Page 12 of Cupid's Beau

The walk back to the inn feels endless. Each person we pass seems to stare a little too long and is that group outside the coffee shop pointing at us?

By the time we reach the inn, my stomach is in knots. Jack came here for privacy, for peace. Instead, he’s about to find himself the main attraction in Starlight Bay’s biggest gossip storm since… well, since the second coffee shop opened.

We find Jack in the kitchen. He’s at the counter, sleeves rolled up, helping my father chop vegetables for tonight’s dinner. Looking completely at ease. Relaxed. And, un-fucking-believably hot in dark jeans and a gray Henley, that makes his eyes pop.

My steps falter at the sight. Even my mother stops short beside me. Like, what is happening? Hot guy cooking in my parents’ kitchen with my dad! Did I just walk into one of my fantasies?

“Ah, you’re back!” my father says cheerfully, like having a Hollywood star help with dinner prep is completely normal. “Jack knows his way around a knife.”

Right, Jack. Small town, gossip. Jack looks up, and something in my face must give away my anxiety because his expression shifts immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

How did he even…? The man has known me for less than twenty-four hours and he can read me this easily? Could have given many of my exes some pointers.

“We… may have a situation,” I say carefully. “Someone saw you on your morning walk, and in a town this size…”

Understanding crosses his features. His hands, still on the cutting board.

“The whole town knows I’m here?”

“Not yet, but…” I twist my fingers together. “Soon. I’m so sorry. We can try to contain it, or if you want to leave-”

“Neneh,” he interrupts softly. Then, surprisingly, the corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s fine.”

“It is?”

He shrugs, turning back to his chopping. “Can’t hide forever.”

My parents exchange a look I can’t quite read, then my mother moves forward to inspect Jack’s vegetable-cutting technique.

“Perfect,” she declares.

I linger in the doorway, watching him work. His hands are sure on the knife, movements precise. There’s something almosthypnotic about it - this glimpse of him doing something so ordinary. Still hot as fuck, but domestic, normal. Like real life.

“You can help, too, you know,” my father says, breaking my trance. “Instead of just staring.”

My mouth falls open. “Father! I’m not-”

“Here.” Jack slides a cutting board to me.

I hang my coat, go wash my hands at the sink and that’s how I find myself cooking dinner with Jack Ellis, our elbows occasionally brushing as we work side by side. Every brush, each waft of his scent, sending my heart into overdrive. But that’s fine, I’m fine.

“You cook often?” I ask, trying to break the spell.

“I do, actually.”

I try not to focus on how close he is, or how his voice has gone soft again, or how-

“Oww!” The knife scrapes my finger.

“Here, let me see.” He reaches for my hand, examining the cut. “Good. It’s not deep. Where do you keep-”

“Band-aids are in that drawer,” my mother supplies, looking far too pleased about the whole situation.

Jack’s fingers are gentle as he cleans my small cut then wraps the band-aid around my finger, and for a moment I forget to breathe.

* * *

---