“I got what you meant,” Juliet said, her neck a little stiff from having to look up at Jake in this position. “After I left Reid, I used to have nightmares where I had a baby with him. Can you imagine that narcissistic pinhead as a father?”
“It’s enough to terrify anyone,” Jake agreed.
“I finally made a voodoo doll from this old T-shirt of his that I found in my stuff, put a picture of his face on it, and stabbed it with tiny pushpins and the nightmares stopped.”
Jake stared at her, his lips twitching. “You’re making that up to mess with me.”
“Am I?” She smiled enigmatically, painfully delighted to have teased a near-smile out of him. “These pastries are still warm. Let’s set them out.”
Jake, his expression yet amused, led her to the front door rather than around the side to the back. The villa was full of light, the wooden floors a warm honey that had been lovingly polished. Like so many of the old homes in the area, it had a straight front-to-back flow but had been renovated to be far more open plan than was traditional.
The kitchen, she saw when they reached the end of the hallway, had definitely been redone. Afternoon sunlight spilled into the huge space that was built for use, not for show. There was plenty of counter space, and the appliances looked well loved. Huge stacking glass doors that folded back at either end meant the entire back wall could be opened up to provide a seamless flow onto a pretty little patio surrounded by pots of blooming winter flowers, and from there, onto the verdant green lawn.
“Gimme a sec.” Jake bent down to look in a cupboard, rose with a large wooden chopping board in hand. “You want to put your pastries on this?”
“Yup.”
Dumping her purse with the others that had been placed on the kitchen table, she opened the box and began to take out the small savory pastries. Tiny croissants with ham and cheese, small cheese-and-spinach tarts, even miniature butter-chicken bites wrapped in delicious puff pastry.
When a big male hand snuck into the box to grab a flaky croissant, she found herself biting back a grin. Good to know that even Jacob Esera had a weak spot.
“Congratulations on your selection—and Danny’s,” she said. “I caught the announcement.” It was hard to miss when the naming of the national rugby squad was a prime-time headline. Could also be she’d paid more attention than usual, her stomach tense with the alphabetical roll call until Daniel Esera’s name was followed by Jacob Esera’s.
“Thanks. Be good to play in the black jersey again.” Having made short work of the pastry, he went and got something from the fridge before rejoining her. She watched as he arranged chili peppers and parsley around her baked goodies. The simple chopping board was suddenly a piece of art, her work showcased as if in a restaurant.
Agog, she locked eyes with him. “You like to cook or just make things pretty?”
“I cook. It’s easier to stay healthy and on form if I know what’s going into my body.” He inhaled a butter-chicken puff. “Where did you buy these? They’re amazing.”
She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips even as warmth jolted her blood; turned out she liked being complimented by Jake. Ugh. “I handmade these, so stop scoffing them in a single bite and appreciate my artistry. Charlotte and I met in a pastry class, remember?”
Jake literally shook his head a couple of times as if blowing away cobwebs. “I didn’t think you took it seriously. I mean, you mostly brought junk food for your school lunch.”
“I was a teenager.” No one had ever taught her how she was supposed to eat or cooked for her; the few good habits she’d had, she’d picked up from Calypso.
“I’m glad you’re eating better now.” Approving words, Jake’s face so serious that she wanted to bop him on the nose just to see what he’d do. “Food is fuel, and putting junk food into your body is like putting sugar into a petrol tank.”
Juliet bit back a smile. So the gearhead did still live inside resolutely serious adult Jake.
“Talking of cars,” he added, “where’d you park yours? There’s a no-parking area down the street where the city occasionally tickets people even on weekends.”
“It wouldn’t start.” She scowled. “Second time this month—and the garage promised me the problem was fixed.”
Jake picked up the chopping board. “I can have a look at it if you want.”
Juliet wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by his absentminded offer. Because he went dead-straight right after, as if he’d remembered too late that it was Juliet to whom he was speaking.
Too bad for him, because she was going to accept. Jake had always been a genius with cars. “If you can fix Dixie, I’ll bake you an entire tray of pastries.”
A sudden unexpected tug of his lips that stole her breath. “Deal.”
That was when Juliet realized she might’ve outfoxed herself. Because now Jake was going to be inside her internal garage and thus effectively inside her home. He’d fill it up with that drugging masculine scent she was trying to ignore but that she wanted to sniff straight from his neck like a strung-out junkie.
Oh hell. What if she lost all her self-control and lemur-jumped him?
13
Bring It On, Cupcake
After a short freak-out, Juliet decided liberal use of air freshener when he came to look at her car would keep her hormones at bay. She’d just let Jake think she was a neat freak who enjoyed refreshing her home every five seconds.
Freak-out aside, the barbecue ended up being far more fun than she’d expected. Aroha was present, as was the rest of the bridal party, along with Nayna, her husband, Raj, and their cheeky little boy, Gabriel’s rugby mates, and of course the Bishop-Esera family. She’d been wary about how the family felt about her beyond the natural joy created by a wedding. Given their close association with national-level sports, they had to be aware of the way the tabloids followed her around.
It made her want to pull out her hair, especially as she hadn’t done anything the least bit tabloid-worthy since leaving Reid. Every so often, however, a reporter would snap a photo of her walking out of a coffee shop or leaving Everett’s manufacturing plant and spin a story about how her “broken heart” had “never healed” or how she was “bravely rebuilding” her life after her “doomed romance” with Reid.
Juliet would give those reporters a real taste of doom if she ever caught them.
The only thing she regretted about ending her marriage was that she hadn’t done it twenty-one months earlier—because one month post-wedding was all it had taken for Reid’s dickish nature to come out. The man must’ve given himself a coronary pretending to be a good guy for the three months they’d dated prior to marriage.
The good news was that things had finally begun to calm down. New Zealand’s two-year separation rule prior to the dissolution of a marriage meant her divorce from Reid had only become legal fact six months earlier. So now the magazines and tabloids couldn’t even spin stories of their reconciliation.
Especially since she’d had zero contact with him in those two years.