That made sense, and she tried to shake off the vibe she’d gotten. A couple of times she’d asked Jas if his family would like to come for dinner, but he’d declined, so she hadn’t pressed, unwilling to violate his boundaries.
Has he told them I’m a terrible boss? Or friend? Or human?
Nope. Jas would never do that, he was far too steadfast and loyal.
She had enough things on her plate. She’d shelve Bikram’s odd attitude for now. She started unpacking the bags. “I saw you outside setting up the cameras.”
“Yes. Can you give me your phone? I’ll add the surveillance app to it.”
She handed him her phone and got to work putting the produce away, but not before admiring the lettuce. “So fresh.”
“Almost everything is locally grown.”
“When you told me all those years ago that you’d grown up on a farm, I pictured cows and horses, not peach orchards.”
“Prunes, too. Or plums, I mean. I don’t know why, we call them prunes whether they’re dried or not.”
She smacked her lips. “My favorites. I would have made you bring bushels back every summer.”
“I thought mangoes were your favorite fruit.”
“I have multiple faves. What’s your favorite?” She asked the question casually.
He considered that with great gravity, like she’d asked him to pick a favorite parent instead of a favorite fruit. “I should say peaches out of loyalty, but I very much like strawberries.”
She filed that tidbit away. Seriously, like a slow drip, getting stuff out of him. “Ooh, look.” She waved a jar at him. “Canned peaches.”
“We don’t lack for preserved peaches, for sure.” He held her phone out to her, his face expressionless. “I think you got a text.”
She navigated to her messages, and nearly dropped her phone.
Is it cold? Is the place nice? Is your hot bodyguard keeping your body warm?
Oh holy hell. Jia, to their group chat.
Her face flaming, she glanced up at Jas, but he’d turned away to put the rest of the groceries away. Normally she preferred doing that, but she was too mortified to say anything now.
Hot bodyguard. Oh, for crying out loud.
Her clumsy fingers managed to type one word, her cheeks aflame. Jia.
What? See the man without a shirt on and then get back to me.
Katrina narrowed her eyes at the screen. Rhiannon beat her to a response. When did you see Jas without a shirt on??
When I went to go get him last night. Answered the door shirtless. Hard not to whistle.
Katrina’s arm jerked, and she knocked something off the counter behind her. “I got it,” she said to Jas, breathless, but didn’t get it.
Rhiannon responded with a .
Katrina pursed her lips. She did not feel like rolling her eyes, she felt . . . jealous?
No, no way. Of Jia? No.
Jealous that Jia’s eyeballs saw him shirtless.
The place is very nice. I’ll call you after breakfast, Jia, for an update on #CafeBae. Hopefully that would keep her roommate from texting any more inappropriate things. She stuck the phone back in her pocket and faced Jas, who was putting the salt next to the sugar, even though everyone knew that the flour went next to the sugar.
She’d fix it later. The important thing right now was, had the text preview on her phone shown Jia’s whole message? “Ah, that was just Jia. You know her.” She did roll her eyes now. “Wild, silly Jia.” She couldn’t help it, her gaze darted to his wide chest. See the man without a shirt on and then get back to me.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. What?”
“You look flushed. Are you okay?”
She flushed harder. “Yes. I’m fine.”
He walked toward her, and she pressed back against the counter. He was so big and tall and masculine, and he smelled so good, like a combination of the outdoors and that cologne he used that she liked so much.
He crouched in front of her and then rose to his feet. “Your baguette, madam.”
She accepted the bread she’d knocked off the counter, her fingers digging into the soft dough. Maybe he hadn’t seen Jia’s text, or only read the first few words when the preview popped up. He wasn’t looking at her different or acting weird. She was the one acting weird.
She squeezed the bread harder. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Whatever you’d like.”
Standard response. She contemplated the ingredients Bikram had brought over and pulled out the flour and sugar Jas had put away and that would have to be rearranged anyway. There were strawberries and bananas and Nutella, as well as more savory fillings for Jas.
“I’ll make crepes.” That would eat up a lot of her time and delay her checking in on the internet. “It was kind of your brother to get us groceries.”
“Hmm.”
She suddenly hungered to fill the kitchen with words, like that might wipe out Jia’s untimely text. “This is such a lovely home.”
“I know it’s not what you’re used to.”
“Actually, when I woke up, it reminded me of the house I grew up in.” And my mother. Another pang. Now that she had flour, she’d feed the starter and think of the fond memories she held.
They lapsed into an easy silence as she made batter and cooked the crepes on the pan she found in the cupboard next to the stove. Behind her, she sensed movement and the sound of chopping. She almost told him to stop, that repetitive knife work was something she enjoyed because it calmed her, but it was possible he might need to work some energy off too. Besides, the two of them working together was also calming.
When the meal was ready, she placed a sprig of mint on her crepe and turned the plates around with a flourish. “Voilà, savory for you, sweet for me.”
“Thank you.” He accepted his plate and tipped his head to the round dining table, which he’d already set with silverware and coffee and orange juice. She followed him and sat in the chair he pulled out for her. They ate in silence for a moment.
“Good?” she asked, when he paused.
“Excellent.” He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I was hungrier than I thought. Must be the fresh air.”
She straightened up a little and smiled at him, warmth flowing through her at his enjoyment of the meal. “Good.”
“You seem . . .” he eyed her. “Fine.”
“I am, thanks.” Her tone was light, but she understood what he meant. She was doing well, jumpiness over spotting a strange man right outside her door aside.
She traced her finger around the green ivy encircling the white plates. The plates and utensils were as old and worn as the countertops and equally sturdy. “So you own this house.”
“Yes.”
“Your grandfather doesn’t live here, though?”
“No, my grandfather has a bigger house, on the other end of the farm.”
“And the farm is . . .”
“Very large. Hundreds and hundreds of acres.”
“I definitely feel . . . far away from everyone.”
“In a bad way?”
“No. The internet, it has a way of making you feel like everyone in the world is in your living room. There’s no one here. I like it.” She smiled at him.