Page 27 of Where We Promise

EIGHT

PENELOPE

PRESENT DAY

Jamie was acting weird.

He walked me inside, and now he was making dinner. I was inclined to let him, mostly because I was hungry and having an appetite was good for a change. Especially after what Dr. Beckett had said about my low weight gain.

My feet were propped up on the couch, crossed at the ankle as I watched Jamie move around the modest kitchen.

“Jamie, you know I can make my own dinner, right?”

His brown eyes lifted for a moment, landing on me and then drifting back to the counter. I always felt so cold in the wake of his gaze leaving me. It was like having a cloud move in when you’ve been craving the sun.

With a grunt, he plated the chicken and veggies and walked over to the couch. He placed the plate gently in my hands. I often used my stomach as a table of sorts, and tonight would be no different.

Jamie nudged my feet. “Let me sit here, you can tuck your feet under my legs.”

I did as he said, lifting them for him, and then tucking them under his thigh, relishing how warm they became.

I bit into the food, savoring how warm and perfectly seasoned it was.

“This is good.” I swallowed and went for another bite, when he suddenly paused and turned to look at me.

“I have an idea I need to run by you.”

My fork speared another potato as sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was December, but you wouldn’t know it by how warm the sun felt against my face.

“Okay,” I replied around another bite of food.

I was suddenly ravenous as if the past eight months I’d been skimping on meals and my body finally woke up and realized it.

“Is there more of this?” I held out my plate to him.

He handed me his. “Finish mine, I’m not really hungry.”

I smirked at him as I took his plate and began digging in. “Must be a big thing you have to run by me.”

I was blissfully taking more bites when suddenly Jameson turned and leveled me with that chocolate stare.

“I think we should get married.”

My fork stalled halfway to my mouth. If I were drinking anything, I would have spit it out.

“What?”

Jameson’s gaze flickered the smallest bit, revealing his uncertainty.

“The club isn’t respecting you…today was too close of a call. I can’t just hand you a patch and assume they’ll respect it. I need to do something more permanent. They need to know you’ll have my protection long term.”

Slow and tenuous emotions swept through me like a shockwave.

“So you want to—what, marry on paper? And assume it will force the club to be civil with me?”

He flinched. “They’d have to believe it.”

“But it’d be fake.” I needed to clarify.

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