Page 13 of Summer Affair
His gaze fell to her shirt and smiled. “If you wanted a meeting all you had to do was ask. Unless there’s cake under that tray cover, then we’ll have ourselves a party.” He looked at Sammy who was looking up at Clay in sheer awe.
Jillian understood the affliction. Clay was massive, built like a tower, and had this confident air about him. The easy way he moved toward her, like he was comfortable in his skin, set off a butterfly sanctuary in her belly.
“Hey, Little Man.” Clay playfully tapped the bill of Sammy’s ball cap, which seemed to delight her son. “Ducks fan, huh?”
Sammy nodded. “And today I gets to be a sailor with my daddy.”
“A sailor. That sounds cool.”
“Ah huh. I’m going with my baby brother, who I have to be careful with ’cuz he’s little and needs a gentle touch.”
Jillian wanted to cry. He was clearly repeating something he’d been told. Why would Dirk even say something like that? Sammy was a sweet and thoughtful boy, who would never need to be told to be gentle.
Clay must have picked up on her emotions because he said, “I bet you’re a good big brother. I’m the baby of my family and my brothers always looked out for me, kind of how I bet you look out for your brother. Are you going fishing?”
“His dad is taking him on a month-long trip down the coast to Mexico,” she said as brightly as she could, wishing away the little sting forming behind her eyes.
Clay studied her for a long moment, which made her shift in her flip-flops, and she had to look away, afraid he’d see the emotion bubbling up. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything, just held out his hands for the tray. “Why don’t you let me take that.”
This time when he advanced, she noticed the slightest of limps, which reminded her of why he’d come to Forest Cottage in the first place.
“Kitchen to table,” she reminded, then walked into the breakfast nook, sucking in her breath to squeeze past him without touching him. He chuckled.
“I hope we didn’t wake you.” She went about setting his place at the table, arranging the plate so that everything looked as if it had been prepared by a top-rate chef. “And you know, you don’t have to wake up for breakfast. Everything I make is easily reheated.”
She built her menu around that policy. When people came to Forest Cottage it was to relax and escape all the weight and responsibilities of home and work. She prided herself on providing a top-notch experience that went beyond expectation. In part because she was a perfectionist, but also because the income from her Airbnb allowed her to keep the property in the family. If she lost that income, she’d lose an important piece of her heritage and childhood.
She’d also lose the ability to give Sammy the kind of childhood he deserved—safe and stable.
“Then I’d miss seeing you,” he said.
She looked up to meet his gaze and he winked, the kind of wink that made her insides goboom boom. It also made her wonder what impression she’d given him with her brazen, and completely out of character, behavior the other night.
“You know, I don’t usually go, um …” She looked down at Sammy. “… swimming like that.”
“You go swimming with me every day,” Sammy said helpfully.
Clay lifted a brow. “Every day, huh?”
“My mom’s a sexpot. Do you want to bag her?” Sammy asked, and Jillian cupped a hand over his mouth.
“I am so sorry. My uncle has a thing for this woman at the senior center who has big …” She looked down at Sammy. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”
Clay gave her a sexy grin that almost bowled her over.
“Sammy, why don’t you set Mr.Easton’s silverware on the counter and then go play in your fort until your dad arrives.”
Sammy raced past her, exploding out the back door and disappearing into his playhouse. The silence left behind in his wake created an intimacy that made Jillian’s palms sweat. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to speak first. In the end, Jillian cracked.
“Is there anything I can do for you? My job is to make sure you’re taken care of.”
He laughed wryly.
“I didn’t mean the innuendo and … Will you stop doing that.”
He rested a hip against the counter. “I’m not doing anything. That’s all on you. But if you’re not careful, I might begin to think you’re flirting with me.”
“I’m not,” she said. “Not intentionally.”
