Act Your Age, Eve Brown (The Brown Sisters #3) - Talia Hibbert Page 0,65

to go, but Liam was excited, and Lucy was pleased she’d managed to save up, so.” He shrugged again. “I kept my mouth shut. And in the end . . .” A slow smile spread over his face, unexpected and twice as lovely for it. “In the end, I had a great time. It was nothing like before. I could shower whenever I wanted, I didn’t have to stay with strangers or be alone in strange places. We all stuck together—we enjoyed things together. It was the best week of my life, at that point. We stayed at a bed-and-breakfast, and it almost felt like being at home. I left wanting to be that—wanting to do that for people. Any way I could. To provide everyone with a home, so when they traveled, they could enjoy it instead of wanting to die.”

The way he said everyone—the burning passion in his voice, it made her heart smile. “And that’s why you mention additional needs so prominently on your website,” Eve realized out loud.

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“Oh.” Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t—she felt heat flood her cheeks and wanted to roll her eyes. All she’d done was read the man’s bloody website, for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t as if she’d spied on him naked or . . . or hovered by the partially open doorway of his bedroom to take another look at the cool world of order hiding inside and enjoy the sheer Jacobness of it.

Ahem.

Okay, maybe she had done that last one a few times.

“I ordered a tablet,” she said casually. “I’ve been researching Castell Cottage. Amongst other things.”

He gave her a look of squint-eyed disbelief, but she couldn’t tell if checking out the website had been that weird, or if he was hung up on her ordering a tablet. She had noticed that her own idea of No money and Jacob’s idea were vastly different. Trying to be sensitive about that difference was an interesting learning curve.

Her sisters weren’t like this. Her sisters already knew how to budget, how to work hard and pay bills and all those other normal, adult things. Eve really was a joke.

Used to be, she corrected herself. But she was changing, now.

“It was on sale,” she said quickly, which it had been, “and you mentioned I’d be getting paid, soon, so—”

“You don’t have to justify what you buy to me, Eve. But I should’ve thought to offer you my computer.”

“It’s fine. Anyway. Back to the point,” she said, because something about the tap of Jacob’s long fingers against his thighs told her he was avoiding this topic. “On your website, I noticed you have a section encouraging people to contact you directly about any particular needs, including those relating to sensory or other issues.”

He flushed beautifully, which she enjoyed more than a friend should. “Erm. Yes. Well. Some people like different sheets, or weighted blankets, or they can’t cope with certain scents, or a thousand other things, and I like to be sure that—that everyone who stays here is perfectly comfortable.”

Eve bit her lip on a hopeless grin. This man wasn’t just softer and kinder and sweeter than anyone suspected, he was practically made of cake. Good cake. With chocolate-fudge icing. She wanted to eat him so badly. Instead, she waved her hands around and sputtered, “For God’s sake, Jacob, you—do you have to be so bloody—”

He shuffled away from her flailing arms, then winced and adjusted some cushions. He’d probably fallen foul of the sofa bed’s awful springs. Served him right for shorting out all her circuits with his cuteness.

“Why—this is—”

“Are you all right, Eve?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” she managed. “Just trying to come to terms with the fact that you work so hard at this B&B stuff because of your principles. And your passion. And all sorts of other . . . p words.” She paused. “Not penis. I didn’t mean penis.”

“Why on earth would I think you meant penis?”

Genuinely surprised, she cocked her head. “That isn’t the first p word that pops into your mind?”

“Jesus Christ, Eve, no.”

“Ohhh. Is it pussy?”

“Stop saying—” The muscle in his jaw performed a fascinating dance and his left hand dug into a cushion so hard she was worried he might rip it apart. “Stop saying . . . those things.”

Oh dear. She cleared her throat and moved swiftly on. “I’m just in a constant state of mild shock-horror over your high levels of decency.” Mostly because she herself couldn’t