Page 52 of This Thing Between Us

“Whatcha looking for?” a male voice sounded from behind me.

I turned around and found Jack in the bathroom framed by two French doors that were opened wide. He looked at me through the mirror, his hand in the air holding a razor. Shaving cream covered the majority of his unshaven face. But my eyes betrayed me by looking a little lower. With his chest bare, the only thing covering Jack was a tiny white towel.

In all fairness to the towel, it was probably a normal size, but wrapped around Jack’s tall, muscled body, it looked more like a washcloth.

I gulped.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jack smiled, as he turned and resumed shaving.

I begged my feet to move, but they didn’t listen.

“You’re welcome to stay and watch.”

I cleared my throat. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t make us late.” I put some more annoyance in my voice than I really felt. Although, I did feel annoyance—annoyance that Jack had the ability to completely render me speechless.

That powerful bastard.

“We leave in ten minutes,” I told him, as I finally convinced my body to get a move on.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he shouted as I slammed the door to his bedroom behind me.

I touched my face, feeling the heat creep up my neck. If I dared look into a mirror, I’m sure I’d find my face bright red and my hair a mess. My hair tended to become disheveled when I felt embarrassed. As if I needed more of a reason to cringe.

Stomping downstairs, I made my way to the kitchen to grab a piece of the cake I made last night.

Stress eating seemed like a good idea.

I just polished off my plate when I heard Jack coming down the stairs. I quickly shoved the plate into the dishwasher before he entered the room.

“You ready?” I asked in my no-nonsense tone, pulling my purse over my shoulder.

“Yep,” he said, grabbing his keys and wallet from a small tray next to the door to the garage. “Oh, by the way, you have a little something.” He gestured towards the corner of his mouth.

I lifted my hand to my mouth and found a dollop of chocolate frosting there.

Damn.

Jack and I arrived at the French bistro just in time. We remained silent during the car ride over. Mostly because I didn’t want to acknowledge that yes, I did eat a second breakfast, and that breakfast was cake. Delicious cake, sure, but cake, nonetheless. But partly I kept quiet because I didn’t know what to say. I held onto my anger for so many years that to feel that ball in my chest loosen left me more confused than ever.

Jean-Pierre, the chef and owner, came out to greet us as soon as we stepped into the restaurant. Even first thing in the morning this place looked sophisticated and posh. Often the harsh light of day transformed places like bars, making them look strange. I could only imagine what darkness and a little candlelight would do to enhance the already stunning space.

“Please take a look around,” Jean-Pierre encouraged us with his beautiful French accent. “And you must be Mr. Rose,” Jean-Pierre said, offering his hand in greeting to Jack.

I laughed out loud. “Oh, no—” I started to clarify.

“Oh, yes.” Jack swept in, reaching out to grasp the other man’s hand. Then he reached around me pulling me to his side. “I’m a lucky guy, aren’t I?” He had the audacity to wink at Jean-Pierre.

He must have been the only person in Haver’s Creek who didn’t know who Jack was.

Speaking of Jack, I shrugged out of his grasp. “Actually, you see we are here for—”

But again, Jack didn’t let me finish. “We are looking for a place to hold our one-year anniversary dinner,” he said, laying the charm on thick.

Jean-Pierre looked understandably confused. “But I thought we were hosting a gala of some sort…”

I began to nod, but Jean-Pierre’s attention was drawn to Jack who was vehemently shaking his head.

“That’s just the cover story we’ve been giving. You see, it’s going to be a surprise anniversary party.”

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