Chapter 6
Annie
It was day one with Brooks on the job and the first day of what I already knew would be the busiest two weeks of my life.
Normally, being an early riser was my thing. I loved getting up before the sun, savoring those rare, quiet moments before Ruby woke up and launched into her day with all the sass of a stand-up comedian and none of the caffeine.
But today wasn’t about peace and quiet. Today was about hitting the ground running.
I swung my legs over the edge of my bed, the cool air nipping at my skin, and sat up straight with a long stretch.
My cow-print slippers waited faithfully on the floor.
The second my toes slid into their fuzzy warmth, a smile spread across my face.
Running my small business was my pride and joy—well, second to Ruby—and even though the holiday rush was chaotic, it was the kind of chaos I thrived in.
Shuffling to the door with a yawn, I grabbed my robe from its hook and wrapped it around my matching silk pajama set.
My brain was already building my to-do list for the day: inventory, invoices, shipping orders, prep for the Christmas party in a little over a week.
But before any of that, there was one crucial step—coffee. Always coffee.
The hallway was still and hushed, the winter light barely spilling through the frosted windows.
I peeked into Ruby’s room as I passed, just to be sure she was still asleep.
Sure enough, there she was—arms thrown above her head at odd angles, sleeping on her stomach with her mouth wide open like she was trying to catch snowflakes in her dreams.
A quiet laugh escaped me as I eased the door shut.
The second I stepped toward the kitchen, though, something was… different. The usual cozy scent of cinnamon and spice that clung to the house had been replaced by something richer, darker, more tempting.
Coffee. Freshly brewed coffee.
That stopped me in my tracks. I was always the one to brew the coffee, and I definitely hadn’t done it last night—unless I’d reached a new level of autopilot I didn’t know about.
Following the aroma, I rounded the corner into the kitchen. And froze.
Brooks was there.
Shirtless.
Broad shoulders, toned chest, tattoos sprawling across every inch of tanned skin.
Plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips like they were barely clinging to the job of staying up.
He leaned casually against my counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other braced on the edge like he belonged here.
Lord. Have. Mercy.
I’d noticed he was good-looking when I met him—twice, fully clothed. But this? This was an entirely different level of temptation. His tattoos disappeared beneath his waistband, and my brain immediately decided it wanted to know exactly where they ended.
What the hell had I been thinking, bringing a six-foot-something, fully tattooed smokeshow into my house?
My libido was already drafting its resignation letter.
I swallowed hard, trying to drag my gaze back up from his very distracting torso.
His eyes—whiskey-colored and entirely too observant—were locked on me.
And unlike him, I wasn’t exactly serving Greek-goddess energy.
My hair looked like it had been in a wrestling match with my pillow.
There was probably drool on my chin. I hadn’t even glanced in a mirror.
Meanwhile, Brooks looked like he’d stepped out of some glossy holiday calendar where the lumberjack takes off his flannel in front of a roaring fire.
“Morning,” he said, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his mouth.
I gave a stiff nod, pretending like my pulse wasn’t doing sprints. “So… you’re an early riser too,” I managed. Not a “good morning,” not a “how’d you sleep.” My brain was too busy protesting the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to mentally armor myself before walking in on… this.
Finding out Brooks was the same man I’d flirted with at the bar the other night—the one I’d secretly wanted to climb like a tree—hadn’t been on my holiday bingo card. Seeing him at my front door the next day had been… complicated.
At first, panic.
Then… desire.
For a split second, I’d thought he’d tracked me down to finish what we’d started at the bar. Then he dropped the bomb that he was the person I’d been emailing for the nanny position.
Now here he was, in my kitchen, shirtless and tattooed and making coffee like he owned the place.
Professional and platonic. That was what it should be. That was the smart choice.
But standing there in plaid pajama pants and giving me that damn smirk? Yeah, my ovaries were writing their own set of rules.
“Always,” he replied, voice low and certain. “Early mornings are my favorite time of the day.”
“Me too,” I murmured, though mine were usually filled with coffee and silence rather than conversations with men who looked like they’d stepped straight out of my most dangerous daydreams.
I opened the fridge and grabbed my favorite creamer, the vanilla-bean one Ruby said made the whole house smell like sugar cookies. Brooks was already reaching for a mug, then he held it out toward me.
When I took it from him, my fingers brushed his. The contact was brief—barely a second—but it was enough. A jolt of electricity shot through me, sharp and unrelenting, rushing up my arm and pooling low in my stomach before settling in a place that made my knees feel a little unreliable.
“Thanks,” I said softly, my voice catching in the middle.
His gaze lingered on me a beat too long. “So, will you be home in time for dinner?”
I nodded, clutching the mug like it was the only thing keeping me steady. “Should be, as long as everything goes to plan.”
Leaning back against the island, I put a safe foot or so of distance between us. I lifted the mug to my lips and blew across the surface, watching steam curl away.
“Then I’ll make sure to set a plate aside for you, too.”
The words startled me—gentle and domestic in a way I hadn’t heard in years. “Do you cook?” I asked, my tone casual, though my heart was suddenly racing.
Brooks nodded, the corner of his mouth tipping into something almost shy. “I love to cook. I don’t get to do it often, living on the road most of the time, but since I’m here, I might as well feed you two ladies while I can.”
That statement shouldn’t have made my chest tighten, but it did. It had been a long, long time since anyone had wanted to take care of me in even the smallest way.
“Honestly, it’s been too long since I’ve had a home-cooked meal I didn’t make myself.” I laughed lightly and took a small sip of my coffee, the warmth spreading through me in more ways than one.
“Anything you don’t like to eat? How about Ruby?” he asked.
“I’m not picky. Ruby’s hard no’s are mushrooms, bananas, spinach, and… oddly enough, macaroni and cheese.”
Brooks let out a low whistle. “What kid doesn’t like mac and cheese?”
“The kind who ate it every day for a month when her mom was going through a divorce and barely had two nickels to rub together,” I said before I could stop myself. The words came out too sharp, too revealing.
His jaw shifted slightly, eyes flicking away. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” I sighed, cutting him off. “That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry. Old scars.”
He gave me a single, understanding nod, his mouth pressing into a tight line. “No mac and cheese. Got it.”
He finished his coffee in a slow swallow, then turned to rinse the mug in the sink. Brooks’ back muscles flexed with the movement, the ink on his skin shifting over the play of muscle, and I couldn’t not look.
God help me, I wanted to run my hands over every inch of him, trace each tattoo, learn what they meant. I wanted to know what it felt like when that strong hand wrapped around my throat or braced on the counter beside me.
Instead, I bit the edge of my knuckle and silently screamed.
When he turned back around, I had just enough warning to collect my composure by taking a massive sip of my coffee—too big, too hot. It burned all the way down, but I managed to keep my face neutral.
One of his eyebrows ticked upward, a knowing glint in his eyes, and then he laughed. The sound was deep, rich, and sent another shiver through me.
“I should get going,” I said, tossing a thumb over my shoulder toward the hallway. Step by step, I eased backward, putting space between us before I did something reckless.
“Ruby’ll be up in about an hour,” I added. “Enjoy the peace while you can.”
His grin told me he didn’t mind the idea of losing it.