Page 54 of Wild As Her

I smirk. “That’s too bad. It looks like you're having so much fun, I was thinking about signing up for my own show. Maybe I’ll find a husband.”

Jack’s entire body stills for half a second. Just long enough for me toseethe flicker of something behind his eyes. And maybe,just maybe, it’s a little satisfying.

Then he recovers, tilting his head. “You think you’d last?”

I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting my smirk deepen. “Jack, I’d do great on a show. The real question is, do you thinkyouwill? Which one of these lucky ladies is a top contender so far?”

Ollie whistles low. “Damn. She’s competitive with everything.”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head. But his gaze lingers, flicking down to my braid, then back up to my face like he’s trying to figure me out.

Good luck, Jessop. I’m locking these feelings up like Fort Knox.

I flash him one last smug smile and turn back to Ollie. “Anyway.Weshould get going. I need your help taking all these empty containers back to Wilder Ranch to bake some more since I've sold out of everything. Again.”

Baking at the Jessop Ranch is good in theory, but I do not want to watch Jack flirt with other women. I can’t do it.

Ollie blinks. “Uh. What?”

I step on his foot.

“Ow—right! Yeah, let's go.” He clears his throat and follows as I turn to gather up everything to take to my truck.

I glance back and don't miss the smug look on Jack's face as he watches me and gives me a grin that I can't help but notice he didn't give to any of the contestants. There was nothing gentlemanly about the way he looked at me like he wanted to wrap my braid around his fist and bend me over this trailer if Ollie hadn’t been here. Or maybe that was me dreaming.

It’s late.Waylate.

The kind of late where the rest of the world has gone quiet, where the only sounds are the low hum of my industrial mixer mixing up a batch of icing and the country music twanging from my speaker. I hadn’t even noticed the sun going down, but now the only light in the kitchen comes from the overhead bulbs and the soft glow spilling from the oven window.Outside, darkness stretches across the ranch like a thick, quiet blanket.

I havenoidea what time it is, and honestly, I don’t care.

I’m in my happy zone with flour on my face, cinnamon under my nails, every surface covered in trays of cookies, loaves of bread, and hand pies that smell like they should beillegal. I've packed my three tall cooling racks full of cooling pastries, lining them up like soldiers in a sugar-coated army. The air is thick with the smell of vanilla, caramelized sugar, and browned butter, and my body hums with the kind of tired satisfaction that only comes from hours of getting lost in something you love.

And maybe… justmaybe… it’s because keeping busy means not thinking about Jack.

I flip another tray onto the counter and start humming along to the song blasting through my speaker. It’s a heartbreak ballad, ironic, really, but I don’t care. I sing loudly, off-key, fully committing to my little kitchen concert.

Spinning around, I toss my braid over my shoulder and catch my reflection in the oven door.

I lookridiculous.

There’s flour smudged across my cheek, my braid’s coming undone, and my apron is covered in baking ingredients.

I shrug. Could be worse. Then I feel it. A shift in the air. A presence. The one that has always stopped me in my tracks when I've felt it. I freeze. Slowly, I turn, and there he is. Jack, leaning against the door frame, looking like he’d been there long enough to enjoy the show.

He’s got a cookie in his hand,one of my cookies, and he’s taking a slow, deliberate bite, chewing like he owns the place. My heart skips a beat when I see him, and heat rushes to my face, feeling oddly comforted by his presence.

I cross my arms. “Here for a property inspection?”

Jack smirks, slow and lazy, and my stomach does an unapproved somersault. “Nah. Just coming home."

I scoff. “Oh, so is this about rent? How official of you.” I gesture to my kitchen, admittedly, a disaster zone of flour, sugar, and cooling racks. “Welcome to my humble bakery. You like what I’ve done with the place?”

Jack’s gaze drifts across the chaos, then back to me. He pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth, chews, and swipes another one off a tray right in front of me.

I gape at him. “Excuse you.”

He lifts a shoulder, biting into the second one like a damn thief. “I can be paid in cookies.”

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