Page 29 of Jasper
I chuckle. “Best get washed up then. They’ll taste a lot better without a light dusting of sawdust from those hard-working hands of yours.”
He gives me a quick nod before following Jasper to the water hose. Within seconds, they’re crowding around, reaching for sandwiches like they haven’t eaten in days. I pour iced tea into tall glasses and pass them around.
“Ma’am,” one of them says, mouth full of turkey and Swiss, “you make us lunch every time we do a job, I’ll come reroof this house every damn week.”
“If I had time, I probably would,” I tell him. “I’m a pushover that way.”
They laugh, easy and relaxed, and for the first time, I see the boyish charm and a certain kind of innocence in them. These aren’t badass bikers right now—they’re just young men doing hard work in the sun and grateful to be fed. As we eat, they say ‘thank you’ and ‘yes, ma’am’ with a kind of casual respect I hadn’t expected.
It’s not until they’ve cleaned through half the food that someone jerks his chin towards the cookie box. “What’s that?”
I reach over and pull the lid off the box, tucking it underneath. The smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies comes pouring out. It’s so strong that even the ones not paying attention perk up.
“No way,” the blond one says. “Cookies?”
“I made a double batch so you could all eat your fill and stuff your pockets full for later,” I joke, smiling at their enthusiasm. “I bake when I’m stressed.”
Jasper grabs a cookie and looks me dead in the eye before cramming it into his shirt pocket. He’s sending a message, but for the life of me, I can’t work out what it is. Maybe that he likes a little body sweat with his sweets.
I reach over and grab the piece of plastic wrap off the second platter of sandwiches and use it to wrap up a small handful of cookies for him. His eyes never leave mine as he reaches out, and the small bundle tumbles from my hand to his. That’s when it hits me that good food means something special to him. Hell, if I know what it is, the feeling is so deep and strong that it must be true.
After they’ve eaten every last sandwich except one, and cleaned my cookie box out except for one lone cookie, I realize they consider it rude to take the last of the food. So, I coax, “Anyone have room for one more?”
Most of them look like they might want to but have no room left. They all rub their stomachs and shake their heads. The little one who was wowed by the sandwiches being made with fresh bread doesn’t say no, so I hold it out for him. “C’mon, live a little.”
That’s all it takes for him to grab the last sandwich and murmur his thanks before running along behind the other prospects as they get back to work. I see him climbing back up to finish the job with part of the sandwich hanging out of his mouth. Their voices fade into background noise once again.
Jasper doesn’t follow. Instead, he remains seated at the table across from me and picks up his glass of tea. He drinks the last half of it in one go, then sets it down with a quiet sigh.
“I wanted to take a minute to thank you for making lunch for us. I was about to order pizza for them, but the food you makeis worlds better than fuckin’ pizza. If it’s okay, I’d like to pay you for the time and trouble.”
“No, thank you. It’s no trouble. I appreciate them keeping Whitmore away. And putting on a roof has to be a hot, dirty, thankless task. They deserve a decent meal, and I was happy to make it for them.”
“You treatin’ my men with respect means more to me than you know.” He leans forward, looking me in the eye again. “They’re young and have very few good female role models in their lives. I’m proud that the mother of my child is a good, decent woman with empathy and respect. That’s a rarity in our world.”
I just nod, not saying anything because I want to see where this is going. I hope that I’m reading this wrong, because he’s sounding more and more like a guy with a virgin-whore complex.
He takes a deep breath and continues, “You’re putting your best foot forward. So, I’m gonna do the same by apologizing for deciding to do repairs on your place without asking. When you spoke up this morning, I had a lot to think about and realized you were right. I should’ve spoken to you first.”
Shifting in his seat, he finishes with, “I came because your roof’s falling apart, and you’ve got my baby growing inside you. And I give a shit about your quality of life.”
“That’s the part I’m still trying to figure out,” I say. “Why you care so much. This whole situation was the result of a lab error, remember? We don’t actually know each other.”
He nods, but answers without hesitation. “Yeah. It started that way. But when you asked what came next and talkedabout you staying in our baby’s life, it put a new spin on things. Whatever we decide when the baby’s born, our lives are gonna linked together for years. Since your behavior is a good reflection on me, I want to step up and make sure that works both ways.”
I look away, out at the patchy yard I’ve been meaning to reseed since March, as I try to work out how he drew all those lines in his mind. I’m not sure that our public-facing behavior reflects on each other simply because we’ll be co-parenting. However, I can see that his train of thought has some advantages for both of us—but mostly for me. It will mean he’s cautious, careful, and respectful when it comes to me and this child. So, I nod slowly. “I never thought of it that way, but maybe you’re right.”
“By way of explanation, in my world, you don’t wait to be told to take care of someone. You just do it. If you see a problem and you have the tools to fix it, you fix it. That’s not considered controlling. It’s a way of being respectful and showing that you care.”
I meet his eyes again. He’s not lecturing me. He’s just… explaining his point of view.
“I understand you a lot more after this little talk,” I say, and this time it’s almost teasing. “And I want to say thank you for caring. I’m sorry I mistook it for something else.”
He leans back slightly, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.”
I pick up that last cookie and break it in half. I offer him a piece without thinking too hard about it. He takes it and eats it in two bites, quiet again. There is no smirk or awkwardnessradiating off him. He’s finally opening up and letting me see the man behind the cut.
I look at him with more informed eyes for another second before I stand and start collecting the empty glasses. He helps without asking, bringing everything to the counter just inside the door. When he lingers at the door, I know he has something else he wants to say, so I turn to face him.
