He turned his head back to me.
“Thank you.”
Jace nodded. “No more cleaning at night. The kids and I got it.”
I rolled my eyes. “You say that now . . .”
He winked. “They don’t call me Jace Poppins for nothing.”
“No one calls you that.”
“Not yet,” Jace replied blithely in a singsong, starting to move again.
I took one last look at the painting, then back to him. “If you accidentally drop that and scuff up my father’s face, I won’t tell anyone.”
Jace’s laughter rang down the hall as he walked out of the library.
I spent the next several minutes staring at the fresh start on the wall, an irrepressible smile on my lips.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
JACE
“I find it interesting that women continue to fall for your antics.”
“My antics are the best part about me. Without them I only have my chickens and they’re much less charming.”
Vamp Got Your Tongueby Lena Benjamin
Igulped. I knew this was going to be an issue.
I was standing in Polly’s kitchen on Monday morning in front of Barry, a recipe for flaxseed almond pancakes staring at me. Mocking me.
Did I know what the hell a flaxseed was?
No.
I was in deep shit.
I didn’t sleep well. The image of Polly in the library, tight black leggings and thin college T-shirt, was burned into my mind as much as the feel of her delicate hand, holding on to me, trusting me. She’d been pretty as ever this morning. I made coffee as we made small talk in the kitchen, keeping my hands busy so I didn’t accidentally reach out to grip her waist and bury my face in her neck, breathing in all that she was. I held the coffee cup in my hands as Polly explained that Ryla and Max typically slept until half past seven or so, my eyes tracking her down the hallway when she left for the day.
I watched the rain fall outside as I drank my coffee, taking in the grand view of the Smokies in the distance. This property was easily twenty or thirty acres. I couldn’t see a neighboring property from my vantage point here. Anger flared in my gut, recalling what Polly told me about her upbringing in this house. How isolated she must have been. After finishing my coffee, I pulled up Barry, bringing me to my current predicament.
Cooking was “not a gift I received,” as Pop so delicately put it years ago. Scrambled eggs and toast were as gourmet as I got. So, when Polly asked if I could cook during our tour yesterday, hope in her eyes, I lied.
“What is flaxseed?” I asked my phone.
“It’s in there.”
I jumped and turned, staring at Polly’s mini-me in heart pajamas, carrying a giant elephant under one arm and what looked like a small goat with horns under the other.
My eyes shifted to where she was pointing: the pantry. Made sense.
“Good mornin’ to you, lil’ miss. I was fixing to grab the almond flour and flaxseed so I can make us some pancakes, what do ya say?”
Unmoved by my enthusiastic Southern charm, Ryla, hair and face still a little sleep rumpled, walked over to me, tossed her stuffed animals on the counter, crawled up onto a stool, then looked to me like an owl and blinked.
Alrighty. Someone wasn’t a morning person.
