Page 75 of Protector

I sat up. “Are you serious? But I’m starving… I thought maybe it was close to morning.” As if on cue, my stomach rumbled loudly, eliciting another chuckle from my biker.

“Not sure if you remember or not, but we kinda missed lunch.” His hand connected with my thigh under the blankets, squeezing lightly. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s get you fed.”

I’d been at war with my body for almost five years; hiding under baggy clothes and cutting myself open just to feel. Nothing would erase what had been done to me; but tonight, in front of the man I’d pledged my life to, I was completely comfortable in my own skin.

I didn’t bother picking up the shirt on the floor as I followed him through the living room and into the kitchen. “Do you have eggs? I could make breakfast for dinner.”

He gestured toward one of the stools near the butcher block island. “Sit your pretty ass right there, and I’ll get ya fixed up.”

In our relationship, I’d been the one in charge of meals, but watching him rummage through the kitchen cabinets while humming to himself, felt normal. It was as if no time had passed at all.

I quickly realized why I’d always done the cooking when he held up the bright blue can with a triumphant grin.

“Spam?” My nose wrinkled, and I shook my head. “You don’t have anything else?”

“You ever had a fried Spam sandwich?” he asked, pulling the tab back before dumping a flesh-colored block onto a plate. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“And that’s something I would want?”

“Just you wait, darlin’. You’re in for a treat.” He cut it into thin slices and arranged them on a plate before grabbing a cast-iron skillet.

I watched him fry up the canned meat, convinced that there was no way I’d be able to eat a single bite and keep it down. Then, I smelled it, and the appetite that had fled around the same time the blue can appeared suddenly returned.

The oil popped in the pan and Jamie jumped back.

I grinned. “You better be careful, or you might end up with burns in some pretty uncomfortable places.”

He flipped them and turned back to me. “I’m a pro, baby.”

After several more near-misses with the hot oil, he snagged a couple of pieces of bread and carefully spread mayonnaise and mustard over them before adding the meat. He placed the entire thing in front of me like a chef would a food critic.

I bit into it as he sat down next to me, watching my face expectantly. “Well?”

“It’s surprisingly good,” I said around a mouthful.

“Surprisingly,” he scoffed. “You country club types have been missin’ out, admit it.”

“Fine. We’ve been missing out.” We devoured our sandwiches, slipping into a comfortable silence.

“What are they like?”

“Who?” I asked with a frown. “Country club people? About like most people, I expect.”

“No, the girls. What are they like?”

“Oh.” I finished chewing. “Well, Kate is a moody teenager. So, that’s fun.”

Jamie rested his elbow on the island, leaning in toward me. “But what does she like to do, though? Is she in sports or a club at school?”

The hope reflected in his blue eyes was almost childlike. He wanted to know our girls; all of the little everyday things that I’d taken for granted over the years.

I thought about it. “Kate loves music. Nothing else breaks through to her quite like it. She’s in the choir at school, but it’s the songs on the radio that I catch her listening to late at night. Some days, I’m convinced that she feels things on a deeper level. Does that make sense?”

He nodded with a soft smile. “Complete sense. What about Dakota Mae?”

“Do you remember how she was obsessed with Thor when she was a toddler?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, rubbing at his forehead. “I had more silverware thrown at my face during that phase…”

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