Page 72 of Simply Yours

“Is that ayes?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s an ‘I’m curious’—and I’m at work, so I can’t talk long,” she murmured, the quiet hum of Pizza Palace in the background. “But what do you mean by shopping?”

Jason hesitated, tracing the rim of his coffee mug with one finger. He hadn’t expected her to call—hadn’t expectedhimselfto be this wound up at the sound of her voice.

“Well,” he started casually, “I have it on good authority that there’s this girl who bakes sourdough bread at home from scratch, and I thought, hmm, who better to go shopping with for an oven than a woman who bakes?”

Silence.

The kind that made his chest feel tight, like the moment before a plane hit turbulence.

“You want me to go shopping with you… for an oven,” she repeated slowly. “For your house.”

Jason swallowed, suddenly aware of how his heart was hammering against his ribs.

“Maybe…” he said quietly, staring into the depths of his coffee like it had answers. The thought of her by his side, testing oven doors, arguing over convection settings, maybe stopping for lunch somewhere after—itshouldn’tmake him feel like this. But it did. “I mean, if you’d rather not, I could use some advice picking out paint or maybe a dining table.”

Another pause.

This one stretched longer, thick with something he couldn’t name.

Jason pressed his lips together, waiting. It shouldn’t have mattered if she said no. He’d been fine before her. He’d be fine after.

Right?

Then, finally, her voice came through, low, almost fragile.

“We’re gonna pick out stuff… together?”

His chest ached.

“I thought we could,” he admitted. “If you’re interested in… you know,togetherstuff.”

There was a small, broken exhale on the other end. It made his throat tighten.

“Oh, Jason,” she whispered, the emotion so thick it rolled through the receiver and settled in his bones. “I’m very interested in ‘together-stuff’, and you cannot change your mind.”

He smiled. “I’m not.”

A beat of silence, then, “What made you want to pick out stuff together?”

Jason exhaled through his nose, letting his head tip back against the chair. He could tell her the truth—tell her how darn good it felt to talk to her, to banter, towantsomething beyond his own solitude.

Instead, he smirked.

“It was that sexy terry cloth bathrobe and morning breath,” he deadpanned.

Her laughter cracked through the phone, watery and full of disbelief. The sound turned something over in him, something deep and unmovable.

“Turns out I’m a sicko and was severely attracted to that version of you,” he added.

“Oh, just wait till I get the flu or something.”

“Epic lust?”

“Raging.”

Jason grinned, feeling lighter than he had in years.

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