Page 25 of Honey Bee Library
“Definitely allowed. I just…” He pushed his hand through his hair, causing the muscles in his arm to ripple.
Of course, my gaze snapped right to his arm, his chest, and then his abs, and Cole noticed. His gaze followed the path mine took, and when I finally made my way back to his face, his smile had turned wicked. I inwardly cursed him as I turned away and focused my attention on the pile of bread in front of me.
That move had been intentional, and I’d walked right into it.
“If you want to get ready, breakfast should be done cooking when you get out.” I picked up the butter, unwrapped it, and coated the griddle with a thin layer.
I could feel Cole’s gaze on me, but I wasn’t going to fall for that again. My focus was on the French toast and only the French toast.
Finally, he nodded and headed out of the kitchen. My entire body came crashing back down to earth the moment he exited the room. My muscles had been spring boards and my nerves on edge the entire time he was near me. Like I’d been in fight-or-flight mode.
With him gone, I could finally focus.
Thankfully, dunking bread into the custard and then laying it on the griddle was simple. I let my mind quiet as I focused on cooking each side to golden perfection.
I was piling the last few pieces of bread onto a plate next to the griddle when Cole came in. I tried to ignore the way his damp hair curled around his ears, or how the button-down shirt he was wearing fit him just right. I tried to ignore how he smelled like cedar wood and amber when he walked past me on his way to start the coffee machine.
But I failed horribly.
I was so acutely aware of where he was that it was making me dizzy. If I didn’t get out of the kitchen, I was scared I would do something I was going to regret.
“I’m going to check on Jasper,” I said after I set the plate of French toast down on the kitchen table. I didn’t bother to see if he’d heard me. I just hurried from the room.
Jasper was lying in bed but awake. I pulled at the covers, and he attempted to grab them before they were gone, but I beat him to it. He grumbled and buried his face in his pillow.
“Breakfast is ready, bubba,” I said as I sat on the bed next to him and pushed his curls away from his face.
He murmured something incoherent into the pillow, but I didn’t have to hear it to know what he was complaining about. He didn’t want to get up.
I patted his back. “It’s time to start the day,” I said.
I made my way over to his duffle bag and rifled through it. Nothing looked good. The memory of last night floated into my mind. Cole had purchased clothes for Jasper, and I was certain they were better than the worn t-shirts and jeans I’d been able to get him at a moment’s notice.
I didn’t want the kids at Jasper’s school to make fun of him. I’d feel like a horrible mom if that happened when I had the opportunity to prevent it. So I slipped out into the hallway and padded over to the room that Cole had filled with clothes and toys.
I felt nauseous as I sorted through the name-brand clothes that Cole had picked out. Some of them still had price tags on them, and when I read the number, my stomached lurched again. I really hoped that Cole didn’t expect me to pay him back. At thirty dollars a pop, these shirts, which I was sure Jasper was going to ruin the moment he got them on, would bankrupt me.
My hope was that Cole was as nice as he seemed. That he saw a struggling single mom and wanted to help. The last thing I needed was to owe him anything. He was already so involved in my life, and I feared what would happen if our relationship soured.
Jasper had rolled out of bed and was in the bathroom when I made my way back to our room. I waited for him to finish before I nodded toward his clothes and told him to get ready. He grumbled as he stomped over and started yanking his shirt on. I didn’t want to deal with his tantrum, so I left the room, telling him that he could join me in the kitchen as soon as he was done.
The air smelled of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans when I walked back into the kitchen. Cole was filling two mugs with steaming hot coffee as I approached him. He glanced up at me and smiled.
“I wasn’t sure how you took it,” he said as he replaced the coffee pot on the warmer.
“Just cream and sugar,” I said, not expecting him to be the one to do it. But when he nodded and turned to open the fridge, I realized that was his intention. Not sure what to do, I started opening the drawers in search of silverware.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Silverware.”
“Already on the table,” he said as he swung the fridge door shut and twisted the cap off the creamer.
I glanced behind him to see that the table was fully set. No longer was the French toast sitting alone in the middle of the table, it was surrounded by plates, utensils, and cups.
“Oh,” I said, surprised that he did all that—Harold would never—but also disappointed I had no way of dispelling all of this nervous energy I had pent up inside of me.
He paused. “I hope that was okay?” His gaze was trained on my face.
