Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
POPPY
The next ten minutes are spent pretending I have my shit together as I pack up my cleaning kit and try not to think about the way Jack leans against the kitchen island with his arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he can’t wait to solve.
I cram my half-empty bottle of Mrs. Meyer’s and a wad of rags into the battered cleaning tote and set it next to the front door.
My hands are still shaking. I can feel his gaze on me, which is both flattering and terrifying.
I busy myself lining up the barstools at the kitchen counter, just to have something to do with my hands.
“Food should be here in twenty,” Jack tells me, and it sounds like a command, not a suggestion. Maybe it’s the cop thing. Or maybe it’s just him. I hesitate, clutching my phone in both hands, suddenly hyperaware of him.
“Thanks,” I say. I shuffle to the edge of the kitchen, trying to ignore the way my knees threaten to liquefy every time Jack locks eyes with me. He uncrosses his arms, stalking around the island, slow and controlled, the way a panther might circle a wounded rabbit. I am the rabbit in this scenario.
“You want something to drink?” His voice is low, steady, and so serious it sounds like an interrogation.
“I, um…” My tongue fumbles like it’s been drinking all day. He’s so close now that I can see the tiny scar above his eyebrow and the way his dress shirt stretches across chest muscles you could probably bounce quarters off of. “Water’s fine.”
He pulls out a fancy bottle of sparkling water and holds it up with a smirk. “Still or bubbly?”
“Bubbly, obviously.” I watch as he pours it into a glass with ice and a literal lemon twist. “You know, I’m not actually a guest. I just work here.”
“You’re my guest now.” He hands me the glass. Our fingers brush, and all my internal organs rearrange themselves in a very unprofessional way. “I have to make up for my dog’s assassination attempt.”
“I’d consider it attempted kidnapping.” I take a long drink, ignoring the way my girly parts tingle from being this close to him. “Pepper is a menace. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Unfortunately.” Jack calls Pepper over with a snap of his fingers, and she trots up like a tiny, chubby assassin, then sits perfectly at his feet and stares at me with her big frog eyes.
“I’m going to take her on a quick walk before our food comes.
” That’s probably a good idea. I don’t know how long dogs can hold it, but I know Pepper hasn’t been out since I got here.
Jack gestures to the plush charcoal sectional.
"Make yourself at home while we're gone. "
"I bet she's ready to pop," I mutter, watching him kneel down to fasten Pepper's fancy pink velvet harness. The dog wiggles impatiently, her compact body vibrating with excitement, stubby tail wagging so hard her entire back end sways.
"The dog walker usually comes around eleven to walk her, so it hasn't been too long." He clips on the matching leash while Pepper does a frantic tap dance across the polished hardwood. "We won't be too long. Pepper doesn't like wandering around after dark."
I don’t know what’s funnier: the way he caters to the dog, or the way she immediately turns from demon to diva in his presence. I can’t help but smile. “She’s got you wrapped around her little paw.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Jack deadpans, grabbing his jacket.
“I like to pretend I’m the alpha.” Jack’s eyes glint as he says it, and I almost choke on my sparkling water.
As if on cue, Pepper strikes a pose and gives me the world’s most judgmental hair-flip with her bat ears. I swear she’s smirking at me.
“You're not fooling anyone," I point out, my cheeks warming as I can't help but grin. "She runs this place and you know it."
"Touché," he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the polished hardwood floor beneath my feet.
One corner of his mouth quirks up as he winks at me, and my stomach does a little flip.
Pepper prances in place, her nails clicking impatiently against the floor as Jack's broad hand wraps around the doorknob.
"We'll be back in five," he adds, the door closing behind them with a soft click that somehow feels more final than it should.
I reach in my pocket for my phone and remember it’s still on the bedside table.
I rush back to the bedroom and grab it. I send my professor a quick message, explaining why I missed class today and asking for an extension to turn in my assignment.
I’m pretty sure it’s about as believable as the old “my dog ate my homework” excuse, but at least I tried.
Jack and Pepper are actually gone for sixteen minutes.
I know this because I've been watching the hands on the antique clock slowly tick.
When the door finally swings open, Jack fills the doorframe holding a large take-out bag.
Pepper prances in beside him, pink leash taut as she strains forward.
"Sorry it took so long," he says, voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through my chest as he sets the bag on the marble countertop with a soft rustle.
"I got a message that the food was almost here, so I waited downstairs for it.
" I watch, transfixed, as he kneels down in one fluid motion, his dress shirt pulling tight across his back while his nimble fingers unhook the leash from Pepper's rhinestone-studded collar.
Once free, the dog rushes over and hops up on the sofa. When she puts her chin on my knee, I ruffle her ears, and she grunts happily before turning and giving Jack a look so smug I swear she’s smiling.
Jack shakes his head and grins. “Unbelievable.” My cheeks flush so hot, I almost combust.
“She’s definitely plotting world domination.”
Jack’s eyes flick to mine, and for a second, I forget how to swallow.
He moves closer, crowding me against the sofa with that ridiculous six-foot-six cop energy, like he’s about to interrogate me and maybe also tear my clothes off.
Hopefully, he chooses the latter. Not gonna lie, my brain short-circuits just a little at the thought of it.
Pepper snuggles her potato body right into my lap. Her crooked frog eyes track Jack as if daring him to get between us.
Jack unpacks the takeout bag. “Do you want to eat in the living room or at the breakfast bar?” he asks.
“Definitely the breakfast bar,” I tell him, already picturing the mess soy sauce makes in the wrong hands.
“You got it.” He lays out a literal sushi feast across the marble.
The spread is so beautiful, I want to take a picture for the group chat, but I remember my study group would murder me if they saw how much I was about to eat.
Jack organizes everything with military precision: miso soup, dumplings, rolls, tiny soy sauce dishes lined up perfectly.
My mouth waters so hard I actually have to swallow.
He gestures for me to sit at the center barstool, then takes the one right next to me. Not across. Right next to it. Like his giant self needs to crowd me at the counter when there are four other seats. My pulse flares. I might actually have a heart attack before this dinner is over.
Pepper waddles over and sits directly under my stool, making weird piglet snorts that I’m pretty sure are her version of begging for food.
I practically drool as Jack picks up the chopsticks and hands them to me. His fingers brush mine and holy shit, the spark is so real, I almost drop them. I cover up my awkwardness by shoveling a dumpling into my mouth.
Jack watches every bite, eyes dark and focused, like he’s cataloguing my reactions. Honestly, the way he looks at me turns my insides to goo.
I practically choke on a piece of pork dumpling when Jack leans forward, pinning me with his dark eyes. His elbows rest on the counter, sleeves rolled up, veins flexing along his forearms like he’s about to interrogate me or handcuff me. Jesus, focus, Poppy.
“So,” he rumbles, voice so low it vibrates my seat, “tell me about yourself. What do you do besides entertaining mischievous Frenchies?”
My mind goes blank, and I scramble to say something. “I, uh, go to school full-time and clean apartments so I can afford rent.”
Jack’s mouth quirks up. “Care to elaborate.”
The way he stares into my eyes causes a shiver to run down my spine. Intense doesn’t even begin to describe him. “Are you interrogating me, Detective Vale?”
His lips twitch, and he leans in so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. “Maybe.” There’s a definite glint in his eyes now, all dark and hungry and a little bit dangerous. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not planning on handcuffing you. Yet.”
Holy. Hell. My brain trips over itself and nearly short-circuits on the spot. He’s flirting with me. I barely resist the urge to fan myself as I stare into his eyes.
I clear my throat, but my voice comes out breathless and way too high-pitched. “Uh… good to know.”
He grins, all alpha cop menace, then picks up his glass and knocks back half his water in one go. “I’m not shy about what I want,” he rumbles, eyes never leaving mine. “And right now, I want to know everything about you. Why don’t we start with something easy. What’re you studying?”
“Business.” His eyebrow lifts like he’s expecting me to say I’m an art history major or something.
I take a giant bite of sushi and shrug. “I want to run my own cleaning company one day. As long as I don’t have to answer to anyone else.
I’m not really cut out for having a boss. Or, you know, being bossed.”
Jack’s mouth twitches at the corner, but he doesn’t laugh. He leans in closer, voice dropping so low it’s basically a growl. “Maybe you haven’t been bossed the right way.”
I take another bite of dumpling to keep my mouth busy because I’m ninety-nine percent sure if I speak right now, something wildly inappropriate is going to fall out.