Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Can’t.” He reaches for his phone on the nightstand without opening his eyes. “Church.”
How I wish I could go with him. I’d hang out with the women while the guys have their meeting. Maybe this time I’d ask Trinity if I could help her in the kitchen. I’d laugh while the guys teased each other at breakfast and…
“What’s wrong?” Jigsaw frowns and sits up.
“Nothing.” I shake off the longing. I have a job to do. “I was just…nothing.”
“I wish you could come with me. But I know you have to work.” He glances at his phone. “I have time. Let me help you before I go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Don’t argue with me.” He lifts his chin toward my closet. “Get dressed. I’ll make you something to eat.”
I try to give him a stink-eye for the bossy tone, but the twitch of my lips negates it.
Less than an hour later, I’m ready to head downstairs.
“You look really pretty.” Jigsaw traces his finger over the lacy ruffle of my dark blue silk blouse.
Warmth glides over my skin. “You say that every morning.”
“It’s true every morning.”
As if he’s my bodyguard clearing a path, he heads down the stairs first.
Paul’s already downstairs. He slides a knowing smile our way.
Jigsaw doesn’t bother trying to hide that he spent the night. “Where do you need an extra set of hands?”
Paul raises his eyebrows at me, then answers. “Down here. Follow me.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen.” I hurry in there, my heels clicking over the tile. After preheating the oven, I pull out several cookie trays and boxes of store-bought dough.
Wearing gloves, I drop dollops of dough on the trays and slide the trays in the oven. I snap the gloves off and set the timer on my watch, then hurry to the prep room to speak to my father.
Jigsaw catches me in the hallway on my way back to the kitchen.
“All done.” His gaze shifts to the door, then the kitchen.
The buzzer on my watch vibrates against my wrist. “Let me grab the cookies out of the oven and I’ll walk you outside.”
“Cookies?” He wiggles his eyebrows and sweeps his hand in front of him. “After you.”
Laughing, I return to the kitchen and grab a pair of oven mitts. I bend over and open the oven door. Heat blasts my eyes, steaming up my glasses for a second. Carefully, I slide the trays out and set them on top of the oven.
Jigsaw steps behind me, resting his hands on my hip, his warmth hotter than the heat from the oven against my skin. “There is nothing hotter than you bending over in this skirt to take cookies out of the oven.” He slides one hand over my butt, patting me lightly.
I step back. “This skirt?” I gesture to the below-knee-length black pencil skirt that always makes me feel about as sexy as a nun balancing the church’s checkbook.
“Yup.”
“For that, I’ll give you a few cookies to go.” I lean up and kiss his cheek. “I even saved back extra dough to make some for you later.”
He slips both hands around my waist, pulling me against him. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Happy to.” I reach for a roll of paper towels and tear off a sheet. He releases me and I grab a thin spatula, peeling two still-warm, wobbly cookies from the tray. “They’re not cooled enough.”
“They’re not going to last long.” He takes the paper towel, carefully folding it around the cookies.
We step onto the back porch, holding hands. I still have a few minutes before visitors start arriving. My gaze scans the parking lot. Several attendants are parked in the back. The garage door is open. Paul will pull the hearse out soon.
“Paul said you’re expecting a lot of people?” Jigsaw asks.
“Yes. Her death was kind of sudden. I mean, she was elderly but in good health. She was active in her church and did a lot of volunteer work.”
His expression hardens at the word church. Briefly, but I catch it. Understandable.
Still holding hands, I walk him to his bike, reluctant to let him go. As if admitting I love him means I can’t bear to see him leave. Or I’m afraid he won’t come back.
He sets the cookies on the seat of his bike and pulls me into his arms again. “You know I don’t want to leave, right?”
It’s like he knows exactly what I needed to hear.
“I don’t want you to go.” I squeeze him tighter. “But I don’t want you in trouble with your club, either.” More seriously, I add, “Will you tell everyone I said hello? Will Shelby be there?”
“Uh, I think she’s down in Tennessee recording.” He scrunches up his face. “Rooster was pretty grouchy last time I touched base.”
“Awww. They’re so sweet.”
He flicks his gaze to something behind me. “I hope you’ll be able to come up again. Soon.”