CHAPTER 13 #2
Jaxon shifted from his position and stepped into the kitchen.
I could tell he sensed my sudden discomfort; my stance had turned rigid, and my shoulders had hunched slightly.
He ignored the awkwardness and moved around me, opening cabinets to pull out plates and utensils with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged.
He set them neatly on the kitchen island in front of two barstools with sleek gray upholstered seats, then moved to the coffee maker to start brewing a fresh pot.
The rich, bitter scent of coffee grounds began to fill the air, wrapping around us in a comforting haze.
I turned my attention back to the stove, finishing up the omelet, my movements slightly more hurried, a telltale sign that I felt the need to wrap up quickly and get out of his space. Despite everything, I still felt like an intruder in this carefully maintained home.
"Relax, you're fine," he said, his voice softening just enough to take the edge off the tension. He was trying to make the atmosphere lighter, though it didn't come naturally to him.
"Just thought I'd stop in quick; I don't intend to stay long," I said, my voice a little sheepish as I slid the first omelet onto his plate. The colors from the vegetables and cheese blended beautifully against the white ceramic, vibrant and warm.
Jaxon glanced down at the plate, his brows lifting in what looked like genuine appreciation. "It's appreciated. It's been a while since anyone's cooked for me if you don't count Connor heating up frozen pizza," he said, the words carrying more sincerity than I'd expected.
I stared ahead at the stove, trying not to react to what he'd just said.
He'd opened a door, to ask about his past, about who used to cook for him, about the life he'd had before, but I hesitated.
It could backfire, unravel the progress we'd made in tolerating each other's company without bickering.
So I let the question slide, placed the pan back on the stove, and started melting more butter for a second omelet.
I poured him a cup of coffee from the now-ready pot, setting it beside his plate in a simple black mug.
He gripped it, holding it close to his lips as his gaze followed me across the kitchen.
When I turned to check on him, he was still holding the coffee without taking a sip, his blue eyes fixed on my hands as I whisked the eggs.
"You don't have to wait for me," I said, glancing over my shoulder and trying to ease the growing tension. My tone was light, but my pulse quickened all the same.
Jaxon raised an eyebrow, as if the idea of eating without me was almost offensive. He cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the stool, looking suddenly awkward in a way that was almost endearing.
"I can wait," he replied, then took a sip of his coffee, trying to play it cool.
I nodded and turned back to my cooking, not wanting to put pressure on him, but also appreciating his gesture. It wasn't often that he made any effort to make me feel comfortable.
"So," I said, trying to break the silence as I turned off the stove and deposited my omelet onto my plate. "You and Connor have known each other since school, right?"
I took a seat next to him, close enough that I could smell the soap on his skin, and he nodded.
"Yes, we were in the same grade, so we grew up together," he said, finally starting to cut into his omelet.
I froze, watching for his reaction, hoping he'd like it. Cooking for someone felt intimate in a way I hadn't expected, and suddenly his opinion mattered more than it should.
As the first forkful entered his mouth, Jaxon closed his eyes and let out an appreciative hum that sent a shiver down my spine for entirely different reasons than usual.
When he opened his eyes and glanced at me, I realized I was staring, my lips slightly parted.
I licked them—my mouth had gone dry—before turning back to my plate and cutting my own omelet, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks and down my neck.
"This is really good," he said, his voice warmer than usual, almost intimate in the quiet kitchen. "You have some serious skills in the kitchen."
My blush deepened. I focused on my own food, acutely aware of his eyes on me as I ate. "Thank you."
As we continued to eat, we made light small talk, getting to know simple facts about each other between bites. His favorite color was blue. Mine was green. He preferred coffee black. I liked mine with cream. Simple things that felt significant in their ordinariness.
However, something nagged at me in the back of my mind, a question that had been bothering me since I'd arrived at the ranch.
"I have a question," I started, putting my fork down and turning to look at him.
He seemed surprised by my abruptness but met my gaze, setting down his fork. "Okay, what is it?"
"When Connor was in Vermont, staying with Sam for those couple of years when I met him, did he talk to you? Because he never mentioned you to us before."
The question seemed to catch him off guard. His eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his expression.
"I was deployed overseas at the time," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for further discussion. He turned back to his breakfast, drained the last of his coffee, then moved to the pot to refill his cup, his back to me.
I sensed the shift in Jaxon's demeanor immediately. His voice, warm and conversational moments ago, now carried a distant edge. It made sense, his deployment explained why Connor had never mentioned him. Still, something told me there was more to it than he was letting on.
"I didn't know that," I said softly, taking a sip of my coffee. "Connor never mentioned it."
Jaxon nodded but didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the dark stream of coffee filling his cup. The silence between us thickened, fragile and uneasy. I sensed that the topic was sensitive, so I decided to tread carefully.
"I'm sure it wasn't easy," I said, my voice gentling. "Being away and all."
He drew a deep breath, his back still turned. "It wasn't," he admitted, finally turning around to face me. His eyes held a mix of distant memories and unspoken emotions. Things I recognized because I carried them too.
I nodded in quiet understanding and finished my food.
He'd already cleared his plate, so I rose and gathered both dishes, carrying them to the sink.
The least I could do was clean up after cooking in his space.
I started to wash the dishes, but Jaxon stepped up behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
His hand landed gently on my arm, and I shivered under the contact, my entire body going rigid. I glanced up, meeting his gaze, my pulse spiking.
"Let me," he said, his voice lower than usual—rough, almost intimate.
I nodded wordlessly and stepped aside, putting distance between us as casually as I could without making it obvious that I was retreating. After everything I'd been through, I still couldn't stand being that close to anyone, feeling their presence at my back, feeling cornered.
I busied myself with the leftovers—the unused peppers, the remaining cheese—putting them away in his immaculately organized fridge or discarding what was left while he washed the dishes. We stayed silent, the only sounds the running water and the soft clink of plates.
When I finally turned back to him, the counters were clean. He'd just finished rinsing the last dish and was drying his hands on a towel, still facing the sink, his shoulders tense.
"It must've been nice, getting back from your deployment," I said lightly, trying to fill the silence. In my mind, based on what Connor had told me, he'd come home to his fiancée. A homecoming. But when Jaxon froze, every muscle in his back tightening, I realized I might've been wrong.
Jaxon
"Anna, I know what you're doing." The words came out harsher than I intended, my voice slicing through the moment like a blade. I turned to look at her, knowing my eyes were hard, probably filled with disdain I shouldn't be directing at her.
But I'd been watching her all morning. I'd noticed how different she looked from that first day when she'd stumbled into my clearing.
She was healthier now, more vibrant, her skin glowing with a tan from riding in the sun instead of that pale, sickly shade she'd once carried.
Her blonde hair caught the morning light streaming through my kitchen windows, and when she'd smiled at my reaction to her cooking, it had done something to my chest that I didn't want to examine too closely.
She was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. And she was getting too close, asking too many questions, making me think things I had no business thinking. Not after Nikki. Not with Connor's… whatever Anna was to him. Family. Sister. Off-limits.
She shook her head, confusion clear on her face as her brows drew together. "What are you talking about?"
"You're trying to learn more about me," I said tightly. "Make small talk. Become friends. But our truce was for Connor's sake—not to share secrets."
Anna gawked at me, those blue eyes going wide with hurt and disbelief.
"Yes, Jaxon, I am trying to make small talk and learn more about you.
But I'm not trying to dig up all your secrets.
" She shook her head again and reached for her bag.
"I can't believe you think so little of me, that I'd try to pry into your life. "
I stared at her, tracing the lines of her body and the tension in her shoulders, trying to gauge whether she was being sincere.
The realization that I'd overreacted hit me like a blow.
My brows furrowed as I let out a frustrated sigh and raked a hand through my still-damp hair.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the apology rising in my throat, one that already tasted like ash.