Chapter Seven
Eric
Jamie’s key refused to cooperate.
We stood on the front porch of her dad’s house, the lock stubborn under her increasingly frantic attempts. Her shoulders tensed, color creeping up her neck in that way that told me she was close to losing it.
“Easy.” I covered her hand with mine, stilling her before the key snapped. “Is there another way in?”
She huffed. “We could try the back door.”
I stepped aside to let her lead and immediately regretted it.
Watching the sway in her hips as she moved around the side of the house turned my focus traitorous.
She’d been under my skin since the hospital, and she clearly wasn’t done settling in.
Every line of her body claimed my attention whether I wanted to give it or not.
And my mind twisted every word she said into unfortunate innuendo.
Try the back door, she said.
Yes. Fucking please.
I forced my gaze forward. Control mattered. Especially now.
She glanced back, caught me watching anyway, and rolled her eyes like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. Like she’d planned it. That only made the situation worse.
Nothing dulled the attraction. Not the house. Not her father. Not even the thought that she might have someone else—some asshole who probably didn’t deserve her.
Caleb talked a lot about living in the moment, but it had never been my style. Standing behind her at the back of the house, keys jangling, frustration humming in the air, I was starting to understand the appeal.
But I wasn’t here to make a move. I was here because she needed backup. Because this place came with history, and I wasn’t about to let her face it alone. Whatever heat sparked between us could wait.
Jamie shuffled along the back deck, checking under planters and along the windowsills for a spare key. I stayed where I was, breathing slow and controlled, locking down every instinct that told me to close the distance.
My gaze kept landing on her anyway. The glimpse of black lace at her hip when her shirt rode up. The curve of her breast when she bent forward. It was enough to test my discipline.
She muttered another curse under her breath, her shoulders taut and hands clenching.
Done waiting, I moved straight to the sliding glass door and pulled. The damn thing slid open without resistance.
We both froze. She stared at the open doorway like it might bite. I watched her instead, noting how she lingered at the threshold, reluctant to step inside despite nothing blocking her way.
What was she afraid of finding on the other side?
She’d warned me more than once to expect a disaster. I hadn’t asked why.
I also hadn’t asked about her relationship with her father. I didn’t need to. The fact that she didn’t know the state of his house, yet prepared for the worst, told me enough. More than she probably realized.
I wanted to ask anyway. I wanted details, context. Everything.
But this wasn’t the moment to pry.
“Well?” I stepped aside, motioning toward the open door.
“Yeah. Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s get it over with.”
She went in first. Her soft cry pulled me in after her, fast and alert.
I assessed the room in a single sweep. Nothing looked out of place. The house was clean, orderly, well cared for. Old bones, good ones, paired with modern touches. Stainless steel appliances gleamed in the kitchen where we stood. Everything looked exactly as it should.
Everything except Jamie.
Her face had gone pale, eyes too wide, body tense and shaking.
“Hey.” I stepped in, caught her at the elbow, steadying her before she could argue. “Sit down.”
“No.” The word came out as a whisper. Then, firmer, like she needed to convince herself as much as me, “No. I’m fine. It’s just…it looks almost exactly the way I remember.”
“And that’s a problem?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s just surprising.”
I let her move ahead, not crowding her but sticking close enough to intervene if needed. I took my time, scanning the unfamiliar house on instinct while keeping her in my peripheral, trying to see it the way she did.
The living room was all warm wood and leather, anchored by a massive stone fireplace that dominated the far wall. It looked comfortable and lived in. The perfect place for a family.
Jamie drifted down the hall on her own. I didn’t rush after her. I lingered instead, drawn to the photographs lining the mantel. Professional family portraits. A mother and father flanked by two little girls, with big smiles and polished poses.
The girls looked alike. White-blond hair. Blue eyes.
But Jamie stood out even then. There was something unmistakable about her, even as a child. A brightness that pulled focus without trying.
What caught me more was her parents. The way they leaned toward their daughters with obvious pride. This was the kind of happiness that couldn’t be staged.
A strong family. Or at least one that had been.
It didn’t match the woman down the hall. It didn’t match her warnings, her tension, or her certainty that this place would be falling apart.
Whatever had gone wrong here, it hadn’t started with the house.
She drifted back into the room, bewilderment written across her face.
“This place is nice. Your dad lives here alone?”
“Yeah…” Her eyes traced the room again. “He’s been alone for a long time now.”
“He’s taken good care of it.”
“I know.” Her attention snapped back to me. “I’m shocked. But I’m glad too. This place always meant so much to him. He restored most of it himself. Worked on it for years.”
She exhaled, forehead creasing as emotion took hold. “I used to beg him to let me help. Even when the work was complicated, he’d find something for me to do. Always made me feel important.”
Her voice softened. “God, I loved those moments. I haven’t thought about any of this in years.”
I stayed quiet and let her talk, watching the tension ease from her face.
She loved this place. The good memories ran deep. Whatever had gone wrong came later.
“I think his love for it rubbed off on me,” she said. “I work in home restoration and remodeling.”
That earned a quiet smile from me.
It didn’t surprise me at all. Jamie didn’t scare easy. She liked getting her hands dirty. Took on work a lot of people shied away from.
Beautiful, yes. But tough. Exactly how I’d pegged her from the start.
“I’m not nearly as good as my dad was.” Her mouth curved into a soft smile. “But I love the idea of bringing an old home back to its glory.”
“Sounds like real work.”
“It is. Honest work but I love it. I just don’t get to do much of it.
” She hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ve worked with my boss almost five years.
He’s trusted me with one small remodel. I think I only got it because the clients were difficult.
Most days I run the office and handle customer service.
It kind of sucks, but gotta pay my dues, right? ”
“Fuck that.” The thought that she’d been shafted into some bullshit gender role pissed me off. Customer service, my ass. “Your boss sounds like an asshole.”
“No.” She shook her head at me like I didn’t understand. “He’s not that bad.”
“Really? Because to me, it sounds like he’s using you.” I didn’t bother dressing it up. “You’re a pretty face that keeps the clients happy. I’ve met plenty of guys like him. They don’t have the balls to give a woman a real chance in their business.”
Her shoulders squared. “So, what, I’m just a pretty face? Nothing more?”
Shit.
“No.” I met her gaze and held it. “I’m saying you’re wasted where you are. You’re smart. You’re capable. And given the chance, you’d probably run circles around half the men in your field. Maybe all of them.”
She studied me for a long beat. “I know how good I am, Eric. But he gave me a job—one that I really needed. I was grateful for that.”
“Fair. Doesn’t change the fact that you deserve better.”
“Maybe.” Her attention drifted back to the room, fingers tracing the edge of a table like she was grounding herself. “Maybe not.”
I took the hint, shutting my mouth and letting silence do the work.
A smaller cluster of photos on a side table gave me something else to focus on.
All three were of the same little boy. Dark-blond hair. Brown eyes. The family resemblance was obvious, but the pictures were newer, and he didn’t appear anywhere else.
My mind ran through the possibilities—a younger brother, a second family, a secret that explained the tension she’d warned me about.
Or I was inventing problems that didn’t exist, and the photos didn’t mean a damn thing.
Speculation without facts was useless, and I wasn’t about to ask. Not after proving I had a talent for saying the wrong thing around her.
I stepped back from the photos just as Jamie came up beside me.
She looked down at them and froze. The color drained from her face, her hand lifting to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, too fast to hide them.
So much for the photos meaning nothing.
Instinct took over, the room narrowed, and my attention locked on her. I didn’t know the cause, but I knew my role.
She wasn’t handling this alone.
“Hey. Come here.”
I took her hand and guided her to the couch, sitting first and drawing her down with me. The armrest boxed her in, close enough that retreat wasn’t an option.
It still wasn’t close enough.
I caught her at the knees and pulled her legs across my lap, turning her toward me until there was nowhere else for her attention to land. Whether the contact was for her or for me didn’t matter. It felt necessary.
“Look at me.” With a finger under her chin, I urged her gaze up to meet mine.
She held there, breath shallow, pain sitting just under the surface. I wanted to take it from her. All of it.
“Listen.” My grip eased, thumb sliding along her cheek instead. “You were there for me this morning. And we made a deal, remember? No more pretending. You don’t have to hide how you feel.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, but stayed silent.
“I’m here now,” I murmured. “You can trust me with this if you want to talk.”
I waited, searching her watery blue gaze, giving her space to speak.
Still, she said nothing.
Instead, she leaned in, arms coming around my neck, her face hovering close. Then her mouth found mine, stealing the air from my lungs.
Well, fuck.