Page 86 of Major Love

“Okay, perfect,” he says, his eyes raking slowly down my outfit. When his eyes flash back to mine, he says, “Back in the thermals again, huh?”

I laugh at that. Over the past week I’ve been switching between too-cold-to-leave-my-bed and too-hot-to-wear-my-pants, so it’s probably a relief for him to finally see me in his kitchen wearing something other than my pyjama booty shorts.

“Yeah, I think I’m good,” I admit.

“Good,” he rumbles, smiling. “I’m gonna be in the yard for maybe half an hour, and then I’ll make us dinner. We’ll eat in here, and then I’ll show you the… you know…”

He trails off with a nervous chuckle and I can’t help but giggle, too.

“What?” I ask immediately, excited and intrigued. I also cannot get over the fact that he refers to the literal forestas his yard.

“Just give me half an hour,” he says, that gruff voice trying to be gentle. And the idea of that, of him trying to be sweet just for me, makes warmth flood through my chest as I nod up at his handsome face.

“Okay,” I rasp, biting back my smile. “I’ll meet you down here in half an hour.”

Chapter 21

Sunday

I’m not sure what Jason spends the half hour doing outside his workshop but I hear hammering and tires crunching as I lounge on the cosy guest room bed.

I flick to the next page in the Bible that’s been sitting on my dresser all week, just as I finally hear boots hitting the hardwood as Jason makes his way back inside.

“Sunday?” he calls up for me, and I hop down from the sheets, padding quietly down the stairs where I find him preparing dinner.

He gently nudges the barstool that he’s standing beside with his quad, a silent invitation for me to take the seat without him saying anything.

“What were you working on out there?” I ask, flicking my gaze toward the back of the house. From here I can only see the cosy nook of the back porch, so if he was doing something with his truck in the workshop then I can’t see it from here.

His gaze meets mine for a long moment, those stunning irises molten, before he returns his attention back to the stove.

Because Jason Coleson is the most thoughtful man on the planet and, knowing that I’m still a little sick, he’s making me soup.

“Had something to take care of,” he says vaguely, before flicking his eyes back to mine, a secret smile tugging at his lips.

I can’t fight back a smile of my own as I mock-gasp, “Other thanme?”

He chuckles at that, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze when he returns beside me.

He lets the chicken soup slow-cook as he fills me in about his winter projects, the remaining jobs that he’ll be doing before his large-scale construction gigs roll around at the start of April. He’ll be starting on all of the paperwork for them by the middle of March and, from the passionate way that he explains it in that beautiful deep voice of his, I can tell that it’s something that he’s really looking forward to.

In my eyes, allof the projects Jason has been doing sound like huge feats – from renovating Casey’s bar, to constructing an annex at his friend’s ranch – but I guess since he has so much experience under his belt, he thrives on the challenge of doing something with an overload of heavy lifting.

And we completely avoid the topic of his winter search-and-rescue missions.

We’ve been having some pretty heavy snowfall, so there haven’t been any SAR calls recently seeing as no-one has been venturing into the lower mountains. And I can’t deny the fact that I’m grateful for that because, even if Jason is a pro when it comes to riding the snowmobile, I don’t exactly love the idea of him consistently putting himself in danger.

He already did that for over a decade.

We stay in the kitchen while we eat, Jason standing beside me while I stay seated on the stool. He leans his large quad against the counter, holding his bowl as he finishes his soup, and I steal peeks at him every couple of seconds, admiring his sun-kissed skin and stunning irises.

By the time that I’ve finished eating I feel better than I have all week, my residual headache a dull throb and the pain in my stomach completely subsided. My temperature is still higherthan usual but I think that has less to do with my cold, and more to do with the hot guy who is standing right beside me.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say, laughing when he literally bodychecks me away from the sink, easily grabbing the bowl from my hand and washing up so that I don’t have to.

“So, are we hanging out in here?” I ask, glancing around the warm open-plan living area.

During the day the house looks surprisingly sleek due to the snow-infused natural light, but later in the evening… the place looks so intimate, with its rich timber and fireplace glow.

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