Page 27 of The Marriage Mission

"Because I'm making you breakfast, Mrs. Henry."

"It's Ms. Chou or Chef. And you're murdering those eggs."

Jacqui's body checked him with those curvy hips, bumping him from his place at the stove. Noah only moved because she wanted him to, not because she physically could make him. Before he relinquished pride of place, she grabbed the spatula from him. Then froze.

Noah had seen battle-scarred soldiers return to the field with that look. They'd been certain they had recovered from the horrors they'd seen and endured and were ready to do their job again. They'd been wrong.

Jacqui stood frozen with the spatula in hand. She looked down at the kitchen tool like it was a grenade. Her hand gripped the utensil so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her eyes stared blankly at the sizzling pan, but it was clear she wasn't really seeing it.

Yeah, it was the same look he'd seen on the faces of soldiers. The look of seeing the ravages of their wounds when they woke up in a medical tent. The look of witnessing the loss of a comrade. They would freeze up at a sound or a movement, a flood of memories paralyzing them, their faces drained of color, eyes wide and unseeing, as if they were looking at a ghost only they could see. As far as he knew, Jacqui had never seen a battlefield.

"Jacqui?" Noah's voice was gentle, laced with concern. He stepped closer, his presence cautious and non-threatening. He reached out slowly and placed his hand over hers on the spatula, easing it gently from her grasp. He kept his hand on hers.

Jacqui blinked slowly, her breath hitching as she returned to the present. She looked around, disoriented for a moment, before her gaze settled on Noah. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, her usual composure stripped away by the grip of a silent battle Noah could only guess at. Then, in another blink, it was gone.

She snatched her hand away from his. "I told you you could eat at the restaurant. I'm not cooking for you."

"I was cooking for you."

She swallowed as though she didn't understand his words. Then bobbed her head in acceptance. But that was short-lived.

Jacqui shook her head in a clear sign of rejection of the notion of being taken care of. "I don't have time for this. I have to get to the farmer's market for produce."

"I'll pack breakfast up."

"Why?" She looked like a flustered hen.

"I'm coming with you."

"Why?"

He didn't bother answering. He searched out Tupperware and put the put the eggs and barely brown toast inside the plastic's belly.

"Noah, about last night..." Jacqui began, her voice hesitating slightly. "I... I need to apologize for invading your space in the bed. I thought…"

She tried to swallow again. The lump in her throat was nearly visible. Noah wanted to trace his fingers over the spot. He wanted to press his mouth there to soothe away any discomfort. He took a step toward her.

Jacqui stepped back. In a blink of her eyes, the hesitation and vulnerability were gone. So was the lump. "I thought you were my ex. That's why I cuddled up to you. It won't happen again."

Noah felt a sharp sting of emotion. His hands balled into fists, draining all the blood from his fingertips. He knew a lie when he heard it. Still, he couldn't get past the words. Or more to the point, the visual those words created.

He managed to keep his expression neutral, his voice steady. "It's okay, Jacqui. It was just a mix-up. Happens to the best of us."

Jacqui gave him a sassy smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks for being so cool about it, Noah. You're a good guy."

Point to Jacqui. They were even. For now.

ChapterEighteen

"These are not your finest cuts, Mr. Mike. I don't know if I can pay top dollar for this."

"Your fault for running late today, Jacqui. Jed Winchester already got the best. But these are just as good."

Jacqui scowled at the name Jed Winchester but quickly fixed her face. One of the reasons she tried to get to the market at the crack of dawn was to thwart that man's efforts. If he thought he could roll into town with his untrained, backwoods cooking, he had another think coming.

Mike grinned down at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking and could see the dollar signs in her expression. He was a slightly overweight man with gray streaks highlighting his fiery red hair. There was a line of customers behind him. But he was in no hurry as he flashed a broad smile, his large forearms a testament to years of physical labor resting on the counter.

"Thirty percent off," Jacqui insisted.

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