Page 27 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

And there he is.

Jake—in a T-shirt with sweatpants that cling to his hips. His muscular six-pack is on display. He’s standing at the stove flipping S’more’s pancakes like he’s been doing it his whole life. I’m impressed by his natural, and fluid movements.

He owns the moment, and he’s perfectly comfortable—like this is where he was always meant to be. I catch him tossing chocolate chips into the skillet. He’s poetry in motion as he twirls around and folds himself over with his hands moving, and when he’s done grand-standing, he straightens into a happydance with fancy footwork like he just scored the winning touchdown in a playoff game.

I pause in the doorway, caught off guard by the domesticity of the scene as Ellie sits on the stool and leans over the counter mesmerized. He’s humming a tune I don’t recognize but the sound is low and comforting. The light from the window catches the golden edges of the pancakes as he flips another one into the air, his wrist flicking easily like he’s tossing a football. He doesn’t even hesitate as it lands perfectly in the pan.

He finishes his dance and bows to Ellie who claps when he flips it again and her face lights up when he plops it on a plate and slides it across the counter toward her.

“Yeah!” I cheer, giving him a resounding applause.

“How long are you gonna stand there watching me?” he asks before he turns to face me.

How did he know I was here?

I cross my arms, trying to mask my amusement—not really. I’m grinning like a son of a bitch and loving every minute of it. “Until you burn one.”

He checks the pancake in the skillet before he tosses another glance over his shoulder, and flashes me that cocky grin of his. “Not gonna happen. I’m a natural.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sam,” he says, flipping another pancake onto a plate.

He turns off the burner and sets the pan aside, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “But stick around. You might learn a thing or two.”

“You think?”

“Perhaps,” he replies but when I look at him, he runs his tongue over his lips suggestively and I blush.

“Yum, yum,” Ellie smirks as she rubs her belly with her hand, the sexual innuendo is lost on her. Thank goodness!

I take a seat next to Ellie. And it’s only now that I glance at Ellie’s plate and judging by the melted chocolate on her plate, I realize she’s already had a pancake.

“Aunt Sam, Jake makes thebestpancakes and they have chocolate chips in them!” Jake comes between us and adds two tiny round pancakes to a plate, sprinkles confectioner’s sugar on top, and a strawberry as a garnish before he slides it to me.

I raise an eyebrow at Jake. “Trying to impress me?” I note that a trail of the powdery mix on the counter leaves right up to the mixing bowl.

“Is it working?” he asks.

I sit at the counter, grab a fork, and take a bite. The pancake is light and fluffy, the maple syrup is warm. I rarely take the time to make it when it’s just Ellie and me. I hate to admit it, but he’s good—really good.

“Maybe,” I say, struggling to keep my tone casual. I’m caught off guard by how easy this feels. Like we’ve been a team forever. He piles pancakes onto a plate for himself and sets it next to me.

Jake refills his coffee and pours one for me before taking the seat next to me. His knee brushes against mine under the counter. I move as if to pull away, but his hand rests on my leg and I give in.

“You don’t strike me as the domestic type,” I say between bites.

He smirks, sipping his coffee. “There’s more to me than football, you know.”

“Really? I had no idea,” I tease.

He laughs, the sound is deep and warm, and it makes me forget about the walls I’ve built around myself. I even forget why I’ve kept himat arm’s length.

“Stick around. I’ve got more where this came from,” he teases, as he nods at Ellie happily eating her food and smiling at us as if she planned this all along. I watch Jake dive into his pancakes and join the banter between the two of them.

I laughed softly at their barbs while feeling the warmth of a man who is becoming a part of our routine—and our family.

Jake insists on cleaning the kitchen and I disappear to my room to prepare for the day. I run my hand over the bedsheets and smile contently as his fresh smell clings to the pillowcase. Perhaps this could work. We’re a team, the three of us, and Ellie adores him. I admit that I’m smitten.

---