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I start to explain this, but Jackson places a finger over my lips. “I know. It’s like four in the morning. But if she sees you at the normal breakfast hour, there will be questions. Lots of questions.”
Gazing up at Jackson, who’s tangling his fingers in my waves of hair like he can’t stand not to be touching me somewhere, I try to come up with a reason to say no. “Gorgeous. This color.”
“It was darker when I was born. It’s why my parents named me Ruby. They thought the name would match my hair.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing, Ginger.” The low, gruff tones of his voice stir up everything inside me again. This is crazy. It’s the middle of the night, and we both have to work in the morning. I should go home, and we should each get some sleep.
But I don’t say any of those things because Jackson is beautiful and sweet with his puppy dog eyes, beckoning me to his kitchen.
He leads me to one of the stools on his granite countertop and lifts me onto it before padding over to the family room sofa, grabbing a soft white throw blanket, and draping it over my shoulders. He plants one more kiss on my lips before flipping on the light above the stove and getting to work.
“I feel useless,” I say, crossing my legs and hunkering under the blanket.
Jackson laughs quietly. “Good. I like seeing you take a load off for once.”
He quietly takes a pan down from a hanging rack above the stove, which is backed by a wall of pale green tile that offsets the countertops and rustic wood cabinets. Turning on the flame, he sets the pan down and lets it heat.
“Not gonna lie, it’s not the easiest thing for me to take a break.”
“Ha. I know, Ginger. I know.” His voice is low, and with all the kitchen lights off except the one above the stove, the space feels intimate in the early morning.
“Thank you for not holding it against me. You wouldn’t be the first to get annoyed.”
“Nothing about you annoys me, except how far away you are,” he says, returning to me for another kiss.
I could get used to this…
Jackson retrieves a carton of eggs, a stick of butter, milk, and a block of pale yellow cheese from the refrigerator. Just as quietly, he takes out a blue ceramic bowl and cracks six eggs into it. Stirring in some milk, he starts beating the eggs.
Once they’re a frothy pale yellow, he reaches for a fresh loaf of bread from Sweet Butter, which is part bakery, part café. He slices the baguette into two-inch hunks while I watch, mesmerized like I’m watching my own personal cooking show. Only no cooking show host I’ve ever seen looked like Jackson, delectable in his plaid pajama bottoms and sexy bare chest.
I don’t realize I’m gaping at him until he laughs, walks over, and uses his knuckle to close my mouth. He knows I like what I see, and I don’t mind showing my hand.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He smiles. “I like seeing you take a break, especially when half the reason you’re busy is because of me.”
“Well, Fiona, technically.” He dumps the eggs into the pan where butter sizzles and begins whisking them. He turns down the heat and lets the eggs sit.
“True. It’s the kid’s fault.”
“But we love her.” His eyes shoot to mine, and for a moment, I worry I’ve made him uncomfortable. She’s his kid. I have no claim on her. “I don’t mean—”
“No. Don’t take it back.”
I shift on the stool and debate hopping down and going over to him, but I feel frozen. “If I’m overstepping, tell me.”
Jackson puts down the whisk and walks over to me without a word. He comes up behind me, encircling me with his arms. His lips brush my cheek, and he nuzzles my neck.
“You are not overstepping,” he whispers against my skin. “I love that you love my daughter.”
My heart twists in my chest, and I inhale a shaky breath. Who is this man, and what has he done with the stand-offish guy who didn’t want to hire me a month ago? The one who has me wrapped tight bears almost no resemblance to him. And yet, I think I knew who he was all along.
Not wanting Jackson to let go of me, I slip off the stool, and we move back toward the stove. He stands behind me, one arm around my waist, while I shred the block of cheese and he finishes up the eggs with one hand. We sprinkle in the cheese and let the eggs set.
Jackson leans to the left and grabs a plate. I lean to the right and pick up a few chunks of bread. I put them on the plate while Jackson spoons out the eggs and grabs a single fork.
