Page 40 of Shadows of Obsession
Oh God.
His dark hair was completely tousled, sticking up in all directions as if he'd just rolled out of bed—which he clearly had. His eyes held a flicker of surprise at seeing me, but he quickly masked it. The corner of his mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk as he leaned against the doorframe. The smugness radiating off him felt entirely intentional.
"Anna? What brings you here so early?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
The casual confidence he exuded was both infuriating and, if I was being honest, unsettlingly attractive. My eyes flickered down before I could stop them, taking in his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abdomen that spoke of hard, physical work. A few scars scattered across his skin caught the light, but I didn't let myself linger. Heat crept across my cheeks as I jerked my gaze back up to his face, suddenly finding the wood grain of the door incredibly interesting.
"I, um…" I stuttered, holding up the bag with what I hoped was a casual grin, but probably looked more sheepish. "I thought you might like some breakfast. You know, as a thank you for helping last night." The words tumbled out in a rush.
Jaxon's smile widened, his blue eyes gleaming with a playful spark that made my stomach twist again. "You didn't have to do that," he said, his tone light and teasing. "But I won't say no to free breakfast."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, willing the heat in my cheeks to subside. "Well, I figured it was the least I could do," I managed, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering in my stomach.
He stepped back and pulled the door open wider, offering a welcoming smile as he gestured for me to come inside. As I crossed the threshold, Jaxon cast one last glance outside, his eyes sweeping the surrounding woods with the same sharp vigilance he'd shown yesterday. The playful demeanor vanished, replaced by something harder—alert, protective. Then he shut and locked the door with a deliberate click that echoed in the quiet cabin.
The sound caught me off guard. My brow furrowed until the memory of last night resurfaced. Someone had been here… or might have been. The woodpile. Choco's cut rope.
"I'm going to get dressed. Make yourself at home," he said, nodding toward the living area before turning away. As he passed a small table near the door, he picked up a pistol I hadn't noticed before, the black metal gleaming dully in the morning light. The sight of the weapon gave me pause, but I understood why he kept it close. The easy atmosphere from moments ago felt suddenly heavier.
I nodded, my gaze following him as he climbed the stairs. My eyes, traitorous and uncooperative, lingered on the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath his skin with each step. I tore my gaze away and made my way to the kitchen, setting the bag of ingredients on the polished white quartz countertops.
The space was neat and organized. A surprise, given Jaxon's solitary lifestyle. Everything was in its place, spotless, as though someone had gone over it with deliberate care. The stainless-steel appliances gleamed. The dish towels were folded precisely on their rack. Even the spice jars were alphabetized on a small shelf.
It spoke of someone who valued order, or someone who'd once shared their space with a person who did. The thought stirred something unwelcome in my chest. Jealousy. Irrational, uninvited, and impossible to justify. Connor had mentioned that Jaxon had been engaged once. That might explain the careful precision in the wayeverything was kept. I found myself wondering about the woman who'd been part of his life, whether she'd been the one to organize things this way, or if he'd kept everything exactly as she'd left it, unwilling to disturb the patterns they'd built together.
I drew in a quiet breath and pushed the thought aside. It wasn't my place to imagine the shape of someone else's past.
I began unloading the groceries, sorting through the utensils, each one neatly arranged in its own divider, when the sound of the shower came on upstairs. Water filled the cabin in a steady, rhythmic hush. My pulse kicked, entirely against my will, at the image that surfaced: Jaxon standing beneath the spray, steam rising, water tracing its way down—
No. Absolutely not.
I forced my attention back to the task at hand, pulling out a frying pan and setting it on the gas stove. The scrape of metal against enamel grounded me. I'd promised myself I'd keep my distance from Jaxon, but his effort to extend an olive branch yesterday lingered in my mind. Maybe keeping a cautious distance wasn't the same as keeping a wall between us. If we were going to spend time together while I stayed with Connor, perhaps it made sense to try to understand him a little better. The man behind the quiet and the closed doors.
I rummaged through the kitchen, finding a cutting board and a sharp knife, the blade well-maintained and properly stored in a wooden block. As I began chopping vegetables, my thoughts drifted. Jaxon was Connor's best friend, but beyond that, he was a mystery. A man who valued solitude, who kept the world at arm's length. A man with ghosts.
As I diced the onions, their sharp scent making my eyes water slightly, I decided that I'd take my time and see what I could learn about him. Not pry, exactly. Just... understand.
Soon, I was lost in my culinary rhythm, the sizzle of the omelet in the pan and the aroma of cooking eggs, peppers, and onions filling the kitchen. The butter I'd found in his fridge foamed golden in the pan, and I smiled as I flipped the omelet with practiced ease, my focus entirely on the task at hand. This, at least, I could control. This, I was good at.
I was adding the cheese, a sharp cheddar, when I felt it—that prickling awareness of being watched. I turned my head slightly and saw Jaxon leaning against the kitchen doorframe, silently observing me.
He'd dressed in a faded gray T-shirt that hugged his frame and dark jeans, his feet still bare on the hardwood floor. His hair was damp from the shower, combed back but already starting to fall forward. The scent of soap and cologne drifted across the kitchen, clean and masculine.
Lost in whatever thoughts were running through his mind, Jaxon let out a heavy sigh, the sound loud enough to break the spell. Startled, I turned to face him fully, my spatula still in hand.
"Everything alright?" I asked, concern lacing my words as I noted the somber expression on his face. Whatever he'd been thinking about, it hadn't been pleasant.
"Yup," he replied, in a flat tone that told me it probably wasn't. "Smells good in here."
Jaxon shifted from his position and stepped into the kitchen. I could tell he sensed my sudden discomfort; my stance had turned rigid, and my shoulders had hunched slightly. He ignored the awkwardness and moved around me, opening cabinets to pull out plates and utensils with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged. He set them neatly on the kitchen island in front of two barstools with sleek gray upholstered seats, then moved to the coffee maker to start brewing a fresh pot. The rich, bitter scent of coffee grounds began to fill the air, wrapping around us in a comforting haze.
I turned my attention back to the stove, finishing up the omelet, my movements slightly more hurried, a telltale sign that I felt the need to wrap up quickly and get out of his space. Despite everything, I still felt like an intruder in this carefully maintained home.
"Relax, you're fine," he said, his voice softening just enough to take the edge off the tension. He was trying to make the atmosphere lighter, though it didn't come naturally to him.
"Just thought I'd stop in quick; I don't intend to stay long," I said, my voice a little sheepish as I slid the first omelet onto his plate. The colors from the vegetables and cheese blended beautifully against the white ceramic, vibrant and warm.
Jaxon glanced down at the plate, his brows lifting in what looked like genuine appreciation. "It's appreciated. It's been a while since anyone's cooked for me if you don't count Connor heating up frozen pizza," he said, the words carrying more sincerity than I'd expected.