Page 7 of Princess and Country

“Thanks,” I said in such a low, croaky voice, I feared he wouldn’t hear me. His hand lingered on my back another minute, and we glanced at each other longer than we should have, neither of us breaking our eye contact. I pressed my lips together as big knots tied my stomach.

“I couldn’t let you drown over a gulp of water, Princess,” Jeff said, using the nickname he gave me when we were kids and I refused to jump into a mud hole, wearing my favorite white dress and glittery silver shoes.

I forced a small curl on my lips and brought my attention back to my dinner. Carter missed the entire exchange between his brother and me, deep in a conversation about some hockey stats with his daddy.

Mrs. Hills cleared her throat, and when I looked her way, she beamed, offering me a warm smile I’d never got before. I’d always suspected Jeff was her favorite child. Not that any parent should have one, though. But Mrs. Hills was much more enthusiastic about Jeff’s antics than she was about Carter’s musical talent. Jeff held a special place in her heart. One I’d never fully understand. He could get away with pretty much anything.

Mrs. Hills cleared her throat. “Dahlia, dear, could you help Jeff clean the table? It’s his turn, and I need to discuss something with Carter.” I bobbed my head in agreement as I rose from my seat.

“Mama, we can talk later. Don’t make Dahlia do my chore.” There. Carter. Always thinking about me. Putting my needs first. Making me his priority. Protecting me.

“It’s okay, Cart. I can do this. I’m eating here all the time. And you always do the dishes with my daddy when you come over. Let me do this.”

Carter grabbed my hand as I picked up his plate. “You sure?” he asked, so low only I could hear him. I nodded. We exchanged a small smile, and I followed Jeff into the kitchen. Once again, my heart went wild in my chest. My body temperature rose, and despite the air-conditioning, molten lava coursed through my veins. I stood beside Jeff, and neither of us said anything as he washed and I dried. A few times, our arms brushed each other, and the same zipping sensation I felt during dinner ran through me. I held my breath as long as I could, hoping it would settle my heart down. It didn’t work. I stepped to my left, leaving a gap between Jeff’s body and mine, needing to reset my boundaries. And calm my nerves. Seconds later, Jeff stepped to the left too, erasing the distance between us. As if he needed to be close to me. Or as if my body attracted his.

All my thoughts jumbled inside my head.

With my mouth clamped shut, I kept my eyes glued to the dishcloth in my hands and zoomed in on my task of drying up plates, glasses, bowls, pots, and pans.

When I fumbled to place the salad bowl away on the highest shelf, Jeff held my hips from behind with a feather touch, moving me to the side. My knees weakened.

“Let me do this,” he offered, his voice hoarse, his breath tickling my nape. Shivers ran through me. “Are you cold?” I shook my head, avoiding his eyes.

“No. I’m fine.” I forced the words out.

We breathed the same air for a full minute, neither of us breaking the awkward silence, before we finished putting all the dishes away.

Once we were done, Jeff gave me one last heated glance and disappeared upstairs.

He never came back down as Carter and I moved to the garage to rehearse the song we’d been working on for the last week.