Down boy. No hands. No mouth. No lips. Nothing with this chick.
Chalking up my horniness to days without sex, I chuckle to myself because it’s a record for me. How has all that sex worked out for me? I’m plating pasta and sausage in a dish for a fucking princess and her brother. Great.
The money, E. The money.
“Tell me more about your family,” Jacob asks when I return to the dining room. I assume he’s just being polite, so my answer is flippant.
“Oh, you know. Mum and Dad love one another, but not necessarily all their children equally.”
The air around the table turns to ice, and I realize I’ve said something that struck a nerve because Ella pushes her food back and forth, and Jacob stills his fork.
“Actually, that isn’t quite fair.” I exhale. “My parents do love one another. My dad says it was love at first sight. Saw her on a trip to Ireland. She followed him back to America. Not sure she really wanted to be a cherry farmer’s wife, though.” I chuckle.
“Your father’s a farmer?” The way Ella states the question, she’s judging me, and I go into defense mode even though I denied my heritage of taking over the farm.
“Yes, he is. Proud owner of acreage that’s been in our family for generations. My dad works damn hard.” I swallow at the truth of things. He did work hard so we never felt we lacked anything even though we did. At times, we didn’t have enough, and my parents went without. “And what I said about not loving their children equally isn’t entirely true. My mother…she loves hard. She loves us all. My sister, Karyn, is a nurse, and my brother, Gavin, currently lives in California. He’s a filmmaker.” Another ice storm hits the table as Ella holds still this time and Jacob pauses briefly, his fork raised to his mouth.
“Anyway.” I exhale again. “Mum has cancer, so yeah, that kind of sucks.”
I don’t know why I announce it to the table as if it matters, as if anything matters to them. They don’t know her. They don’t know me, and suddenly the weight of who I am to Jacob hits me. I work for him. He’s not even ten years older than me, but I work for him like a servant.
Jacob clears his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He’s kind of an awkward guy at times. He looks tough, but I don’t think he handles emotional stuff well and blurting out mum’s cancer hit the table like a lead balloon.
“I’m sorry, too,” Ella says although her eyes remain on her plate. Her fork continues moving food back and forth.
“As you know, Ella and I are stepsiblings. My own mother and father divorced. Ella’s mother was a single mom.”
Ella’s head shoots up at Jacob as he shares this bit of their history. He ignores her. “You say your brother is in California. A filmmaker? Make anything I’ve heard of?”
I snort. “I doubt it. Gavin makes documentaries.”
Ella’s shoulders visibly lower, and I wonder what I’m missing here.
“If he ever returns, though, I’m sure they’ll break out the fatted calf for him.” I chuckle without humor. There’s no doubt my dad would be thrilled to see Gavin come home even if he’s been gone for more than a decade. My brother, the baseball player who lost it all and travels the world now, is like a lost soul. The mockery runs over me. My dad wasn’t any happier with me. He considered cooking a feminine activity when he thought he raised hardier stock. Farmers. Laborers. The land, the earth, the wind beneath our wings. Cue dying music. We could soar as long as it was over the orchards.
“It’s funny how parents can treat siblings so differently,” Jacob states, and Ella lowers her fork completely. Her head slowly lifts.
“I’m not hungry,” she says, keeping her eyes on him.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Belly,” he teases her, and my head turns in her direction.
“Belly?” I chuckle.
“Yeah, when Isabella was little, I called her Belly.” He chuckles to himself, but Ella sits straighter in her seat.
“What’s the age difference here?”
“Ten years,” Jacob clarifies, and Ella glares at him.
“Are you done yet?” she snaps as if revealing their age difference explains anything.
His brows crease as he peers at his sister.
“Eat some dinner,” he demands.
“I don’t eat carbs.”
Jacob almost chokes on a piece of pasta. “Since when?”
“Since today, apparently,” I mumble, and Ella turns those green eyes on me. The fields of Ireland have nothing on the color of those eyes that, by her glare, want to mow me over. Snip, snip, snip.
“I’m finished,” she states, shoving back her chair but knocking her knee on the table as she stands, ruining her grand exit. She circles behind Jacob’s seat and then pushes at the swinging door to the kitchen with enough force it lurches back and forth after she passes before settling.
“She has manners,” Jacob states, turning back to his dinner.
“Sure, she does,” I say, and he chuckles before he devours his plate and then drags Ella’s to him.
When he finishes, he pats his belly, which doesn’t move. “You’re going to make me fat.”
I doubt it. He’s thick but lean if that makes any sense. I don’t think there’s an ounce of body fat on him.
“I’m curious about that dessert you’ve concocted, but I might have to wait a bit. Would you mind bringing it to my office in an hour?”
“No problem.” I reach for his plate, clearing the dishes like the help that I am and enter the kitchen.
An hour later, I deliver my last minute, fly by the seat of my pants dessert, and realize I might have the start of something after all. After distributing the treat to Jacob, I sit at the kitchen island under a single lamp and open a notebook where I’ve kept recipes and ideas over the years. I need to transfer everything to my laptop and decide tonight’s the night. Day one of my future plans.
I’m deep in thought when the stairs creak, and Ella appears at the corner where the hallway leads into the kitchen.
“I didn’t think anyone was still down here,” she says, keeping her head lowered. Her hair hangs over her right shoulder. She’s wearing that too short T-shirt again with sleeping shorts underneath.
I swallow. Between the dim light and her soft voice, she almost glows, and my body hums like it does when she’s near.
“Were you looking for something to eat?” I didn’t miss how she hardly ate her dinner, and as much as I don’t want to make something special for her at this late hour, I’d be happy to reheat something just so she’ll eat.
She shakes her head and eyes the bowl of ice cream with cookie crumbles on top. I dip my spoon in the dessert, scooping up a generous portion.
“Want a bite?” I ask, holding up the spoon of my concoction as Jacob called it. I should call it the Ella—cold and crusty. I’d love to discover if she’s sweet underneath that protective layer around her, but I have my doubts.
To my surprise, Ella steps over to the island and stands opposite me. Placing her fingers on the countertop, she leans forward. My hand shakes as I hold the spoon out for her, thinking she’ll take it from me, but she doesn’t. Her eyes lock on mine, and she bends toward me. Her mouth opens and her lips lower for the cookie slash ice cream mixture.