Until the doorbell rang.
It was nine o’clock. Not exactly late, but she wasn’t expecting company. Brinton quickly washed her hands and padded down the stairs.
When she opened the front door, she found Jamie, allsun-kissed and sheepish grin, standing on the porch. He held a canvas tote bag in one hand.
His eyes widened, drinking her in as she wore next to nothing.
Self-conscious, she crossed her arms over her chest and wondered how quickly she could stealthily dislodge her wedgie.
“Sorry—were you heading to bed?” he stammered, eyes dragging up to hers.
“No, I’m up. What are you doing here?” she asked, tone harsher than intended. She regretted that when his smile faltered.
“I don’t sleep much these days, so I’m kinda wired,” he said, a little brighter. “Do you wanna hang out?”
She weighed her options: they could talk about last night. That had to happen eventually, even if she wished she had more time to get her story straight. But then, when he looked at her, with those disarming eyes, and dragged his teeth over his plump bottom lip…
It was hard not to fantasize about fitting their damp, naked bodies together like Jenga pieces.
Brinton shook the thought away, as tempting as it was. She stepped aside so he could enter.
She’d tell him that they had to set some boundaries, and that whatever was happening between themcouldn’thappen. Then, she’d send Jamie on his merry way.
Naturally, that plan didn’t include watching the smooth curve of Jamie’s ass flex in his jeans as he crossed into the kitchen.
Shit,I will miss that.
“I was also hungry, so I stole some rations from the main house,” Jamie said, setting the canvas tote on the countertop. He pulled out a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper, a jar of homemade apple jelly, and a package of sharpcheddar.
“Want a taste?” he asked casually.
She wanted a lot of things.
“I’m not hungry, but feel free to make something for yourself,” she answered.
Then her stomach—the traitorous tart—rumbled so loudly, it startled her. Jamie smirked and continued unpacking his bounty.
“Fine, I could eat,” she said, joining him at the large kitchen island, but she stood on the opposite side. A feeble attempt to keep the sweaty Jenga at bay.
“What is all of this?” she asked, flicking her wrist across the counter.
He flashed a tempered grin. “You’ll see.”
After cutting four perfect slices from the soft loaf, Jamie spread a thin, golden layer of apple jelly on each and topped it with a generous slice of cheddar. He cut both sandwiches diagonally and slid one onto a plate.
“This, my dear, is the best sandwich you’ll ever have,” he said, handing her the plate. “My mom made it every day for me after school. She wasn’t big on cooking, hence why Liza was a godsend, but this’ll heal you like a prayer.”
Brinton looked up in time to catch him slowly suck an errant swipe of jelly from his thumb. He was looking down at the counter, not even trying to entice her, but—damn.
Like pure fucking honey.
“One bite will change your life,” Jamie mused, swallowing.
He could say that again.
When she took a bite, her eyes widened. “Oh my God…” she said, nodding at the explosions of sweetness and acid and salt on her tongue. It’s exactly what kissing him tasted like.
“Right?” he asked, as if thinking the same thing.
