Page 10 of His for the Taking

“Juju, pwease,” JoJo asks, not getting up from her spot on the couch. There’s a blanket pulled over her body, and her thumb is in her mouth.

“Apple?” I question. She nods vigorously as I get to work on preparing her drink and pulling out the ingredients for French toast. “Okay, JoJo, what else do you want with breakfast?”

“Woobly, uh…”—she pulls her thumb out of her mouth—“eggs and berries!” Hmm, woobly eggs, that’s a new one for me.

“Does daddy mix the eggs a lot or a little?” I feel like I’m asking a million questions to a toddler when I should have asked her father instead. See what I mean? That man has me losing what little brain cells I have.

“A wot,” Josephine says around her thumb. Scrambled it is. The berries are easy to decipher with the clear containers in the fridge. Honestly, I’m pretty impressed with how Jameson has everything organized in the fridge. Shaun would never. Hell, the only reason his house is clean is because of the weekly cleaning company. Maybe Jameson does the same thing. The thought of him pushing a vacuum or using a feather duster literally has me trying to contain the giggle bubbling up in my chest. I can imagine trying to explain the reason behind my laughter to Josephine, and trust me, kids have no filter, and she’s no doubt run to her dad and let him know we were talking about him.

I get the griddle out and make work of getting it hot while using as few dishes as possible. There’s a reason why any house I’ve ever lived in was always cleaned, only needing to deep clean every couple of weeks. I learned from my mom to clean as you go along, use as little as possible, and you won’t have to spend a full day scrubbing a house from top to bottom. I crack the eggs, preserving the majority of them for her scrambled eggs, which I’ll have as well. No need in making two separate meals. Then I start on the French toast.

“JoJo, you want to help me flip the toast?” I ask, unsure if she helps out with her dad or Nan. Her eyes are glued to the television. I’m kind of wondering if she’ll hear or acknowledge me. I dredge the bread through the egg while waiting for a response before plopping it on the griddle.

“Me, help!” I look up and watch as she flips to her stomach, kicks her feet, and slides off the couch. Then she’s running as fast as she can, her head out in front of her body like it’s propelling her. I probably should have had her change out of her footed pajamas and put her hair up so it’s not in her face. The chill still lingered in the morning air, so I decided against it.

“Of course, you can help. Let me grab a chair.” Jameson and Josephine could really use one of those stool things that has bars all the way around them so she can’t fall. Since I don’t see one, I grab the chair, and she meets me at the kitchen island when I’m ready.

“Up, pwease.” JoJo lifts her arms in the air, and I scoop her up and place her on the chair. My hands stay put until I know she’s steady on her feet. I stay beside her, handing her the spatula.

“Do you know how to do this?” Her hair answers before her head with the way her curls bounce every which way.

“I help Nan.” She’s bound and determined to do it on our her own, her tongue out on her upper lip as she chases the bread until it hits the lip of the griddle, the spatula sliding under. “I did, I did!” with one hand on top of the other, she turns her whole body as she executes the flip. We repeat the process until everything is done. For the eggs, I let her whip them up until they’re nice and fluffy, then throw them on the griddle while she plates the fruit of her choice. It doesn’t take long before our breakfast is done. So far, today has been easy, and I’ll have no problem helping Jameson with Josephine, even if it’s only a couple of hundreds of dollars a week. It’ll be perfect while I get For The Moments Photography settled into a new town, drum up new customers, and feed my ever-growing iced coffee addiction to The Java Hut.

“Are you about ready to eat?” I ask while she meticulously puts an equal number of blackberries, blueberries, and strawberries on the plates. I don’t have the heart to tell her blackberries are not my favorite. I’ll have to choke them down without her noticing.

“Alllllll done.” The l is drawn out. I finish off the plates with our eggs. All we need now is napkins, forks, and syrup. I’ll also need to cut her French toast into bite-size pieces. Maybe next time, I’ll make French toast bites. That would be a lot easier for her to eat.

“Perfect. Let’s go eat.” I turn the griddle off, scoop Josephine up in my arms, and head to the kitchen table. I’ll come back for the plates. As soon as her tush hits the booster that’s strapped onto the chair, she’s dancing in her seat.

“Yummy, yummy,” she sing-songs as I pull the knife and fork out the drawer and cut up her French toast. She keeps going, “In my tum, tum, tummy.” I laugh at her pure happiness over something so simple. Jameson Evans may give me whiplash, but one thing is for sure: I could fall in love with Josephine very easily, and that could be very dangerous for my own heart.

14

JAMESON

“Goddamn it!” The palm of my hand hits the steering wheel. I take a look at the clock on my dashboard. That fucking meeting took twice as long as it should have. Sure, the contract is ours, but it took nearly four hours to go over the land, agreeing on terms and when we’ll be starting the project. It was utter fucking bullshit. I gave the man a ridiculously high quote, hoping he’d say no. I’m talking triple than what I’d charge him if he were closer to Lane County. He didn’t even blink about it, asked when we’d be starting. Which meant I was stuck. It’ll be great for the company, venturing out and all. The guys will love the hours. Overtime will once again be mandatory, but with the holidays creeping in, it’ll be good for all of them. What won’t be good is all the hours I’ll spend away from home and Josephine. I can only hope that things work out with Kody and she won’t mind helping me when my mom has to work.

The passenger door of my truck opens, and Matthew slides in. “What did your truck ever do to you?” I roll my eyes, pissed that I’m not going to make it home in time for dinner, or probably even putting Josephine to bed. I’ve still gotta help the guys out on this plot of land. When Emma passed away, the world stopped spinning. Work was the last thing on my mind, and Matthew helped out. The other shit piled up, like meeting customers for quotes and paperwork. The fucking paperwork never ends; it’s a daily task I hate, and I’m the one who refuses to hire help. The last time I did, it was a mess, more of a hassle than it was worth, and made me realize it’s easier to stay up late after Josephine is in bed to finish it instead of dealing with people.

“This next job I tried to overbid backfired. I’m late getting to the job site, and now it’s looking like we’re all working late again.” We’ve got a four-man crew, myself included. With me down for as long as I have been, it’s taking a hell of a long time to get back on track.

“Shaun mentioned Kody has JoJo. You know she won’t mind staying longer, and if she does, Mom can always come by and stay with her. Lacey might be able to as well,” Matthew offers solid advice, except I hate having to pick her up while she’s asleep and transfer her from bed to car seat only to repeat the process once we get home.

“I could, yeah, but I’ll ask Kody first. The text she sent me of Josephine, it speaks volumes.” I scroll to our text thread, pull the picture up, and look at it before showing it to my brother. Josephine is standing next to the coffee table, her hair done in a way I could never fucking attempt. Two pigtails that aren’t lopsided, curls popping in a way I know took more time than I usually have in the morning. “It’s the way she’s smiling, the sparkle in her eye, and you can see just how fucking happy JoJo is.”

“Well, shit, big brother.” Matthew takes a look at our girl, holding the screen so it’ll show the live photo. Josephine’s laugh echoes through the truck. “And I’ll say this, and you can kick my ass later. Look in the mirror, Jameson, because your little girl isn’t the only one happy. You are, too, and I think it’s because you want Kody.”

“Matthew, don’t fucking go there. Not today, not ever. Don’t try to be a matchmaker when there isn’t anything there to match.” From what our mom said, she’s going through a lot. She’s also, with any luck at all, become Josephine’s babysitter a few times a week. The last thing I need is to add a complication into either of our lives.

“We’ll see about that,” he grunts, hands me the phone back, and goes to grab the handle of my door. “Finish having your pity party, then let’s get to work.”

“Get outta here. I’ll call Kody and then the backup if needed.” My brother, ever the shit starter, lets out a low whistle and gets out of the truck. That leaves me with making plans. I shoot out a text to Kody in case Josephine is down for her nap. Waking her up is the last thing I want to do right about now.

Me: Hey, you got a minute?

Kody: Sure

Me: Calling now

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