CHAPTER 30 KAYLEE
It’s a little before lunchtime when the doorbell rings and Buddy lets the whole neighborhood know we have a visitor.
I open the door to Jeb…which reminds me that he went on a date with my mom two nights ago.
I’ve been so caught up in moving in with Ben and having sex with Ben and running with Ben and fighting the media with Ben and falling in love with Ben that I totally forgot about their date.
“Hi Mr. Olson,” I say.
“Please, it’s Jeb.”
I nod. “Come on in. How was dinner with my mom?”
He chuckles. “No beating around the bush.”
I shake my head. “Never. Did you two have fun?”
“We had a nice conversation and that was all.”
I narrow my eyes at Ben’s dad. “I haven’t talked to my mom yet, but I’m going to check to be sure your stories match up.”
He laughs as Ben bounds down the stairs, fresh from the shower.
His hair is still wet and slicked back a little.
He’s freshly shaven, and it’s sort of incredible how he could look just as hot with or without stubble, with or without wet hair, with or without clothes. Et cetera. He’s just fine as hell.
“What do you want, old man?” Ben asks.
“Brunch,” Jeb says pointedly.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Ben slaps his dad on the back genially. “I totally forgot it’s Sunday.”
“Brunch?” I ask, raising a brow. “Do you two go out to brunch on Sundays?”
Ben chuckles as he shakes his head. “No. I make us brunch on Sundays. Not every Sunday—”
Jeb holds up a hand rather than interrupting Ben’s words. “Every Sunday you’re not in season.”
Ben twists his lips. “That’s how it started.” He holds up his hands in defense. “But I’m a busy dude.”
Busy getting laid.
Okay, to be fair, that’s not what we were doing this morning, but I have a feeling it could be why he cancelled previous Sunday brunches with Dad.
I don’t want to think about that.
Jeb looks over at me. “It started as a weekly way to check in on the kid while still getting a decent meal. As you might’ve heard, my mother taught him how to cook, and his food tastes like hers.” He shrugs good-naturedly, and every time I talk to him, I like him a little more.
I like how he’s playing off wanting to check in on his son as a way to get a good meal. It seems like these two have such a close bond, and it’s sweet.
It makes me happy.
It makes me miss my own dad. Fiercely. But a lot of things do. That loss is just something that never goes away. It doesn’t get easier, but the fresh slice of pain fades a little with time as you learn to live in a new normal.
Ben looks at his dad and jerks his head toward the kitchen. “Get your ass in there and start cracking eggs.”
I giggle and follow the two of them into the kitchen. “Can I help?”
Ben shakes his head. “We’ve got this.”
I perch on one of the stools as I watch the comedy scene unfold.
Jeb is stilted and unnatural in the kitchen with his cowboy boots, jeans, and flannel shirt, this one a combination of light and dark blues. He moves slowly and deliberately while his son flies around him gathering cooking utensils and pulling out frypans.
Ben’s graceful, which is amazing given his size and stature. But it’s like a game where he’s calling the strategies. “Crack six eggs,” he tells his dad, setting a bowl in front of him, and Jeb moves toward the fridge to get the carton of eggs.
Meanwhile, Ben gathers a few things from the pantry. Once Jeb is out of the way of the fridge, Ben grabs sausage and bacon. He sets everything on the counter beside the stove then turns toward me. “I do have a job for you.”
I nod eagerly, and he hands me two potatoes, a bowl, and a peeler.
“Can you peel those?”
“Sure,” I say. I’ve peeled a few things in my day.
Not many, but enough to know how to use a peeler.
I’m as slow as Jeb so I don’t slice a finger off, shaving off a part of the peel before moving the peeler back to its starting point and shaving off the next peel.
When I glance up, I spot Ben tilting his head as he watches me.
“Want to see a cool trick?” he asks.
I shrug, and he walks over to my side of the counter. He takes the peeler and potato from me, and then he proceeds to move the peeler in a back-and-forth motion. “Both sides of the peeler are sharp, so you can peel twice as fast.”
I watch as he does the entire potato in about seven seconds flat. It would’ve taken me ten times longer than him to do that same thing.
“Now you try,” he says, nodding toward the second potato. I’m still pretty slow, but it does go much faster to use both sides of the peeler. “Good,” he says, and I preen. It’s silly, but the compliment in an area where I consider myself a complete failure feels incredible.
When I glance up, he’s giving me a look of approval. “You’ve got potential, kid. I’m going to teach you how to cook.”
I look up at him in horror. “What if I don’t want to learn?” It’s not my forte, but I’ve also never given it a try, and more importantly, I’ve never had such a hot teacher. He makes me want to learn.
He laughs. “What do you think we’re going to do in Montana all summer?”
“Make dinner?” I guess.
“Bingo!”
I giggle, and I continue watching the Ben and Jeb comedy hour as they work. Ben has me dice two tomatoes after he shows me how, and somehow I manage to do it to his approval.
A half hour later, Ben sets plates on the kitchen table with homemade breakfast burritos piled high with his special salsa recipe.
And it’s fantastic.
“Delicious,” Jeb says, his only compliment on the meal, while I rave on and on about how good it is and practically climax right at the table when a crisp potato mixes with a little shot of perfectly cooked bacon.
“I’m in for weekly Sunday brunch,” I say with a grin.
“You sticking around a while?” Jeb asks.
Ben fields that one with a smile. “She’s sticking around a while.”
Jeb nods once. “Good.”
That’s all he says, but the way he says it and the underlying meaning from a man of relatively few words means a lot.
I call my mom once he heads home to get the real story about their date. “How was dinner on Friday?” I ask once she answers.
She laughs. “Getting right to the point I see.”
“Well?”
“It was nice. It wasn’t romantic, so get that idea out of your head.”
“But could it be?” I press, mostly because I still don’t want my mom doing my boyfriend’s dad.
“It’s early for all that, honey,” she says gently.
“I just had brunch with him.”
“You did?” she asks. And then she can’t help herself. “What did he say?”
I knew it. I knew she was interested in something romantic with him.
Ew.
I mean, yay for her, but ew.
“He said you two had a nice conversation.”
“We did,” she affirms.
“He talks?” I ask.
She laughs. “Not too much about himself, but once you get him going on his son, he doesn’t stop.”
I get it. Ben is the type of guy a person could rave about for hours.
We wrap up our call with little else in the way of details, and then I make sure I have everything in place for school this week.
I check in on my Instagram account and check my email, and I find a few from Kate and a few from Ellie.
Kate’s have the social proof calculations, and Ellie sends me a few new sponsorship contracts, of which I sign two new ones.
Nine PM Eastern inches closer and closer, and I get more and more nervous as the day goes on.
It’s half past five when a text from Dane comes through.
Dane: You have the power to stop this.
In a half hour, we’ll all get to see what questions Billy asked him and how he answered.
But instead of obsessing about it, we’re going out. Ben is taking me to dinner and then to one of his favorite nightclubs for drinks afterward.
When Billy Peters’ audience tunes in tonight as his interview with my ex goes live, he won’t be able to count Ben and me among his loyal following.
I don’t even bother with a reply, in part because I don’t want to, but also because we’re leaving in a few minutes for dinner.
“You look hot,” he says when I walk into the kitchen.
I laugh. “Thank you. So do you.”
He pulls me into his arms. “We could skip all this and just go get naked.”
“We could,” I murmur against his lips. “But that would be doing the opposite of what Ellie requested of us.”
“Who cares?” he says, his lips against my neck as I lean back to give him more room.
I sigh, and he pauses then pulls back.
“You okay?”
I lift a shoulder. “Not really. I want to know what he says.”
“Babe, you have got to chill. People say shit all the time. It’s the nature of the business and it’s the nature of being with someone in my position. I will always have haters and as long as you’re with me, you will too.”
I nod. “I know. I’ve seen it firsthand. It’s just never been about me before.”
He rubs his hands gently up and down my back. “Let’s go out and have some fun. Let’s not worry about the interview until we get home. Then we can watch it, tear it apart, and have Ellie figure out any damage control we need. Sound good?”
It sounds perfect, actually…even though the thought that he knew exactly what to do to quell my yelling brain is more than a little terrifying considering the end date stamped across our union.