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She’s dead.
I shake myself and make my way across the kitchen, dodging the dining table on the way. She doesn’t sense me as I approach, and it only makes my grin broader. She’s always in her own little world, oblivious to everything around her.
Resting my hands on her waist, she lets out a little yelp that has me chuckling to myself. She fumbles for her phone and turns the music down before spinning toward me. I keep my hands where they are, firmly wrapped around her narrow waist, noticing the way my palms fit the curve perfectly.
As if she were made for me.
My brows bunch together. Where did that come from?
“You scared me!” she laughs, swatting my chest.
“It’s not my fault you’re so unaware of your surroundings, sweetheart,” I say, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She laughs again, shaking her head. Her golden curls sway with the movement.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” she says, smiling up at me. Her blue eyes shine brightly in the morning sun pouring in through the garden window above the sink. Fresh sunflowers are sitting on the windowsill, just like they are every week. “Your coffee is already on the table.”
“No—”
“No sugar,” she says, lifting her perfect brow, her lips twisting in a wry grin. “I remembered.”
I knew she would.
There’s not much she doesn’t remember about taking care of me and our home. After Jane passed, Eve became the woman of the house and she fell naturally into that role. She was born to be a homemaker and a wife.
I give her another gentle kiss on her temple, and when I pull away, her full pink lips are parted. I feel like she’s about to say something—hell, I might even be about to say something, but then there’s a loud popping sound followed by an intense burning smell and whatever just passed between us dissolves.
Eve whirls around toward the stove, quickly snagging a dish towel and pushing the cast iron full of bacon off the burner.
“Shoot,” she breathes, giving me a guilty look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Isaac. I burned the bacon.”
My jaw clenches, but I force myself to swallow.
“That’s alright, sweetheart,” I say, the words sounding strangled even to my own ears. Her shoulders drop, so I grab her elbow, pulling her toward me. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I rest my head against hers. “It’s okay. We don’t need bacon this morning.”
She sighs and leans into me, and that’s my cue to move away. I cannot be holding her like this. Even if I’ve done it a million times before, it feels…different. She feels different this morning, and I can’t put my finger on why.
Apart from that momentary tension, I don’t know what it is that’s making her more womanly today. Is it her smile? Or the softness of her body? The supple curves of her breasts beneath her pajama top or the thickness to her ass under her yoga pants—
I stop myself and take a large step back, my hands falling to my sides.
Roughly, I clear my throat and drop my gaze to my shoes. I have no business noticing my stepdaughter’s breasts. Eve and breasts should never be in the same sentence. Not that she doesn't have great breasts, but—
What am I doing? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say, my voice strangled. My hands are sweating and my heart’s racing a mile a minute. I need—something.
“Yep,” she says, sounding just as strained. She busies herself as I move to the table and take my seat at the head of it.
My sermon notebook is lying beside my mug, as it is every Sunday morning.
This.
This is what I need.
Focus. Devotion. The Lord.
Grabbing my pen, I flip the notebook to today’s sermon and begin going over the notes I made last night. As I silently work, Eve plates my food before her own. She sits at her usual spot across the table, the only sounds filling the kitchen are the metal prongs of her fork hitting her plate.
I risk a glance up, finding her staring intently at her scrambled eggs. She’s not eating them, just pushing them around the flowery dish. Somehow, she’s made herself smaller. She doesn’t look like the same woman I saw when I entered the kitchen this morning.
