Page 17

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J ameson knocked on the door and waited.

It didn’t seem right to just enter. He glanced down at the things in his hands.

He’d thought about flowers, but that seemed to send the wrong idea.

What is the right idea?

She’s cooking the three of you dinner.

As a thank you. Nothing more.

So, instead of flowers, he’d grabbed a chocolate torte for dessert and some scented sunscreen. Was that weird?

He’d noticed yesterday that she was a bit sunburned, and she’d mentioned that she didn’t like putting it on because of the smell and feel.

But this stuff had been created especially for Littles. Not that he thought she was one. Well . . . she might be. He’d also seen her toy zebra that she was cuddling.

Her Little status was irrelevant. What was relevant was protecting her from sunburn.

None of it meant anything. Not really.

He was just concerned about her. As a physician.

That was all.

The door opened and his mouth dropped open. “Um. Good evening.”

Maggie pushed back strands of her dark hair that had come loose from her ponytail, which might explain the white streaks in her dark hair. Because her hands were covered in flour.

He wasn’t quite sure why she needed so much flour to make a sausage casserole and mashed potatoes.

“You know you don’t have to knock, right?” she said with a smile. “Come in!”

She waved her hand out, gesturing him inside. He looked down in shock, noticing floury footsteps on the tile floor.

Seriously. Did she jump in a vat of flour?

He ran his gaze over her. She was wearing another pair of dark yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Over her clothes she wore a bright pink apron. Which seemed at odds with her usual choice of clothing. She had her hair back in a messy ponytail and streaks of flour and other things were all over her apron, her hands, and her face.

He’d never seen someone so messy. Well, maybe a toddler.

That’s what she reminded him of as she smiled up at him. She looked so happy with herself that he found himself smiling back.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

She winked at him. “But the best kind. Can I help take something?”

“I’ve got it. I brought some dessert.”

“Oh.” Her entire face fell.

He instantly felt the urge to do something. To take back the words that had upset her. What was it? What could he do to make her feel better?

“Maggie’s making dessert,” Ian boomed as he entered the foyer. “Battenberg cake.”

“With custard and cream.” She bounced up on her toes. “It’s going to be so good. Don’t worry, I’ve already got dinner started. I just put the cakes in, then I’ll let them cool down before I ice them.”

“Oh, then you can put this in the fridge for another day because that sounds delicious.”

Another big grin.

Holy heck.

His breath caught in his lungs for a moment. She was breathtaking.

She was so happy that it was radiating out from her like sunshine. And it made him want to get closer to her so he could bask in the glow.

“Okay. I’ll take it now.” She grabbed the white box and skipped off into the kitchen. He winced. The chocolate torte would likely be smooshed by the time she got there.

It doesn’t matter.

Not everything has to be perfect. Embrace the imperfections.

Fuck. That sounded like something out of a bad commercial.

“What’s that?” Ian asked, pointing at the lotion.

“Sunscreen for Maggie. It’s got a strawberry shortcake scent and has a lighter texture, so it shouldn’t feel so thick on her skin.”

Ian stared at him for a long moment, then his lips twitched.

“What? I’m just concerned about her getting burned again. Did she stay inside today?”

He followed Ian into a living room where Jack was lying on the sofa, watching a game.

“Yep. She stayed inside. Slept in. Drank lots of water and ate three meals,” Ian said, sounding almost proud.

“Because this bossy bastard stood over her and made sure she did all those things,” Jack added, glancing up at Jameson. “What’s that?”

Jameson sighed but went through the spiel again.

Jack and Ian shared a look.

“Stop that,” he snapped as he sat. Ian handed him a bourbon.

Thank Christ.

“Stop what?” Jack asked.

“Stop looking at each other like that. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just concerned about her. She’s sweet and I don’t want her getting hurt. It’s my job as a doctor to look after her.”

“Right.” Jack snorted.

He sighed, deciding not to argue. There was a loud clang from the kitchen, followed by a lot of swearing.

To his shock, Ian and Jack stayed where they were. He got up. He needed to go and check that she was all right.

“Don’t,” Ian warned.

“What do you mean? That was a loud crash. She could have hurt herself.”

“That’s the way she cooks,” Ian said.

“What?”

“Loudly,” Jack added. “And if you rush in to see if she needs help, she gets upset.”

“Really? What if she hurts herself?”

Ian sighed. “I’m trying to tell myself that she’s not going to.”

Another crash. More swearing.

“Holy heck. What is a cockgorilla and a diddlegiraffe?” Jameson asked.

Jack laughed. “They’re things you don’t want her to call you. So don’t be one, yeah?”

Right. Sure. He’d get right onto that.

Suddenly, she appeared in the doorway, looking flustered and unsure. “Jameson! I forgot to ask you if you want a drink.”

“I’ve got one here, sweetheart. Thank you, though. Now, do you need a hand in there?” He ignored Ian and Jack as they shook their heads at him.

Surely it didn’t hurt to offer to help?

“No. Why? Does it seem like I need help? Don’t you trust me?”

Oh fuck.

He’d done it again.

“Of course not! I was just being polite. My mother would skin me alive if I didn’t offer to help.”

His mother would be horrified at his offer to do something as menial as cooking. A St. Bedes didn’t do manual labor. It was beneath them.

Even when their finances were down the toilet, that’s what other people were for.

“Okay, then. Well, I’m fine. What’s that?” There was curiosity on her face as she pointed at the sunscreen.

“Um, it’s sunscreen.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose.

Fuck. Why did he find that so adorable?

He shouldn’t. He needed to stay strong against the allure of Maggie. She was crazy, messy, and she said exactly what came to mind. She was the opposite of any woman he’d ever dated.

And yet . . . she kept playing on his mind all day and night.

“Don’t dismiss it until he tells you about it,” Ian told her.

“It’s for me?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically shy. This wasn’t him. He was always confident. That was the way his parents had raised him. To be able to handle any situation with poise.

Of course, they were awful, selfish people who cared about nothing but their reputations and their bank balances.

“It has a strawberry scent and is lighter, so it doesn’t feel so thick and heavy on your skin.”

“Really? I love strawberries.” She reached out to touch the bottle, then drew her hand back. “I can touch it?”

There was a strange note in her voice. She sounded almost young . . . and that shouldn’t intrigue him.

Not anymore.

“Sure. It’s yours.”

“A gift?” She hugged the bottle to her chest, smearing it in gunk. But that wasn’t what made him frown. She sounded like she never received gifts.

“All yours, sweetheart.”

He was aware of Ian and Jack studying her.

“Thank you so much!” She went to hug him and he stiffened. She drew back with a rueful grin. “Oops, don’t want gunk all over your nice clothes.”

Fucking idiot.

What did it matter if she got him dirty? There was no one here to yell at him. Or worse, give him the silent treatment. No one here cared if he was dirty or used the wrong fucking fork or knife.

But instead of reaching for her, he just nodded with a stiff smile. “You are welcome.”

“Now, you stay out of my kitchen. Understand?” She wriggled a finger at him.

“I wouldn’t dare come in until you tell me.”

With a grin, she turned and ran off. The bottle of sunscreen was still pressed to her chest.

“No running inside,” Ian barked.

Jameson was pretty certain that her running inside was the least of their worries.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“Why? Because dinner is likely to be undercooked and give us food poisoning?” Jack asked.

“How much can you mess up sausages?” Ian asked, looking doubtful. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Hmm. Jameson wasn’t so sure as he heard another crash.

“I have to go in.” Ian jumped to his feet, but Jack got up to block his way.

“You know you can’t,” he told Ian. “Sit back down.”

Suddenly, there was a shrill sound. An alarm.

Jack was the first to leave the room. Ian followed, then Jameson.

Upon entering the kitchen, they discovered it filled with smoke. The smoke alarm was going nuts, but Jameson ignored it as he searched for Maggie.

“Oh no! My cake! The potatoes!” she cried out as she reached for a pot on the stove. The same pot that was smoking.

“Stop!” Ian yelled. “Don’t touch it.”

Jameson reached her just in time, pulling her away from the pot. He stood on something squishy. What the heck was on the floor?

“My cake,” she moaned, staring down at the floor as Ian grabbed the pot and took it outside. Jack opened the doors and windows and turned the alarm off.

“Maggie,” he said hesitantly as she pulled out of his arms.

Was she crying?

“Maggie, don’t cry. It’s all right,” he said soothingly.

Ian walked back in. “The potatoes are burned. Shit. Was that the cake?”

With a low groan, Maggie turned and ran off.

Fuck. What a mess.

Ian took off after her. Jameson took a step after them, wanting to go after her. To check on her. Soothe her.

But he made himself stay where he was. Maggie wasn’t any of his business.

He should just leave her care to Ian.