Page 59 of Simply Yours

“I want us seen together,” he said, smiling against her lips. “Holding hands. Kissing. All of it. I’ll get you a Baird Farm shirt if you want it.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of her, and he grinned at the sound, at the way she arched playfully against him.

“I’d love a Baird Farm shirt of my own to wear proudly around town.”

“Done.”

Her smile was shy, beautiful, and something he would always treasure in his heart, mind, and soul.

“Did you know that your man is an incredible cook?” he teased her, his smile widening as hers did the same at his words.

“When it comes to smoking a brisket—yes.”

“In all things, Catnip,” he corrected, pushing himself up and stretching, his muscles flexing beneath the strain.

She sat up slowly, smoothing her hair back in a way that made him want to pull her right back into his arms. He wanted to unfasten that robe, ditch those cotton pajamas, and hold her in his arms for days, weeks, months, years… and he swallowed at the sudden thoughts in his head.

“Especially,” he added, his voice cracking slightly, “when he makes breakfast for the most gorgeous woman in the world.”

Caitlin scoffed. “Where’s she hiding?”

Jason rolled his eyes, tugging her hand and pulling her to a standing position, drawing his arms around her, pulling her closer. “In my arms, silly. I’m talking about you.”

“I’mnotgorgeous.”

“You are to me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice low, steady. “And that’s all that matters.”

* * *

Jason leaned against the counter, listening to the quiet sounds of Caitlin moving around in the bathroom. He’d given her space, but his mind was already drifting to the idea of her here, in his home, beyond just this morning. He shook off the thought and turned to the task at hand—breakfast. Coffee first, because even though he could function without it, he’d learned that some people, namely Caitlin, did not operate on the same level of morning efficiency.

The carafe slid smoothly under the coffee maker, the rich aroma of freshly ground beans filling the air. He had plans today—to show her around the house, get her thoughts, maybe even hear her say she liked it. He wanted that. He wanted to show off the work he’d done, the details he’d put into making this place more than just a house. The honeysuckle bushes were one of those touches. Planted along the back of the property, just beyond the deck, they would keep the bees from bothering anyone who wanted to sit out there with a cold drink in the evening. And maybe, just maybe, she’d sit out there with him one day, watching the sunset, talking about things that didn’t have to be rushed.

His gaze shifted to the spot where he’d planted one particular bush, right where he’d once spotted the bobcat kittens. His fingers flexed instinctively, the memory of pain lacing through his palm. That old wound had taken its sweet time to heal, leaving behind a jagged mark on the meat of his thumb. His abdomen bore a similar reminder—a scar from claws that had nearly done more damage than he cared to admit. Stupid. Reckless. He should’ve been mauled beyond repair, but instincts had overridden logic. Caitlin and Matthew had been there. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, and there had been no hesitation. Not then. Not now.

If she ever looked at him like that again, with terror widening those beautiful eyes, he knew—without question—he’d do the same darn thing. Without thought. Without regret. He’d throw himself into harm’s way, consequences be darned.

The thought settled deep in his chest, leaving him unsettled yet sure. He reached into the fridge, grabbed the open can of pineapple, and let the routine of cooking distract him. Two rings into the skillet, a cherry nestled in the center of each, a dusting of brown sugar, and a pat of butter melting into golden pools—each movement deliberate, steady. The smell of caramelizing fruit mixed with the scent of coffee, filling the kitchen with a warmth that had nothing to do with his cooking.

He heard her before she spoke, the soft scuff of her bare feet on the hardwood.

“What smells so good?” Her voice held a trace of hesitation, a nervous edge that made him glance up.

“Me,” he answered without missing a beat, throwing her a wink that made her lips twitch. “Well, maybe it’s me, and the coffee, and breakfast—but mostly me.”

She laughed, the sound like the first sip of whiskey after a long day—smooth, warm, hitting him deep in his chest.

“Okay, ‘Me,’” she teased, her smile teasing the corners of her lips as she stepped forward gingerly. “Where can a girl get a cup of coffee?”

He reached for the cabinet, opening it with a casual air. “Right here—but you have to pay the kitchen troll.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Yep.” He turned toward her, leaning his hip against the counter, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Only deals in kisses, too. Real hard-nosed guy, not much room for negotiation.”

“Whatever will I do?” she mused, feigning distress, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

“You’ll just have to kiss him.”

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