Page 52 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

I sit at the L-shaped bar, feeling dwarfed by its size. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

Jackson slides the omelet onto a plate. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Most guys don’t.” What am I saying? I’ve dated exactly one guy.One. And the few flutters of one-night stands when Will and I were on breaks through the years never included sleepovers. I don’t have enough data to decide anything is ‘most.’

Jackson walks over to the other side of the bar and places the plate in front of me, resting a fork delicately on its rim. “After last night, you need protein.”

My jaw drops, and I look at him in shock. Jackson doesn’t maintain eye contact but smiles to himself. Smug. “Isn’t cooking shirtless, like, dangerous?”

Jackson glances down at his gorgeous chest and then shrugs. “I can put on a shirt if you want.”

“Now, that’snotwhat I said.”

Again, he’s smug. Damn him. If I say anything now, I’ll bumble through my words, so instead I attend to the omelet in front of me, taking a delicious, cheesy peppery bite. “Mmm.”

“Good?”

I nod and swallow it down. “Really good. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Well . . . ” Jackson clears his throat. “Our grandfather did a good job with us. Plus, I’ve been on my own long enough. You have to figure out how to do things for yourself.”

My eyes catch his. There’s a sadness in those swoony blue eyes. I decide not to linger on it or else it might do something to my insides. “You have enough money to hire a whole staff, I’m sure.”

“Sure, I could. And don’t get me wrong, I definitely don’t clean any more than I have to. But we didn’t grow up like that, right? Having people in our home doing things for us.”

“I’d love to have someone cooking for me all the time,” I say with a grin, then take a sip of my coffee, which is amazing.

Jackson smiles, “Sure, I just . . . I did that, right? When I bought my first place in Toronto and had more money than I really knew what to do with. Hired a whole crew of people to keep house for me, make my meals, run my errands.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “After a while, it gets old. Because you realize the only reason any of them are there is because of the paycheck.And that’s not a knock on them, of course. They have to make a living. But you stop paying them, and they walk away.”

I eat, though Jackson keeps my attention rapt.

“I’ve had enough of that in my life, I think.”

My heart cracks. I’ve heard a similar sentiment from Kayla the few times we’ve discussed their mother. When you have the person who is supposed to never walk away from you, walk away, that really fucks with your head.

“So, I let them all go and got a smaller place and . . . yeah. Anyway.” Jackson inhales, dispersing the cloud of what he’s just said. “I want to take you out on a proper date, Lily.”

The figurative whiplash literally knocks my head back. “That’s definitely a change in the conversation.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, I just needed to get it out.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I say, picking at the omelet with my fork.

“Um . . . what do you think?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Gosh, I don’t know. I mean, I know, it’s just . . . a little complicated I think.”

“If you don’t feel—”

“I do feel . . . the way you feel. I just don’t want to fuck this up, Jackson. It’s not like we’re just people who met on the street. If we rush, I could hurt you.”

“That’s kind of the risk you take when you do something like this.”

My heart is pounding, and it’s too hard to discern if it’s excitement or fear. I guess those feelings aren’t that far apart.

“I’m not scared,” Jackson says, eyes locked in mine. “That you’re going to hurt me.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask. “That I won’t.”

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