He could tell his grandfather wanted to insist, but Tara cut him off. “That’s good enough for now. Grandpa is a reasonable man. Right, Dad?”
Andrés folded his arms over his big chest. “Of course I am.”
Katrina’s fingers stroked over his as she withdrew her hand. It ached, the loss of her touch, but he couldn’t very well grab her hand. He’d already given away too much about their relationship to his too nosy family.
His family stayed later, all of them lingering over coffee. Katrina fit right in, chatting easily with Bikram and Tara now that the most serious topics had been exhausted. Andrés was quiet, but so was Jas.
The only cloud on the horizon came after dinner. Bikram pulled him aside. “Hey, uh . . . I have to talk to you about something.”
“I do, too. I bought you a present. It’s hay. I’ll deliver it tomorrow.”
Bikram squinted at him. “We need to work on your gift-giving. Anyway, two things. Um, I don’t want to step on your toes, but Hasan’s older brother is a therapist. Do you want his number?”
A muscle in Jas’s cheek twitched. “I knew he was a therapist already. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Bikram beamed, then sobered. “Okay, second thing: I heard from the Smythes. About Doodle.”
He stiffened. The Smythes were neighbors. “What did they say?”
“One of their dogs ran off a couple months ago. The description sounded like Doodle. They didn’t sound too heartbroken, but they said they’ll take her back if we’d found her.”
Jas glanced at Katrina, who was chatting with his mother. Their heads were bent close together while Katrina carefully measured a portion of sourdough starter out of her jar and into another. Doodle lay on her back on the floor, tongue lolling out of her mouth, pink belly exposed.
If she went back to the Smythes, they’d treat her with benign neglect. For certain, she wouldn’t have a quarter of the affection that Katrina showered upon her and received in return from the mutt.
“Jas?”
Jas pulled his attention away from the domestic scene. “Offer them five grand.”
Bikram’s eyes bulged. “Five thousand dollars?”
“Ten thousand. Whatever they want. I’ll pay it.” He had enough money. With no lodging expenses, a lot of his salary was banked.
“Yeah, it’s clear you’re not cut out to run any kind of business.” Bikram patted Jas on the chest. “I’m going to offer them five hundred dollars on your behalf as a rehoming fee.”
“What if they don’t take it?” He’d be damned if he’d force Katrina to give her dog up.
“They’ll be delighted to have it.” Bikram rolled his eyes. “Love must have affected your eyesight, because that dog isn’t exactly a purebred, brother.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“DOODLE, SHOULD WE go into his room, or stay here?”
Doodle hopped on Katrina’s bed and lay down, making it clear what her preference was. Between the excitement of having guests in the house and her full belly from all the food Jas had snuck her, the dog was visibly pooped.
Katrina should also be pooped, but she was way too wired to go to sleep. After removing her jewelry, she washed her face. Water dripped into her eyes and she groped for her washcloth. After drying, she braced her arms on the bathroom counter and stared at her reflection.
Coming to the farm had hurt Jas, and she hadn’t known.
Katrina gripped the counter. That was only the tip of what she didn’t know.
She hadn’t known why Jas had taken the job with Hardeep. She had only a vague sense of what he’d gone through in Iraq. She didn’t know the details around the testimony the Singhs had alluded to over dinner. She hadn’t realized how deep his lack of communication with his grandfather ran.
Let’s face it. You don’t even know what his favorite breakfast food is.
Jas’s reticence to talk about himself wasn’t new. He had always been an enigmatic creature. She knew him. The important parts of him. His heart, his values.
Yet . . . phew. What a slap in the face this had been, to sit there at that dinner table, utterly clueless as to what was going on.
Katrina left the bathroom and picked up her phone from the bureau, then put it down again. She could talk to Andy or her friends, but she’d have to first navigate the fact that she had feelings for Jas, and she was too tired to explain everything right now.
There are things he doesn’t know about you.
Yeah, that was true. He didn’t know every little detail about her life, but he’d been around for so much of it. He’d seen her on the floor, stripped of all defenses. He’d protected her, knew about the threats she faced. It was literally his job to know stuff about her.
She took off her clothes and put on a camisole and yoga pants, despite the slight chill in the air. Guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but she tried to beat it back. You can’t control someone else’s actions, you can only control yourself.
She could be the best friend in the world to Jas, and she would make a more concerted effort to draw information out of him, but at the end of the day, she couldn’t force him to talk to her or anyone.
What if he’s never forthcoming? What if this is all you’ll ever know of him?
She bit her lip.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she went to the door. She hesitated for a beat, then opened it.
He stood with his fist poised to knock. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Everything’s cleaned up downstairs.”
“Thank you for that.” She hadn’t argued when he’d sent her away after their guests had left. Cleaning up was much less fun than cooking was.
“Thank you for cooking for us.”
What a terribly formal conversation. She glanced over her shoulder at the bed. At home, her bed was big enough to accommodate them both and Doodle, but not here. “Do you . . . do you want to go to your room to talk?”
Jas’s smile was faint. “Don’t want to disturb Doodle?”
“Ha, yeah.” She stepped outside the door and closed it behind her. She brushed up against him, and he looked her up and down. She shivered. He’d never really done that before. He’d always been so careful to keep his gaze above her neck. Sleeping together had changed some things.
“Have you told Rhiannon and Jia about Doodle yet?”
She fell into step next to him as they walked down the hall. “Not yet. I didn’t want them to get attached if I had to give her up. I’ll tell them next time we talk.”
“You’re already attached.”
“Well, those are my feelings to deal with. No need to make someone else hurt if I can avoid it.” Can’t control others.
He motioned her into his room. She flushed at the sight of the bed where they’d slept last night.
She sat down on it gingerly and drew her knees up. He went into the bathroom and closed the door for a few minutes, then opened it again. He wore only a pair of those sweatpants she’d drooled over this morning.
Her misgivings and dismay flew out of her head. Had gray joggers always been the sexiest article of clothing a man could own, or had that happened recently?
He brushed his teeth and washed his face and she scooted back on the bed, fascinated. He had his own routine, only his was much more economical than her fifteen-step program. Such a mundane thing, to watch someone ready themselves for bed, yet so intimate. Especially when they were in those joggers. Those low-slung, drawstring-tied, easy to remove . . .