Page 25 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

While Cole picked up the fallen orange and resumed juggling, I took the sandwiches to the grill, setting them down on the hot metal. Then I rushed out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where all of the lights were off and the sign on the door had been flipped to Closed. With two sets of silverware and a couple of plates, I hustled back into the kitchen to set down the place settings and flip the sandwiches. Then I went to the fridge and got out a jar of salad.

“Here.” I handed the jar to Cole. “Use those muscles and shake this up.”

He grinned and put back his oranges before he started shaking. “Okay. Back to skydiving. You left me with a cliffhanger.”

I smiled. “It was the one item on the list that scared me, so I decided to just get it over with before I chickened out.”

He slid the salad jar across t

he table. The dressing that had been underneath a layer of vegetables and lettuce was now coating the glass. “And what did you think?”

“I actually loved it. The pilot said something before I jumped that really clicked. He said, ‘If you want to go swimming, you get out of the boat. Same is true with flying. You have to get out of the plane.’ So I did. I was strapped to this hippy with dreadlocks and bad breath, but he was so cool. The whole crew made it fun.”

“Would you ever go again?”

“Nope.” I popped the p to emphasize my point. “I had fun, but once was enough. Have you ever been?”

He shook his head. “No, but now I want to.”

I smiled and went back to the sandwiches, taking them off the grill. Then I dumped half of the salad on Cole’s plate and half on mine, sliding him his plate before taking the stool at his side. “Dig in.”

“This looks great. Thank you for doing this.”

“You’re welcome.”

We ate in silence, both of us concentrating on the food and listening to the hum of my kitchen appliances. But our meal didn’t take long since both of us had been so hungry.

Cole swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. “So. Jars?”

“Jars.”

“I like it. I’ll have to come back and try your desserts.”

I smiled. “I recommend the apple pie.”

His eyes, locked on mine, darkened a shade. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

Two weeks had passed since the night I’d spent in Poppy’s kitchen, and she’d been on my mind the entire time. One meal with her and I was completely under her spell.

After we’d finished our sandwiches, she’d set aside our dishes and filled the table with jars and baking ingredients. And I’d stayed in her kitchen, watching her cook until one in the morning.

When she had asked if I needed to get home, I’d said no. When she’d thanked me for coming in, I’d said you’re welcome and kept my ass on that stool.

She’d never asked me to leave, and I’d never offered.

So while she’d made trays of pies, crumbles and quiches, I’d assumed dishwasher duty. I had done my best to focus on the sink rather than on the way her jeans stretched tight over her ass. I’d scrubbed pots to ignore the inch of her flat stomach she exposed whenever she reached for the top shelf of her storage rack. And when she’d licked apple-pie filling from a spoon, I’d scoured a pan until my knuckles were raw to resist the urge to kiss her pink mouth. When she’d declared she was done for the night, finally putting me out of my misery, I’d walked her outside and stood by the building while she’d gotten in her car and driven away.

Then I’d gone home to take a shower and relieve my aching dick. I’d come hard in my fist, thinking of the way Poppy’s breath hitched whenever I’d gotten close.

My attraction to her was stronger than I’d ever felt toward a woman, which is why I’d backed off these last two weeks.

As much as I wanted to spend every night in her restaurant, it would only scare her away.

Poppy was attracted to me. She felt the chemistry between us.

And it terrified her.

If my intuitions were right—and they usually were—I was the first man she’d been attracted to since her husband, and if I wanted the chance to explore things with her, I couldn’t spook her by moving too fast.