Act Your Age, Eve Brown (The Brown Sisters #3) - Talia Hibbert Page 0,31

do?” she asked casually, her back still to him. “For the festival, I mean. What does it involve?”

Jacob gave a long-suffering sigh, as if she’d asked him to recite the periodic table. (Although, knowing him, he could probably do so with little difficulty.) “Don’t worry,” he drawled. “It’ll be quite simple, since my previous chef already planned everything. A few menu options—similar to those we offer during this breakfast service—will be written up on a board. Some can be prepared in advance; others are simple enough to make using the equipment I’ve already purchased.”

Already purchased? Eve wasn’t the greatest with money, but she did know a new business couldn’t buy equipment without earning something back to make the purchase worth its while. Yet another reason why Jacob was so determined to go forward with this festival, she supposed.

“You will be responsible for cooking to order at the stall, and I’ll serve customers,” he continued.

“Ah—putting your winning personality to good use.”

“You have a very poor sense of humor,” Jacob said steadily. “If I were you, I’d keep that to myself.”

Eve rolled her eyes, but she was too busy wrestling with her own thoughts to really take offense. Because the more Jacob spoke, the more she became dreadfully convinced that staying in Skybriar longer than planned was her only moral course of action. The man needed her help—even if he’d likely rather die than phrase it that way. And Eve owed him said help, probably more than she’d ever owed anyone anything.

Which made her choice crystal clear. For the next month, whether he liked it or not, Eve Brown would work as a chef for Jacob Wayne. She would serve breakfast for dinner at a gingerbread parade or whatever, and only then would she disappear in a puff of smoke to begin her party-planning profession. All things considered, it seemed the least she could do.

Jacob cleared his throat, rudely interrupting her Very Serious Thought Process. “Am I getting this breakfast, or are you going to stand there looking grim all day?”

“Grim?” Eve yelped. “I never look grim. My resting expression is general delight.”

“Your resting expression is princess,” he muttered.

Princess. Her hands curled into fists.

“What?” Jacob barked at her silence. “Are you actually nervous about this? Because if you’ve been merrily feeding my guests substandard food all morning without saying a bloody word—”

For some reason, Jacob questioning the deliciousness of her breakfast was starting to piss Eve off. “Hard to speak to a man who’s asleep,” she pointed out sharply.

He flushed, strawberry ice cream again. Just a hint. But he also stood tall and narrowed those flinty eyes behind his glasses. “I have a concussion.” The Because you hit me with your car part did not need to be said.

“Yes, you have a concussion,” she replied, “but you were a prick to me even before that event, so I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

Jacob’s jaw dropped. Pettily, she enjoyed the sight.

“Now, shut up about it,” she finished, slapping his breakfast onto a plate. Funny, how she’d made all this food without really noticing. Arguing with him had worked wonders for her nerves. “Here’s the plan. Since your wrist is broken and your arse is also broken—”

“I’ll give you this,” he muttered, “at least you’re thorough when you run a man over.”

Eve valiantly ignored him. Or was it Valium-ly? “—you can’t sit at a table and you can’t hold your own plate.”

“I can hold my own plate, genius,” he said, waving his left hand.

“And can you also feed yourself, genius?”

He glared. “It’s very irritating when you say logical, intelligent things. Stop it. Now.”

Ridiculous, to take such sideways words as a compliment. It was just—well. Eve’s sisters were smart. They passed exams and built careers and did incredible things with computers or peer-reviewed research. Eve failed exams, attended drama school, failed that, too, and mixed up all her words because focusing on conversations was beyond her. Family never called her stupid, and her friends only ever implied it—but intelligent wasn’t a word she often heard directed at herself.

Jacob cocked his head, watching her steadily. “You keep zoning out of this conversation. Have you suffered a blow to the head too, or do you find me that boring?”

“You are the exact opposite of boring,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Jacob blinked, and she had the pleasure of seeing him look genuinely at a loss for the first time since they’d met. “Oh. Erm . . .” He cleared his throat. She watched his Adam’s