Page 28 of Surrender

“Your knee okay? You know it acts up with the cold, and I don’t want you to overdo it and fall when the roads are this bad.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart. Oliver and Lincoln are over to keep an eye on me so I don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Good,” I grunt and focus on pouring the batter onto the hot pan to avoid issuing more instructions. “If the roads clear up, I’ll be over later to plow your driveway and sidewalk.”

“What do you think the boys are here for?” I can hear the smile in her voice. “They’ve already been given stern instructions to handle all that.”

“It sounds like you’re in good hands.”

She hums. “And it sounds to me like you already have your hands full, so don’t worry about me.”

My mouth runs dry. I drink a mouthful of my coffee and use the lull to flip the pancakes.

“Jack?” Mom calls.

“I’m here,” I mutter.

I swear I can fucking hear the twinkle in her eyes. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

“Must be a bad connection.”

“Well, now that you know I’m as fine as ever, I’ll let you go get on with your day.”

If I were home alone, I’d argue and keep her on the line, fill the dead air with bullshit to chase away the loneliness I know she feels ever since Dad died. But I have a tall stack of pancakes, and the driveway isn’t going to shovel itself.

We say our goodbyes a moment later, and after I twist off the burner, I find myself standing in front of the door to my bedroom.

Three soft raps of my fist against the door break the silence in the house.

“Whitney,” I say low, beneath my breath.

The door opens just a crack. A thin strip of light illuminates the floor of my bedroom. Stuttered breath leaves my lungs as she opens the door fully and steps through, nearly bumping into my chest.

“Sorry, I don’t want to wake them.”

All I can do is stare. My jaw fights against falling open. Whitney’s always been gorgeous in a way I never allowed myself to ruminate on. But sleep rumpled? She’s downright sexy.

Wisps of that golden-blond hair hang loose around her face. Straight and soft-looking. I wonder how it’d feel to sift my fingers through the strands. How it’d feel in my fist while I kissed her. How it’d tickle my chest.

An exhale clears away the forbidden thoughts.

She’s my guest. No different from the ones staying at the motel. In all my years as the owner, I’ve not once taken up an offer to hook up, and there have been plenty. Bachelorette parties and wedding guests being the most likely to slip a phone number across my desk.

I usually tuck them in my pocket and pretend there might be a chance. Then when they walk away, I throw it in the trash. The illusion is usually enough to keep my customers happy.

I should treat her similarly. Not ogle her in the early morning after waking her from a much-needed sleep.

“Sorry.” My voice is rusty. Clogged with compliments marinating on my tongue that I keep to myself.

She crosses her arms over her chest. The move raises the hem of her oversized tee shirt to mid-thigh. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

“Early riser?” I cock a brow.

“When you have kids, you get used to their routines.” She glances at the door behind her. “They must have needed the sleep more than I thought.”

I nod, then clear my throat awkwardly of all the things I have no right to say. My gaze drifts lower naturally, reaching the expanse of her shapely legs. I startle and yank it up.

“I just wanted to tell you I made pancakes. There’s extras for you and the kids.”

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