Page 41 of Shadows of Obsession

I stared ahead at the stove, trying not to react to what he'd just said. He'd opened a door, to ask about his past, about who used to cook for him, about the life he'd had before, but I hesitated. It could backfire, unravel the progress we'd made in tolerating each other's company without bickering. So I let the question slide, placed the pan back on the stove, and started melting more butter for a second omelet.

I poured him a cup of coffee from the now-ready pot, setting it beside his plate in a simple black mug. He gripped it, holding it close to his lips as his gaze followed me across the kitchen. When I turned to check on him, he was still holding the coffee without taking a sip, his blue eyes fixed on my hands as I whisked the eggs.

"You don't have to wait for me," I said, glancing over my shoulder and trying to ease the growing tension. My tone was light, but my pulse quickened all the same.

Jaxon raised an eyebrow, as if the idea of eating without me was almost offensive. He cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the stool, looking suddenly awkward in a way that was almost endearing.

"I can wait," he replied, then took a sip of his coffee, trying to play it cool.

I nodded and turned back to my cooking, not wanting to put pressure on him, but also appreciating his gesture. It wasn't often that he made any effort to make me feel comfortable.

"So," I said, trying to break the silence as I turned off the stove and deposited my omelet onto my plate. "You and Connor have known each other since school, right?"

I took a seat next to him, close enough that I could smell the soap on his skin, and he nodded.

"Yes, we were in the same grade, so we grew up together," he said, finally starting to cut into his omelet.

I froze, watching for his reaction, hoping he'd like it. Cooking for someone felt intimate in a way I hadn't expected, and suddenly his opinion mattered more than it should.

As the first forkful entered his mouth, Jaxon closed his eyes and let out an appreciative hum that sent a shiver down my spine for entirely different reasons than usual. When he opened his eyes and glanced at me, I realized I was staring, my lips slightly parted. I licked them—my mouth had gone dry—before turning back to my plate and cutting my own omelet, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks and down my neck.

"This is really good," he said, his voice warmer than usual, almost intimate in the quiet kitchen. "You have some serious skills in the kitchen."

My blush deepened. I focused on my own food, acutely aware of his eyes on me as I ate. "Thank you."

As we continued to eat, we made light small talk, getting to know simple facts about each other between bites. His favorite color was blue. Mine was green. He preferred coffee black. I liked mine with cream. Simple things that felt significant in their ordinariness.

However, something nagged at me in the back of my mind, a question that had been bothering me since I'd arrived at the ranch.

"I have a question," I started, putting my fork down and turning to look at him.

He seemed surprised by my abruptness but met my gaze, setting down his fork. "Okay, what is it?"

"When Connor was in Vermont, staying with Sam for those couple of years when I met him, did he talk to you? Because he never mentioned you to us before."

The question seemed to catch him off guard. His eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his expression.

"I was deployed overseas at the time," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for further discussion. He turned back to his breakfast, drained the last of his coffee, then moved to the pot to refill his cup, his back to me.

I sensed the shift in Jaxon's demeanor immediately. His voice, warm and conversational moments ago, now carried a distant edge. It made sense, his deployment explained why Connor had never mentioned him. Still, something told me there was more to it than he was letting on.

"I didn't know that," I said softly, taking a sip of my coffee. "Connor never mentioned it."

Jaxon nodded but didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the dark stream of coffee filling his cup. The silence between us thickened, fragile and uneasy. I sensed that the topic was sensitive, so I decided to tread carefully.

"I'm sure it wasn't easy," I said, my voice gentling. "Being away and all."

He drew a deep breath, his back still turned. "It wasn't," he admitted, finally turning around to face me. His eyes held a mix of distant memories and unspoken emotions. Things I recognized because I carried them too.

I nodded in quiet understanding and finished my food. He'd already cleared his plate, so I rose and gathered both dishes, carrying them to the sink. The least I could do was clean up after cooking in his space. I started to wash the dishes, but Jaxon stepped up behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

His hand landed gently on my arm, and I shivered under the contact, my entire body going rigid. I glanced up, meeting his gaze, my pulse spiking.

"Let me," he said, his voice lower than usual—rough, almost intimate.

I nodded wordlessly and stepped aside, putting distance between us as casually as I could without making it obvious that I was retreating. After everything I'd been through, I still couldn't stand being that close to anyone, feeling their presence at my back, feeling cornered.

I busied myself with the leftovers—the unused peppers, the remaining cheese—putting them away in his immaculately organized fridge or discarding what was left while he washed the dishes. We stayed silent, the only sounds the running water and the soft clink of plates.