A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,13
gaze catches on my bare feet and pink painted toes. I didn’t take off my shoes and socks. Kace did. On a subconscious level, I trust him so much that I didn’t even notice. I have never trusted anyone but Gio. That means something. Doesn’t it?
Exiting the bathroom, the scent of food teases my nostrils and rumbles my stomach. I quickly make my way to the stairs and pause as I watch Kace move about my kitchen, half-naked without his shirt, cooking for me. I’m not sure any woman could resist the appeal of this man in this moment or really any other. Considering the past twelve hours or so, it’s pretty surreal.
I slip my feet into my pink fuzzy slippers I keep at the end of the bed, and then hurry down the steps, far more steady on my feet than I expected to be when I woke up. But then, the pain pill is now pretty much gone. Kace must sense my approach because his gaze lifts, his eyes lighting on my approach as if the sight of me warms him. I feel the sincerity of his reaction and with it, my sense that what we’ve shared is real, expands.
I join him at my small island and he sets a bowl of soup and a plate of bread in front of me.
“Just in time. It’s hot and ready for you. And for the record, if you like it, you need to text Jenny. If you hate it, you need to text Jenny and still say you like it. It’s her famous chicken dumpling soup.”
I laugh and slip onto a barstool. “I’ll text her with love in my heart and belly, I’m sure. You had me at dumplings. All things pasta and bread work for me.”
“Which is why I know you’ll love spaetzle. I still need to get you a good German meal.” He sets two bottles of pills in front of me and then moves to sit on the stool next to me. “Your antibiotics and your pain meds. How did you hurt your hand? You haven’t told me.”
“The drawer in your vault. It had a piece of wood or maybe wood and a nail sticking out. Honestly, all I know is it hurt. It bled a lot. And here we are.”
“Ouch damn, baby, I’m sorry. I feel like shit.”
“I forgive you, but only because you wrangled me some cookies.” I set the pain medication aside. “I just took four Advil. I have no desire to take another pain pill. All they do is knock me out.”
“Sleep helps the body heal. And so does food.” He steals a torn-off piece of the bread. “It’s almost as good as her cookies.” He takes a bite and then offers it to me.
I accept and the intimacy of the shared food is right there between us, thickening the air and ripening the awareness between us. I taste the warm bread and nod my approval. “It’s wonderful.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it. Jenny will be as well.” He hands me my spoon. “Eat, baby. You’ll feel better.”
Despite his frequent use of the endearment, this time it does funny things to my belly. In defiance of what has happened these past few hours, there is a new intimacy between us that cannot be denied. I accept the spoon and begin to eat, finding the soup delicious. “Speaking of the perfect godparents—” My brows dip. “Actually, are Jerry and Jenny, your actual godparents?”
“Not officially, but that’s what Jenny calls them.”
“Well then, as I said: speaking of the perfect godparents, you had cookies, good food, and clearly love, from what I saw with you and Jenny.”
“The love is mutual,” he says. “And they are pretty perfect.”
“You said they were good friends with your parents?”
“Jerry and my father went to school together. Jerry actually owned another bakery and had about fifty locations before he sold out. He doesn’t have to work, but he kept this one location because he enjoys it. And why tell you that part of Jerry’s life? Because if he wasn’t that successful, my father wouldn’t have had anything to do with him.”
My spoon halts midair with the offer to slide under his wall, and glimpse a bit more of the real man he shelters beneath his rock star image. It’s not exactly penance for the secrets he’s kept from me, as that really isn’t appropriate here, but rather a message I understand. He’s telling me that he hasn’t taken what he will