Chapter 28 #2
“Morning,” she says with a smile. “How’d you sleep?”
How’d I sleep?
She clearly forgot about our little argument last night.
I didn’t.
I stared at the ceiling, all kinds of thoughts I shouldn’t be having running through my head, Jordan’s breath skimming my shoulder. Hell, it took me thirty minutes just to talk my dick down. Almost had to get up and rub one out.
“Slept great,” I lie. “You?”
“Like a rock.” She opens the cupboard where I keep her kettle, then pauses, confused, until she spots it on the stove. “You started my tea? That was sweet. Thank you.”
She scoops her tea leaves into the infuser, my eyes drifting to her ass.
“Of course. You want pancakes?” I ask, forcing my focus back to the bowl as I whisk the batter.
“No thanks. I’ll just have some eggs. Do you want any?”
“Yeah, but I’ll make them. I want you to sit and relax. Didn’t I say I’d serve you breakfast in bed if you were my wife?”
Her tea kettle whistles, and she grins as she reaches for it. “You did. And apparently you make tea, too.”
“I just heated the water.”
Cole’s door creaks open, and I stifle a laugh as he slumps into the kitchen. His hair’s a mess, one half matted down and the other sticking straight up. He slides onto a stool, folds his arms on the counter, then plops his forehead onto them.
“Good morning,” Jordan says.
Cole mumbles something that half resembles “Morning.”
“You want some pancakes, bud?”
He flips his head up and blinks. “Yeah. Do you have chocolate chips?”
“I don’t. Sorry, dude. I’ve got blueberries, though,” I offer.
“Okay. That’s cool.”
I step up behind Jordan, slide a hand around her waist, and pull her into me. Pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, I murmur, “Just go with it.”
Her smiles stretches wide as she shakes her head.
I chuckle and resume my position as chef, taking a sip of my coffee before heating another pan for eggs and pouring batter onto the griddle.
Cole’s twelve. Old enough to see what a normal relationship looks like. How a woman should be treated.
Jordan picks up her mug and turns toward Cole. “It’s supposed to be warm today. Do we want to go down to the lake? Hit the pier, walk around, grab some lunch?”
“Sounds good to me,” I say. “How about you, buddy?”
“Sure,” he says somberly, staring at the granite.
I glance at Jordan, who’s already looking at me.
She mouths something. I don’t know what, but concern’s written all over her face.
It’s hard seeing him like this.
When Cole used to come to New York to visit me, he was always a ten out of ten on the energy scale. Even in the mornings. Excited. Happy. Ready for adventure.
He’s a solid two right now. And I’m being generous.
“We don’t have to go anywhere,” Jordan says. “We could always just hang out here, too. Order in. Watch movies. Play games. Whatever you want, bud.”
He smiles softly, but it’s gone just as fast.
Shit. This sucks. I hardly know how to navigate my own grief, let alone help a twelve-year-old with his.
“We can go to the lake,” he says finally. “My dad and I liked to go to this chicken place on the pier. Can we go there for lunch?”
“Definitely,” I say without hesitation, at the same time Jordan gives a resounding yes. Don’t know what the hell she’ll eat, but she’ll figure it out.
“Do those pancakes need to be flipped?” Jordan asks.
“Ah, shit,” I mutter, sliding the spatula under one. I flip it.
It’s black.
Jordan laughs softly, her brows lifting toward Cole as she makes a face.
“Don’t,” I warn. “I can make pancakes. I got distracted.”
“I don’t know,” she says in sing-song voice. “We might be going out for breakfast, too.”
Cole laughs.
“I got this,” I say sternly. “Best pancakes of your life coming up.”
I toss the black pancakes and pour more batter onto the griddle, scolding myself to pay attention this time.
Jordan grabs her phone and taps away at it. A few seconds later, Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” is playing through the speakers in the ceiling.
“I love this song,” Cole says, his mood lifting significantly.
“Really?” Jordan says. “But do you know how to moonwalk?”
He smirks. “I’m a pro at the moonwalk,” he says, all confidence.
“What?” I say. “How do you even know what the moonwalk is?”
“YouTube.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Prove it.”
“Matt. The pancakes,” Jordan says.
“Fuck.”
“Matt!”
“Sorry.”
Cole stands, proud, all business, and starts moonwalking.
My brows lift in surprise. “Whoa, bud. That’s actually really good.”
He’s all grins now. “Told you. I’m a pro. Me and my friend watched YouTube videos and practiced for hours.
“Okay. Teach me,” Jordan says. “I’ve always wanted to be able to do it, and I suck.”
She stands next to Cole, and he starts showing her what to do with his feet.
Jordan tries, making Cole laugh—because she does suck.
“No. Watch me,” he says.
She tries again, and he bursts into a fit of laughter.
A burn builds behind my eyes, something like pride settling in my chest. Watching her with him—the two of them laughing, bonding—it does something to me.
I chuckle, and Jordan glances over at me.
“Matt! The pancakes,” Jordan calls, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Christ!”
I flip the first pancake.
It’s fucking black.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, turning off the burners. I huff out a breath, turn toward them, and clap my hands together once. “Get your shoes on. We’re going to breakfast!”