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“Really? I thought you said you love steak.”
“I do, but California is land of the healthy, and a big fat steak doesn’t fall into that category. I don’t exactly have the perfect model’s body, so I tried to stick with salads and veggies. Obviously, it didn’t help much,” she says, looking down at her stomach.
It’s clear that her figure is a bit of an issue for her, and although I can’t imagine why, I certainly want to change her mind if I have anything to say about it.
Her hand is lying on the table, and I gently set mine on top of it. “Well, guess what, darlin’? You are down in the South now. We are all about good home cooking, and we like women who are thicker than a stick. And you’re living on a cattle ranch, so you better get used to red meat real quick.”
She smiles once more, but this one isn’t nervous. It’s warm and genuine and absolutely beautiful. The moment she notices my hand is still on hers, though, she pulls it back like she isn’t used to the intimacy.
Something has happened to this woman. I don’t know what, but I’m betting there’s a damn good story there.
We continue to eat, and when we are done, she helps me load our plates in the dishwasher. It’s a comfortable silence sometimes interrupted with bouts of small talk.
When it’s loaded, she turns to me and says, “I think I’m going to go get some sleep. Didn’t get much last night.”
“I imagine not with you sleeping on the floor. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She begins to walk away but turns back. “Jonas? I just wanted to say thank you for everything. This whole thing has been such a big transition for me, and you’ve been beyond wonderful. I’m not used to people going out of their way to be nice. So, thank you.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart. Now, get some sleep.”
She grabs my hand and gives it a small squeeze before heading off to bed. I watch her ass as she walks down the hall, but it’s clear that maybe a little more than my dick is intrigued by Andi Nicholson.
Chapter Seven
Andi
Istare up at the ceiling of my temporary bedroom. After sleeping like a fucking rock last night, I am wide awake this morning, and my mind is firing on all cylinders.
When Jonas asked me to come over here, of course, I thought he was merely doing it out of pity. I figured when I got here, our time would be full of awkward silences and uncomfortable small talk. Never did I fathom that it would be precisely the opposite.
Although my stomach was full of constant butterflies, something about Jonas Mitchell puts me at ease. How or why, I have no idea. I’m not exactly an easy shell to crack, and I don’t trust people easily. Growing up in the foster care system can do that to a person.
So why do I feel so comfortable around Jonas? Maybe it’s the way he looks at me. His eyes wander my body as though he doesn’t find it repulsive but instead something he’s hungry for. And when I talk, those same eyes find mine and act interested in what I have to say.
I haven’t felt that way in a long time. The past few years, any fleeting time that Michael and I had together was always occupied with him on his phone. And on the rare days when we would be in sync, and things would seem perfect, I knew it would be short-lived. It always was. And when we would make love, it always felt forced…like it was just what weshouldbe doing instead of something both of us craved. I’m not sure I even remember what it feels like to crave another person’s touch like that.
As I lie in bed, though, and think of Jonas just a couple of rooms over, my body is definitely starting to remember. I’m sure it’s just the fact that he is quite possibly the sexiest man I think I’ve ever been around. And that’s saying a lot coming from the woman who moved here from California, the land of beautiful people.
My mind begins to drift to thoughts of what his large hands would feel like running down my body. What his lips would feel like pressed against my skin. What he would look like naked.
Shaking my head, I attempt to shake the thoughts right out. Getting involved in any sort of way with Jonas Mitchell is an awful idea. He’s my landlord, for crying out loud. If things go South, he could theoretically kick me out of my new home. Not that I think that he would do that, but can I really take that chance?
Plus, it’s only been a couple of months since Michael died. True, our marriage was slowly falling apart. And also true that he cheated on me. But I still can’t help but feel like a horrible person for jumping into something so soon after becoming a widow.
Not to mention the fact that Michael is the only man I’ve ever so much as kissed. I’m not sure I would even know where to begin when it comes to pleasing another man. Hell, I wasn’t good at pleasing Michael either because he found someone else to do it for him.
Despite my mind’s many protests, I can’t help but be amazed by Jonas’ kindness. He took a woman he didn’t know at all and let her stay in his home so that she wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. He fed her a fantastic dinner so she wouldn’t make herself sick eating nothing but snack food. And somehow, he managed to make her feel a little bit better about herself when she doesn’t feel noticed most of the time.
All of these thoughts continue to rattle around in my head until my bladder demands to be acknowledged. As quietly as I can, I get out of bed and head to the bathroom, my bare feet padding along the hardwood floors. Once I have finished my business and washed my hands, I decide to head to the kitchen for a glass of water. I try to tip-toe and make as little noise as possible as not to wake my gracious host.
When I hit the kitchen, the delicious aroma of coffee fills my nostrils. I inhale deeply and about jump out of my skin when I hear, “Good morning, sunshine.”
Turning around, I see Jonas sitting at the table sipping from a mug and reading a newspaper.
Damn. I didn’t think anyone read the paper versions anymore.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile. “I figured you’d still be asleep, so I was trying not to make a lot of noise.”
