Page 80 of Summer Affair
“What happens if you’re not driving that day?” she asked, handing him the last skewer.
“Then I switch my notification to In Service.”
“And what happens if you already have a fare?”
“Then I ask them to get out of my damn car.”
“And what will you do when Clay or one of his other brothers find out?”
“Well, if it’s the little one, I’ll kick his keister.”
“Which one is the “little one’?” she asked, trying to imagine how any of the Easton men and their six-foot-plus size could be considered little by her compact uncle.
“The one who sings those songs,” Eddie said, then straightened, bringing him to a whopping five foot seven. “I could take him.”
“He could bench press you,” Jillian informed him. “But you might want to drop the fruit skewer before you go making threats. Have you ever thought of asking her sons’ permission to date her?”
“Like I said, we’re working up to that first date. Right now, it’s a car ride here and there, then maybe an ice cream in town. Really woo the woman.” Eddie’s cheeks tinted. “She’s the kind of woman who deserves to be wooed.”
“Uncle Eddie, are you blushing over a woman?”
“Well, if there was a woman to blush over, it’d be a woman like that Margo.” Eddie placed two skewers on Clay’s tray. “Maybe you could put in a few good words for me.”
“As long as you plan on being understanding and listen to what she’s telling you. She hasn’t dated since her husband passed, so if you’re already thinking ice cream and hand-holding you might want to think twice about who you give rides to.” Jillian didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or give a sweet sigh, because Satan’s Keeper—as Piper called her—had a soft side after all, and Eddie was determined to win it.
Still beet red, Eddie wavedget goingin Jillian’s direction. “Now, go on and have your breakfast. I’ve got things here covered. I’ll even be cordial to that P-U-T-Z.”
“Sammy can spell, Uncle Eddie. But I like the effort.”
Jillian kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed the breakfast tray with the biscuits and the ingredients to make breakfast for two. It was a romantic gesture Clay had initiated a few days ago. Jillian would bring the fixings and they’d putter around the kitchen, working hard to keep their hands off each other while they cooked—which they failed at more than half the time and would just skip breakfast altogether.
She was at the back door when Eddie called out, “And make him earn that hand-holding. You hear?”
Oh, she heard alright. He might not use words like wooing or courting, but the way Clay touched her and looked at her spoke volumes. Even more romantic was the way he respected her need to put Sammy first and put in the work to earn her trust.
Jillian had never in her life been wooed by a man. Nothing she’d experienced with another man could even come close. Her past relationships had been about Jillian blindly following the man’s lead, while they placed zero interest in knowing how she felt or what she needed. This, though? This felt different—it felt natural and healthy.
Walking across the bridge, she noticed a little spring in her step. The closer she got to the back door, the bigger the emotions bubbled in her belly.
It was love. She might not want to admit that aloud, because she’d meant what she’d said about taking things slow, but those flutters came from love. A deep and exciting kind of love that brightened every aspect of her life.
Because she did love him. Wholeheartedly. And while she’d been in love before, it had felt nothing like the feelings Clay evoked. Her first love had been a young love, naive and overbearing until, little by little, it had carved away any trace of her self-identity. With Clay, she was able to be a part of something special without snuffing out her inner Girl on Fire.
She wasn’t sure where he fell on the love scale, but her feelings for him went soul deep.
She opened the back door and let herself in. She heard the shower running in the other room and considered joining him for a naked good morning. But she only had thirty minutes until Dirk was supposed to show up and take Sammy to breakfast, then Jillian had to ice five mini cakes for a tasting before football practice.
Then again, Clay could have her cheering on the big O in half that amount of time.
She put the OJ in the fridge and, setting the tray on the table, she was on a direct path for the shower when something on the countertop caught her eyes. It was a colored brochure, glossy and multi-paged. She didn’t mean to peek, but before she could avert her gaze, she saw that it was a real-estate listing for a house—a massive house. Upon further examination, the house was located in Seattle.
She told herself that it wasn’t any of her business and to walk away, but then she glanced at a printout of an email and everything stilled, slowing to a painful stop. Her chest tightened to the point of not breathing.
Dropping the brochure, she stepped back and wrapped her arms around her stomach, while the shock of it all reverberated through every inch of her body. The message was between Clay and a real estate agent, with the subject heading reading,In Escrow.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Resolutions from Jillian’s Journal
