Page 23 of Just Friends
Piper
“Mmm …!”
I snagged Jax by the forearm, digging my nails into thick muscle. My eyes rolled into the back of my head so I could more thoroughly indulge in the rich and creamy gravy.
“Oh my God, Jax,” I said after I swallowed the first bite. “This issogood.”
“Yeah? Seriously?” Jax asked, unconvinced. “You really like it?”
He wasn’t nearly as confident in his cooking skills as I was. But I knew he’d knock it out of the park—he’s one of those naturally competent guys; he’s good ateverythinghe gets his hands on.
“I love it,” I said, scooping up a second bite. “The biscuits are flaky yet perfectly moist. And the sausage and gravy?Yum, delicious!”
I shoveled the second bite into my mouth, which was even better than the first, and I turned into a mush ofmmmm-mms all over again.
“You know what this means, right?” he asked. A playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips and I knew exactly what was coming. “I’m the better cook.”
I laughed out loud. So much for modesty.
“I must admit,” I said, “this is a very promising start. But you can’t be crowned until you’ve proven you can cook meals like this day in and day out. Until then?” I pinched his cheek. “I’mstill the better cook.”
After wolfing down the rest of my breakfast, I set my empty plate aside.
“Oh, wow, I’m full. That was just what I needed, Jax, thank you.” I patted him on his bare leg—he wore cotton gym shorts, leaving those massivelyswolehockey thighs exposed. “Reminds me of Sunday morning breakfast back home.”
“You miss home, don’t you?” he said as he stood up and took our empty plates away.
I followed him into the kitchen, where he started to clean up the mess.
“It’s tough,” I said. “I miss my family, absolutely. But do I miss it so bad I want to go back? Gah … no, not really. Farm life can be so exhausting. Still, I feel guilty that I’m not there to help out, especially after the bad news yesterday.”
“Yeah, that’s tough,” he said, filling the sink with hot, soapy water.
“I’ve always figured I’ll probably move back there someday to help care for my parents. I’m just notreadyyet. I left so I could find myself and become my own person, you know? And I don’t feel like I’ve quite done that just yet. And heck, I reallylikeliving in the city, even if it is a different kind of exhausting.”
He snickered. “I know what you mean.”
Jax grew up on a farm, too, in Iowa—but that’s where the similarities between our backgrounds end. My parents are old-school hippies who farm produce on a small, tenacre plot.Jax’s parents are third-generation farmers who farm hundreds of acres of corn and soybean.
“Do you ever miss home, Jax?” I asked, standing next to him.
“Not really,” he said, elbow-deep in the soapy sink. “I love my family and all. But I’m a hockey player, not a farmer.”
“Yeah, I feel the same way.” I nodded. “Ugh, I just worry so much about my parents.”
Because here’s the thing about my parents: they don’t have much in the way of savings. Retirement? Ha! Good one. Their plan is to work the land until the day they die—which mightsoundromantic, or something, but what happens if they get hurt or sick or just get so old theycan’twork anymore? What then? Paulina is a big help, don’t get me wrong, but she couldn’t run the farm by herself. She’s more interested in hanging with her friends. Which is fine—she’s young and wants to blaze her own trail someday, too. Besides, it’s not fair to expect her to stay at home forever.
“I know you worry, Pipes.” Jax bumped me with his hip. “But hell, your parents have made it this far. They’ve got to know what they’re doing.”
“Well, yeah, they do,” I conceded. “But if the neighbors keep spraying herbicide with afifteen-mile-an-hour wind, it doesn’t matter if my parents know what they’re doing or not, because they won’t have any produce to sell.”
He whipped his head around. “Wait, are you serious? Your neighbors sprayed with afifteen-mile-per-hour wind?”
“Yup,” I said, popping thep.“Can you believe it?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving a cluster of soap suds on his brow. “Morons.”
“Close your eyes. You’ve got soap on your face.” I stood on my tip-toes, reached up, and carefully wiped the suds away from his eyes. “There. All better.”
