Act Your Age, Eve Brown (The Brown Sisters #3) - Talia Hibbert Page 0,29

get that vibe.

“Now,” he continued, “if we could return to the point—you’re supposed to be making me breakfast.”

Oh. Yes. Eve gulped and turned away from him, heading to the shiny, double-doored fridge. “You know, I would’ve cooked for you regardless,” she quipped, except her voice wasn’t as light as she’d like. “You don’t need to dress it up like an exam.”

“If I remember rightly, you were the one who came up with the idea.”

Yes, she was, and she sincerely desired to travel back in time and kick herself. When she faced him again, Jacob had made himself comfortable leaning against the wall. The pose seemed so casual, with his long legs and his lean hips and the easy angles of his body, that it took her a moment to notice the slight wince on his face. He hid it well. But it was still there, shadowing those icy eyes and twisting his fine mouth at the corners.

Throwing sausages into a hot pan, she said, “You should probably sit down.” There were a couple of stools at the central island—uncomfortable, steel-looking stools, but stools all the same.

Jacob grunted and shifted against the wall, a sinuous predator trying to get comfortable. “Can’t.”

Oh. Ah. Yes. Eve remembered Mont’s comment about arse-bruising and tried not to drown in this brand-new influx of guilt.

“Didn’t I tell you to take that out?” he went on, nodding at her.

It took Eve a moment to realize what he meant. Her hand rose automatically to her ear, as if to protect the source of NAO’s “Bad Blood” from his evil eyes. “And didn’t I tell you,” she shot back, “that I work better with it in?” She sounded a hell of a lot more confident than she felt—because that, she’d discovered, was the knack with Jacob: confidence.

He might be tough, might be harsh, but he didn’t do it in the hopes of crushing those around him. He did it with the assumption that if they were stronger, better, right, they’d push back.

So he reacted just as she’d expected, tilting his head like a wolf examining strange prey instead of biting its head off. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “You mentioned before that you could sing instead.”

She pressed her lips together as she soaked bread in egg and cinnamon. “Could being the operatic word.”

His lips tilted at the corner into something that was almost—a smile. A smile like slow-dripping honey beneath the summer sun. She faltered, a little bit stunned. Jacob made ice look good, but apparently, he made warmth look even better.

Oh dear.

“Since it’s an option . . . I would rather you sing,” he said, “even if it’s terrible, than appear ignorant toward guests.”

“Ignorant?! I’m only wearing one.”

He straightened, strolling over to the dining room window and pulling down the hatch with his good hand. Eve tried not to be salty about the fact that rolling the thing up had taken two hands and a few hops on her part. “I see that, Eve. I also see a Trip Advisor review titled RUDE CHEF, WEEKEND GETAWAY RUINED. People find unusual habits more charming when they are included. So, if singing is a viable alternative for you—consider it.”

People find unusual habits more charming when they are included. Eve had always known that, in the back of her mind, but it was something she’d resented, and so she tended to ignore it. Now, though—now, here was Jacob, laying it out like a military tactic rather than some sort of moral directive. Like a strategy they were smart enough to deploy upon people who just didn’t understand, rather than a behavioral correction.

Slowly, cautiously, she found herself saying, “I’ll . . . give it a try.”

He met her eyes for a moment. “Well. I appreciate that.” Then he faltered, as if he hadn’t meant to say something so reasonable. Within seconds, his familiar glare was back, scalping her with its mighty force. Eve didn’t mind.

Actually, she found this much easier to deal with than Jacob Masquerading as a Nice Man. That whole us against them routine had threatened to do something terrible and ominous to her nether regions.

“As for right now,” he went on, his tone frostier, “you might as well play your music out loud. Unless you find it more helpful when it’s directly in your ear.”

And there he went again—even cold, he illustrated an understanding of how her needs worked. Or maybe it was simply an attempt at understanding, which, for some reason, Eve found just as satisfying. Either