Page 41 of The Promise Of Rain

Without another word, she made her way upstairs.

I refocussed on my tasks, my heart lighter than it had been in well over a decade.And if I did an occasional visual sweep of the floors, there was no one to know but me.

I’d finished the baseboards and reframed the window when I heard the soft clatter of dishes hitting the counter.

Turning around, I found Jenny perched on a stool on the other side of the counter, a tray stocked with steaming bowls and plates in front of her.

My throat tightened with anxiety at the sweet domesticity of the scene.

I could not screw this up.

As I watched, she set one place for herself and another across the counter for me, her cheeks pink.

The delicious aroma of her spicy chili drifted across the room.

She made my favourite.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slipped behind the counter into the kitchen.“I’ll wash up,” I said, my voice gruff.

When I came back out, I slipped onto the stool across from her and lifted my spoon like this was something we did every day.“Smells delicious, baby,” I told her honestly.“Thank you.”

Fuck, I’d forgotten about that flush.My sweet baby had an innate desire to nurture and please.Maybe even an untapped praise kink.

I couldn’t wait to explore that with her.She was letting me in, slowly but surely.

Cheeks flushing deeper, her soft blue eyes met mine before taking in the baseboards and the as yet unpainted window frame.“Well, you did risk your life to save me from a hairy Larry.”

I fake growled at her.

She laughed softly then jerked her chin toward the repairs and her gaze softened.“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” I rumbled.

We didn’t talk while we ate.

But the silence wasn’t quite as strained as I expected it to be.

It was a start.

8

Battered and Broken

Jenny

Sunday dawned grey and bleak, extending a rather frosty welcome as I stepped outside and locked my apartment door behind me.I needed to either get my long coat fixed or buy a new one.I wore a long sweater as always, but against this cold, it didn’t do much to keep my tushy toasty.The air left my lips in frozen puffs as I huffed in exasperation at the fresh layer of salt covering my steps.

Salt, baseboards, and a now freshly painted window frame, meant I’d seen Deacon three times in the last week.If he knew how to replace the grease trap, he probably would have done that as well.

I’d even made him dinner, which was 100% against my plan to keep my distance, so I’d compromised by not speaking to him.

I rolled my eyes in a silent internal dispute over my foolishness.

Because just sitting across with him, watching him dive into the food I made specially for him, was entirely too satisfying.He was slowly worming his way in, just as he did before, and I wondered how long I’d have the wherewithal to resist him.

With a box of giant oatmeal raisin cookies tucked under my arm, I trotted down my stairs to the parking lot.It wasn’t until my foot hit the pavement that I lifted my head.

The large, black SUV idling at the curb, driver’s door slowly opening, had me stumbling backwards.The box of cookies flew out from under my arm as I reached for the railing, preparing to run back up to the safety of my apartment.