on that silly cartoon Jett likes so much.