For now, Brook Lynn wasn’t going to worry about what Harlow had said, some strange man who may or may not have come to the house to do...something? Nothing? And how did Harlow even know that?
“No one’s gotten the message yet,” Jase said. “The way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach.”
“Duh. It’s through his ribs.”
“Funny.” He pointed to the platters. “There’s a bite missing from each one. Why?”
“I thought I’d do my due diligence and test everything for poison.” Nothing compared to her creations, and that wasn’t bragging; that was pure fact.
“If there was poison, what would you do? Feed it to me anyway?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” With her sweetest smile, she offered him a fork.
He took it, saying, “If I die today, you’ll be the first one the cops question.”
“I’m willing to risk it.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as he motioned to the stove, his first undeniable display of amusement. It did funny things to her insides. “That casserole is still intact. Why?”
“I made it, and it’s fresh from the oven.” Steam wafted all around it, scenting the air. This one contained chicken and waffles, even maple syrup, and it was one of her favorites. “But it’s for Beck, not you,” she said. “I’m sure you already have dinner plans.” Oops. My bitterness is showing.
His gaze landed on her and narrowed. “Tell me, honey. Between the two of us, who do you consider the boss, and who do you consider the employee?”
The starch in her spine dissolved. How could she expect him to respect her if she wouldn’t respect him? “You are the boss,” she said without any heat. “Would you like me to fix you a plate?”
“No,” he grumbled, and after the fuss he’d kicked up, she kind of wanted to slap him. Then he added, “I’ll do it,” and totally redeemed himself.
He stalked past her, careful not to touch her, and gathered a plate and ladle. The itch intensified in her ears, and she scratched gently, always making sure hanks of hair covered the big, bulky implants. Everyone who’d ever seen them had either flinched or stared in morbid fascination. A few kids had even called her Frankenlynn.
Jase filled his plate with the casserole she had prepared and faced her with a frown. “Are those waffles I’m seeing? Mixed with chicken?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Lord save me. “Just try it.”
Standing there, he scooped up a forkful...and then simply peered at the sample with distaste. She rolled her eyes and approached, claiming the fork and shoving the food into his mouth.
His eyes widened as he chewed. “What else did you put in it? Crack?”
“Only a little,” she said, deadpan. Then she flinched. Maybe she shouldn’t have teased a cop about drugs. Former cop? But he didn’t even blink at her comment. “While you eat I’ll just go and remove the necessary improvements I made in the living room. Even though I don’t understand why you asked—commanded—that I do it.”
“I’ll just stay in here, eating my crack,” he replied, his attention never straying from his food. “But come back in here when you’re done.”
The way to every man’s heart might not be through his stomach, but it certainly looked to be the way to Jase’s. Not that she wanted his heart.
She entered the living room and found West and Beck doing the work for her, and not happily. For the first time the perpetually upbeat guys were actually scowling. Beck’s motions were clipped as he ripped away the doily, dumped out one of the bowls of potpourri and swiped up the pillows.
He noticed her and gritted out, “You can’t just change things, Brook Lynn. Especially when everything was perfect the way it was.”
So...it wasn’t the fact that she had turned a bachelor pad into a chick paradise? It was simply the fact that she’d altered the hobo-hideous design? Too much too fast, Jase had said. Got it.
“Why don’t we keep the rest of the potpourri?” she suggested. “It smells so nice and—”
He tossed the remaining bowls of potpourri out the window, then did the same with the garbage bag of items he’d gathered.
O-kay. She made a mental note to retrieve everything on her way to the car. Today she’d driven straight to the driveway to avoid the awkward ride home Jase would have insisted on giving her. Maybe she would reintroduce the potpourri tomorrow and pray Beck failed to notice. Bottom line: the house wasn’t yet a home; it was simply a place to stay, as generic as a motel. She would be doing him a favor, and one day he would see that. Surely.
It will be for his own good, she thought.
Her sister’s voice mocked her. Warden always knows best, doesn’t she?
Ugh. How many times had Jessie Kay spoken those words? Countless.
Maybe Brook Lynn should leave things alone. Allow Beck and West to deal with their demons—whatever they were—on their own, without any “help” from her.
Nah. Not my style. When she noticed a problem, she wanted to do everything in her power to fix it.
“Brook Lynn. You done yet?”
Jase’s voice sent a shiver traipsing along already sensitized nerve endings. “I suppose so.” Feet suddenly as heavy as boulders, she trudged into the kitchen. He sat at the table, a plate in front of him and another steaming in front of the chair beside him. He motioned for her to take it.