Page 53 of Every Beat of My Heart

“Falling off a horse is a concussion. We’re talking about burning the house down,” Owen said wryly.

“I’ll be here and so will Jameson.”

He drew in a steadying breath. Then the doorbell rang.

“Can you grab that? It’s Jameson.”

He hurried toward the door, probably relieved to be away from the kitchen. I heard their excited chatter about whatever happened at practice as they made their way down the hall.

I wondered what it would be like if Jameson brought Owen home after practice, cooked dinner with us, then stayed. Tingles erupted over my skin as he stepped into view. His hair was wet, darker than usual, and curling over his temple. It was sexy as hell, and my fingers itched to touch the strands.

His eyes lit up when he saw me. He crossed the room, wearing a fire department-issued navy hoodie and jeans.

I barely pulled in a breath before he leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. “It’s good to see you, Claire.”

My skin tingled from the contact. “You just saw me at practice.”

He flashed me a smile. “That’s not the same.”

We never talked at pickup. The most we communicated was the occasional smile or nod. Anyone on the outside would think it was him acknowledging my presence, logging the fact that a parent had arrived to take a kid home.

His gaze dropped to my bare legs for a second. Then he rubbed his hands together. “What are we cooking?”

“Spaghetti,” Owen said flatly.

Jameson smiled wide, his dimple popping. “A basic but one of my all-time favorites.”

Sometimes Jameson acted like a big kid. He wouldn’t like me saying that, but he appreciated the little things. It was refreshing.

“What do we need to do first?” Jameson asked.

Owen gave him a disbelieving look but poured water in the pan, then set it on the stove, covering it with the lid. “We need to boil water for the noodles.”

“Pretty sure we need heat for the water to boil.” Jameson waved a hand at the stove.

A muscle ticked in Owen’s cheek. “Can you turn on the burner, Mom?”

I glanced over at Jameson, and he nodded encouragingly at me. “You can do it.” Unfortunately, I didn’t sound as confident as I wanted to.

“The last time I cooked, I started a fire,” Owen’s voice trembled slightly.

Jameson rested a hand on his shoulder and wave at hand at me. Figuring Jameson wanted me to leave the room so he’d feel more relaxed, I said, “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

I went into the hall but stayed close so I could overhear.

“You’ve got this. The fire extinguisher is in this cabinet here.” I heard him tap it with something, maybe his foot. “And you’ve got your own personal firefighter present to help if something goes wrong. But nothing is going to happen because you’ve turned on the burner a million times before, and nothing bad happened. This time, you’ll remember to remove any towels, wooden spoons, or other flammables from near the stove.”

“There isn’t anything near the stove that could catch fire.”

Probably because I was extra vigilant about that and had already checked for it.

“Good. Now turn on the burner.”

I peeked around the corner to see Owen standing nearby. Owen slowly turned the knob. It clicked a few times. Then it ignited.

Jameson nodded in approval. “There you go. Easy peasy.”

Owen let out a breath, but his shoulders were tight.

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