Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
“Especially when it’s Irish butter,” June adds, waltzing back into the kitchen. She has a way of disappearing when it’s time to cook. To prove her point, she picks up a piece of fresh bread and smears butter all over it, shoving half of it in her mouth. No one can eat like June. It’s impressive.
“Then, I think these are done.” I put the lid on the mashed potatoes to keep them warm for now.
“So how is it staying over at Jackson's? I don’t think he’s ever had a guest before.” I know Abigail has been fishing for information on Jackson and me. I’ve been doing my best to dodge the questions because I’m not sure how to answer them, even if I wanted to. I don’t want to say the wrong thing or speak for Jackson in any way.
“He has a guest room, though. Doesn't he?” June looks to her mom. I open my mouth to say no but Abigail beats me to it. Except her response is different than mine was going to be.
“Yes, but there isn’t much to it.” Abigail lets out a small huff. “I tried to get him to let me do more, but the boy really is a minimalist. I was lucky to get a bed, nightstands, and a dresser in the extra room. There are four other bedrooms completely empty.”
Only a mom could get away with referring to Jackson as a boy. If I hadn’t stopped to admire some of the pictures around the house, I don’t think I could have imagined him as such. Everything about him is so gruff and manly.
“Spare bedroom?” I ask. I regret the question as soon as it leaves my lips. Both of them swing their full attention to me.
“Are you not staying in the spare room?” Abigail fights a smile, clearly happy with the idea of this.
“I thought I was but I guess he gave me his bedroom,” I admit. I really did think it was the spare room at first because of how bare it kind of was, but going off his mom, that’s his style.
“Oh.” The one word drips with disappointment from Abigail. At least I know she’s fully on board if Jackson and I did become a thing.
I keep to myself that I checked all the other rooms being nosy and did not see a spare bedroom. Oh, there had been other rooms, but none had a bed in them. Interesting.
I’d been meaning to ask Jackson about it. I didn’t want him sleeping on the couch. I felt guilty, but one thing led to another last night, and we shared the bed. Something I hope we repeat in the near future.
“I got it,” I announce when the timer on the oven goes off. Before opening the oven door to grab the macaroni and cheese, I grab the pot holders. “Oh!” I yelp when I’m pulling it out and my forearm brushes against the metal rack. The dish falls from my hand. I cringe, closing my eyes, preparing to feel the splatter of hot, melty cheese all over my legs, but instead, an arm wraps around me, yanking me back.
“Let me see.” Jackson turns me toward him to inspect my arm. There is a thin red line. I’m sure my face is just as red with embarrassment.
Of course, I messed up in front of everyone. Memories of my mom chastising me for always doing things wrong come to the forefront of my mind. I want to run and hide, but I know that’s not possible while Jackson is this close to me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. A knot forms in my throat. Both Abigail and June rush to tell me it’s okay, but I can’t help but still be self-conscious. Maybe I should stay out of the kitchen like June does. I’m more trouble than I am help.
“Come on.” Jackson scoops me up into his arms, carrying me out of the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“The first aid kit is in the bathroom.”
“I can walk.” The man is always picking me up. I kind of love it, but right now I want to hide in the bathroom alone until I’m not embarrassed anymore.
“And I can carry.” He sets me down on the counter in the bathroom.
“They’re all going to think something is going on with us if you keep manhandling me.” Since we got here, if Jackson and I are near each other, he is always touching me, and everyone is noticing. There is no missing their eyes on us.
“There is something going on between us.” Jackson leans down to grab the first aid kit. I watch as he gently tends to the small burn. I don’t think it’s going to blister, but with how Jackson treats it, you’d think it is a first-degree burn.
“How’s it feeling?” he asks when he puts the bandage over it.