T-shirt like freshly fallen snow. “Ya gotta try these,” he said, pointing to the waffles on his plate. “They’re the best.” He stuffed another forkful of blueberry waffles into his mouth and gave her a smile.
She didn’t know what surprised her more: Jared cooking or Cody smiling.
“Good morning,” Jared said, looking over his shoulder. “One or two?”
She sucked in a breath. No one had a right to look that good so early in the morning. He wore an untucked white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of worn Levi’s, and several days’ worth of stubble. “One or two what?” she asked, trying to keep her eyes off his backside.
“Waffles.” Steam billowed up from the waffle maker as he opened it.
Forcing her gaze off him and onto what he was doing, she started to salivate as she eyed the food. Great. Her appetite had been nonexistent for nine months, and now it decided to return? “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
Ignoring her, he forked two of the fluffiest waffles she’d ever seen onto a plate, smothered them in butter, and topped them with blueberries. He even sprinkled powdered sugar on top. If that wasn’t bad enough, he placed a couple of thick slices of bacon onto the plate before sliding it across the counter.
“Eat,” he said in such a friendly tone she grew instantly suspicious. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
She seemed to remember him saying something to that same effect his first morning here. But back then, his tone hadn’t been friendly, and his smile hadn’t been warm. Her stomach kicked over. “You’ve obviously been talking to my mother.”
He smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee.
She took a seat, not because she was going to eat but because it put more distance between them. She tried not to breathe in, tried not to stare at the melting butter pooling in the little squares.
“They’re sooooogood, Aunt Jenny.” Cody looked at Jared like he was a culinary god.
“I’m glad you like them,” she said to the little blue-haired Benedict Arnold. She knew her cooking sucked, but she’d thought she’d redeemed herself last night with the ice cream. Obviously it took more than pulling a cartoon out of the freezer to warm up her nephew.
She eyed the perfectly cooked waffles and crisp strips of bacon in front of her. “What are you up to?” she asked Jared, noticing that his fresh-squeezed orange juice didn’t contain one seed or glob of pulp.
He took a drink of coffee. “Aren’t you the suspicious one.”
“Damn—darn right,” she quickly corrected, remembering Cody. “And just when did you learn to cook?”
“Have you ever tried military rations?”
“No.”
“Eat those for several years, and you’d do anything for a good meal. Even watch a few TV shows, read some cook-books.” He leaned his butt against the countertop. “That was the thing I’d always enjoyed most about leave.”
“Food?” she asked, more surprised than she cared to admit.
“Good food,” he agreed with a grin that had her stomach growling again, but not because of the waffles in front of her. “Great food.”
“And you’ve been eating my cooking all week?”
When he laughed, a funny tingling sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. It was almost as if he’d let down his guard and, for a moment, let her in. This Jared was impossible to resist.
“I hate to tell ya,” he said, a grin still crinkling the corners of his blue eyes, “but as far as cooking goes, you suck.”
She couldn’t help it; she grinned. She’d had the exact same thought not a minute ago.
“Yeah,” Cody chimed in, still stuffing his face. “I thought my mom was kidding when she told me not to eat anything you cooked.”
She bumped shoulders with her nephew. “Thanks a lot.”
“Mom says it’s best to be honest.”
“Remind me to thank her when she picks you up tonight.”
“Like I’m gonna tell her she was right about something.”
Jenny eyed the plate of food in front of her once more before pushing it away. It was the principle of the thing, she told herself. Somehow, in her mind, eating Jared’s cooking would be like agreeing to this farce of a partnership. And she couldn’t help being suspicious of . . . everything he’d done lately. Last night, finding his things in the bathroom, and now this. Him cooking.
“Hey, Code,” she said, getting off the barstool. “Don’t forget. We have a baseball game this afternoon. So after breakfast, you need to get on your homework.”