Page 42 of Saved By Two

JESSICA

The house is quiet when I come downstairs, which is a first. Since I’ve been here, either Caleb or Noah has always been home with me.

Home. I don’t know when I began calling it home, but I remind myself it’stheirhome, not mine.

I make my way over to the kettle and flick the switch, the neon light coming to life. My heart swells when I notice my favourite mug sitting on the counter, a tea bag and sugar already inside and a spoon sticking out. I get a pang in my chest and a flutter in my lower stomach—something I have no right to feel around either of these men. They’re together; I would never want to come between them. But the thought of being between them now has my entire body heating. I’ve seen them in scarcely any clothes. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t secretly admired them both, and like the steam flowing through the nozzle of the spout, I’m hot just thinking about them.

I go to the fridge, retrieve the milk, and notice a sticky note with my name on the side of a Tupperware container. I lift the lid, smiling when I see freshly sliced fruit.

Because Noah knows I like it on my porridge.

A girl could seriously get used to this.

But the thought scares me—this was only meant to be temporary. It was never going to be permanent.

And yet somehow, I’ve found myself swept up in how these two men each take care of me in their own unique ways.

Maybe I’m foolish, pretending it’s more than what it is. After all, it’s not like I could ever choose between them; they’ve already chosen one another.

I busy myself making my porridge and then sit at the breakfast bar when the doorbell rings, causing me to flinch and drop my spoon, splashing myself with porridge in the process, shit.

My heart races and my hands shake as I take my bowl back over to the sink and grab some kitchen roll to wipe my hand as I peer at the door cam on the kitchen wall and let out a breath—it’s Maggie.

I go to the front door and pull it ajar ever so slightly.

“I’m so sorry dear. I forgot my keys. It's been one hell of a morning already,” she says, squeezing through the gap and then closing the door behind her. She shrugs off her coat and hangs it on the hook before facing me.

“Everything okay?” she questions, her eyes dropping to my trembling hands, which I quickly hide behind my back.

“Yeah, of course, I’m fine.”

I’m fine—the universal code for absolutely not okay.

She reaches out and rubs her hand up and down my arm gently. “Well, you can always talk to me, dear. Living with two men, I know you’re a little outnumbered, and we women need to stick together.”

I smile as she drops her hand. “Thank you, but Caleb and Noah have been great and very hospitable, allowing me to stay here while I get back on my feet. I hate to be a burden.”

She arches one of her brows. “They’re both very good men. Even with Caleb’s hard exterior, he’s a pussy cat. Besides, you could never be a burden.”

Maggie gestures toward the kitchen, and I follow the floral scent of her Chanel number 5. It was my nan’s signature scent, and it fills me with nostalgia. I kept her half-empty bottle after she died and would spray a little on my favourite cushion just to keep her scent alive. The empty bottle is in a box with some family photo albums Mason kept.

I love how Maggie feels at home as she helps herself to tea before starting the housework.

“They only hired me as a favour to my late husband, and they pay me way more than the job I do, and yet Caleb is like the son I never had.”

She picks up my porridge. “It’s still warm. Did I interrupt your breakfast?”

“Yes, but it’s no bother.” I take the bowl from her and retake my seat.

“How about I join you with my cuppa and a custard cream before I start?” She’s already reaching for the biscuit barrel and a plate.

I smile, grateful for the company.

“You know those men dote on you, don’t you,” she says, pouring water over her earl grey tea bag. “I’d say they’re well and truly smitten if you ask me.”

My porridge goes down the wrong hole at her proclamation, and I cough and pat my chest as I try to catch my breath. She pats my back firmly a few more times; she might be getting on in years, but she has one hell of a palm.

“Let me get you some water.”

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