Don’t Go Away Mad by Lacey Black

Chapter Twelve

Lyndee

I’ve made a terrible mistake. The moment Jasper opens his front door for Dustin and me, I realize my error. Sure, I thought twice—hell, a million times—about my decision to agree to dinner on my way to his place, but Dustin talked a mile a minute the entire trip, ensuring I barely got a word or thought in edgewise. Now, I’m stepping into the foyer of his gorgeous home and recognizing I should have declined his offer. This place is…wow.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to allow us entrance. “Let me take your coats.”

I slip off my puffer coat and unwrap the scarf around my neck. “Wow, this place is gorgeous,” I state as he hangs our coats in the entry closet.

“Thank you. It’s a touch on the big side, but I’ve always been a fan of the Tudor-style architecture. How about I start on the pizzas, and we do a tour later?”

“Sounds good! I’m starving,” Dustin replies quickly, following behind Jasper as we head to the kitchen.

And what a kitchen it is.

It’s a chef’s space, for sure. Gorgeous cabinets, a massive island in the middle of the room, and a double oven I’m totally jealous of. Sure I might have plenty of baking space at work, but at home, I have a standard single unit. Then my sights land on the refrigerator. “Jesus,” I mumble, stepping up to the gleaming stainless steel and running my hand down the handle.

“It was a requirement when I remodeled the kitchen. A standard refrigerator wasn’t going to work for my needs,” he says, stepping up beside me and pulling items from within, including bottles of water. I steal a peek inside the space, smiling by how organized it is. The containers all have labels and dates.

Jasper moves to a massive pantry and grabs what he needs, setting it all on the island behind him. When my brother takes a seat on one of the barstools, I ask, “What can I do to help?”

“Do you want to pick a wine from the fridge?” he asks, washing his hands at the sink.

“Sure,” I reply, opening the big appliance, but not finding any wine.

“Oh, I have a wine refrigerator over there,” he adds, pointing to a cabinet along the side wall.

It’s only upon further inspection that I realize the handle is different. When I pull it open, I’m surprised to find a custom space just for wine. There are several bottles of whites and reds with vintage years older than me.

“There’s another cabinet next to it with room temperature reds, if you prefer that,” he adds.

Opening the cabinet, I find more bottles of expensive wine, as well as glasses and a variety of openers. I choose a chilled red that will pair well with pizza and use the electric opener to remove the cork. Plus, it’s a sweeter red, which my brother likes. Pouring two glasses, I set one down in front of Dustin and take the other around to Jasper. They’re in a heated conversation about the Reds and how their lackluster season played out this year.

“Thanks,” he says, reaching for the glass and taking a drink. “Aren’t you having any?”

“No, I’m driving,” I reply, reaching for one of the bottles of water.

Jasper nods and reaches into the bowl to start mixing the dough with his hands. I watch for a few minutes, ignoring the conversation they’re having, and just focus on his hands. They’re large and press the ingredients together so easily, so effortlessly it’s hypnotizing. All I can picture is those hands kneading other things…

“Lyndee?”

“Huh?” I ask, glancing up into Jasper’s chocolate orbs. His dance with delight, as if he knows what I was thinking about.

“I was just asking if you’d cut the tomatoes for me.”

I make a noise of confirmation before moving to the sink and washing my hands. I retrieve a large knife from the block on the island and find a bamboo cutting board in the cabinet below it. Carefully, I slice into the tomatoes. “Wow, these knives are amazing,” I state when there’s a lull in their conversation.

“I custom ordered these knives from Japan. They’re designed specifically for my hand. Expensive, but so very worth it. Once you use one of those babies, you’ll never buy another Target knife again,” he says, holding up his dough-covered hands.

Those big, capable hands…

“You know, if you slice the tomato this way, you’ll have minimal spilling of the seeds,” he says, reaching over and demonstrating how I should properly cut the tomatoes.

“But won’t I still end up with tomato slices by doing it this way?” I ask, my eyebrows arched in confusion. I realize there are different methods for cutting tomatoes, but this is the way we were taught in school for slim, perfect slices. I mean…it’s a tomato.

“Yes, but this way is better,” he replies boastfully.

“Your way?”

He gives me another of his full-wattage grins. “Exactly.”

Sighing, I shake my head and continue cutting the tomatoes my way, ignoring the look of exasperation he throws me. Instead, I cut the vine-ripe tomatoes into thin slices and set them aside, while Jasper rolls the dough out into two perfect circles.

“Will you grab the bowl of marinara?” he asks, nodding toward the glass bowl set between us.

“Is this homemade?” I ask, opening the lid and taking a whiff.

“It is. I’ve never used canned or jarred. That would be a travesty.”

“Lyn used jarred sauce the last time we made homemade pizza,” my traitor brother announces.

Jasper’s eyes widen comically. “How is this even possible? You went to culinary school.”

I shrug, sticking my fingertip into the tomato sauce and tasting. “I don’t know. I’m busy, but my preferred field was baking. I don’t really care about the cooking side, unless it’s making my own jam,” I reply, taking a second taste of the tangy sauce. Normally, I wouldn’t dare be licking my finger and sticking it back into whatever I’m making, but since this isn’t for the public, I decide to hell with it. Plus, there’s the prospect of annoying Jasper, which is always a plus. “This is good.”

He’s watching me, but if it bugs him that I’m swiping bites with my finger, he never complains. Instead, he seems to just observe me, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he replies with a quick clearing of his throat. “I made a sweet onion jam for one of my burger creations.”

I lean forward, my hip resting against the island. “Really? Tell me more,” I inquire as he scoops sauce onto the crust.

Dustin groans. “Are you two gonna talk food now? I’m leaving,” he grumbles, spinning on his stool like he’s going to leave.

“Fine, we won’t geek out on food talk,” Jasper says, finishing up his pepperoni pizza with freshly grated mozzarella cheese. “But I will finish by saying, my onion jam would be delicious on some fresh soda bread or something.”

My eyes sparkle with possibilities. “Oh, I bet that would be fantastic. Maybe I’ll make a few loaves this weekend and you and the guys could try it out.”

“Or you could join us Sunday night here and bring it. My friends and I always get together before Christmas and do a dinner, hang out, you know?” He says the words casually, his eyes cast down at the pizza he’s prepping.

“Oh,” I stammer, unsure of what to say. My eyes glance up to my brother, who’s just smiling and watching.

Jasper finally glances up and meets my gaze. “No pressure. We don’t do gifts or anything. Well, except for Lizard. We’ll get her stuff, but otherwise, we just hang out and eat.” He looks across the counter to my brother. “You’re welcome to come too.”

I look down at the cut tomatoes. “I don’t want to impose if you and your friends just do your own thing,” I insist.

He sets the pepperoni pizza aside and begins constructing the margherita one. “You’re not. The others are bringing their girlfriends,” he replies before realizing what he said. “I’m not saying you’re my…you know.”

“Right, right,” I quickly claim. “That would be…yeah. No,” I stammer with an awkward chuckle.

“Right,” Jasper replies, a little too quickly. I mean, it’s not like we’re actually dating, and I did just insist that would be bad, but hearing him confirm it deflates that miniscule bubble of excitement that formed in my chest. “Just a few friends hanging out. If you and Dustin aren’t doing anything, you’re welcome to come by.”

I look over at my brother again, the eagerness in his eyes shining brightly. If it weren’t an open invitation to the both of us, I’d decline, but I can’t dismiss the excitement on my brother’s face. I want him to make friends, even if that person is Jasper. Sure, I might think he’s part devil, but he’s been nothing but cordial and accommodating to my brother. In fact, they seem to get along great when they talk. Even the other guys have been friendly and open with Dustin, which is probably why I find myself replying, “That sounds nice.”

Jasper smiles. It’s such a pretty smile, and if I’m not careful, I’ll end up swooning over that grin in a completely inappropriate way. “Great. I’m making prime rib, creamy ranch potatoes, and roasted asparagus.”

“What can we bring?” I ask as he finishes up the second pizza and places it the oven behind us.

“The bread is fine. This Saturday’s special is the burger requiring the jam, so I’ll make extra to bring home,” he says, closing the oven and turning back to me.

“I’ll bring some desserts too,” I insist, grabbing my bottle of water and taking a drink. If I’m going to subject myself to Jasper on a Sunday night, the occasion calls for some sweets. But then again, he’s not too bad tonight.

If you don’t count the tomato incident.

Jasper and Dustin dive right into more baseball talk, and before we know it, the oven timer is sounding. The aroma of freshly cooked pizza fills the air, causing my whole mouth to water in anticipation. I will admit—but only to myself—the real deal smells much better than the frozen ones we’ve been cooking at home.

“I know everyone recommends bamboo or silicone trivets, but I’ve discovered Enamel-covered cast iron ones actually work better at protecting the pan coating and what’s beneath it,” Jasper states, pulling two trivets from a drawer and placing them on the counter. “You should check them out.”

“I use cooling racks.”

“At home?”

Straightening up, I narrow my eyes a little. “No. I use hotpot holders. They’re just easier.”

He tsks.

Before he can argue why his line of thinking is right and mine is wrong, I grab the pizza cutter on the counter and start slicing. He doesn’t say a word, but I can feel his eyes on me, watching and probably grading my performance. I make sure to leave each triangle a different size, something I’d never do at home, but since I enjoy watching the veins in his temple pop out, the ugly inconsistent pieces leave me feeling gleeful.

“You did that on purpose,” he mutters, plating two slices of pepperoni and pushing them across the counter to my brother, who dives right in.

I shrug and give him a satisfied smirk. “Maybe.”

He blows out an exasperated breath and plates a slice for each of us. “Come on, troublemaker. Let’s get you fed so you can get home to sleep. I expect a white chocolate and cranberry muffin just for me in the morning.”

***

I check the clock for the umpteenth time, then chastise myself for doing it. Again.

Why am I constantly looking to see what time it is?

Maybe it’s because you really thought Jasper would come by this morning for the muffin.

Then I just get mad at myself all over again, hoping he’ll actually come by this morning, but it’s not looking too good, considering it’s almost ten. Jasper’s usually at the restaurant way before now, which means he’s probably prepping for lunch and not giving me or the muffin a second thought.

I wish someone would consider my muffin…

Wait.

What?

Where did that thought come from?

Maybe it’s the fact I haven’t dated in a really long time, not that you have to date to have sex. It’s just never been my thing. I’ve always found value in relationships. Getting to know and eventually trusting someone with your body and your heart. Those butterflies in your belly and the little touches and glances that make your heartbeat kick up with excitement.

I miss dating, but there has been no time for it as of late. Sure, I’ve considered making time, but that’s hard when you’re building a business and taking care of your brother.

I’m sure this annoying flutter in my stomach and the anticipation that fills my chest when I think about Jasper is merely because it’s been so dang long since I’ve been on a date. Or had sex for that matter, but we’re not going there. And we’re definitely not going there with thoughts of Jasper.

Jasper.

And sex.

Jasper and sex.

Sex with Jasper.

I groan out loud just as Daisy pops her head around the doorway. “Hey, Lyn. Someone’s here for you,” she states with a quick smile before disappearing back up front.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I follow in her wake and stumble to a stop as soon as I push through the swinging doors. Jasper is here. He’s standing back, away from the counter, and talking to my brother, and my eyes are drawn to his professional khakis and polo shirt.

“Hey,” he says, throwing a wave my way.

Flustered, I start to make my way in his direction, but suddenly stop and turn around. I grab a small white bag and slip one of the white chocolate cranberry muffins I made fresh this morning inside. I’d love to say it was completely on my own, but that would be a lie. I made them specifically with him in mind. Fortunately, I had plenty of cranberries to whip up a few batches of muffins for today.

When I slip back through the doorway, Jasper takes a sip from his coffee cup and catches my gaze. Something softens in those dark chocolate orbs, something that causes a zing to rush through my veins.

“Here,” I rush out, practically thrusting the bag into his hand.

Why am I acting so weird?

“Is this what I think it is?” he asks, sparkling eyes searching the contents of the little bag.

“Maybe,” I reply, finding myself grinning.

Jasper takes a sip of his hot coffee. “Well, I don’t have much time. I’m still short an assistant chef. Thanks for this,” he adds, holding up the bag.

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

He doesn’t move, but neither do I. We stand there, like two idiots, just staring at each other, grinning. How long we stand there, I have no idea, but the bell over the door snaps us both out of the trance we’re lost in.

“Well,” I start, clearing my throat.

“Yeah, well,” he replies quickly, taking another sip of his drink.

“I should,” I stammer, pointing my thumb over my shoulder indicating the kitchen.

“Yeah, I should too,” he states, finally taking a step toward the entrance. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay.”

I don’t even realize I’m not breathing until he’s out the door and pauses before crossing the street. I watch him go, mesmerized by the way he moves, as I suck in greedy gasps of oxygen. He reaches the big wooden front door of Burgers and Brew and hesitates.

Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

My heart stops beating as he turns around and meets my gaze through the window, holding it for several long seconds. Then, with the slightest smile on his gorgeous lips, he slips inside and disappears. It’s only then do I feel myself relax.

“Someone has a crush,” my brother sings, causing me to jump.

“Oh, hey, Dust. I didn’t realize you were right behind me.”

He grins. “Obviously, or you wouldn’t have been standing there, gawking and drooling.”

I make a face, much like a sister does to her little brother. Except, usually not when she’s in her thirties. “Shut up, I was not.”

He snorts a laugh. “Okay,” he argues sarcastically, clearly not believing me. “I’m going to bring up those pies now.”

“I’ll help,” I say, glancing one last time back to where Jasper disappeared.

“I got it. You go ahead and stay here, spy on the neighbor, and pretend like you’re not,” he teases before turning around, the squeak of his walker wheels mocking me as he goes.

“Stop being stupid, Lyn,” I mumble, steeling my spine and prepared to push Jasper right out of my head. I have things to do. Very important things. I have no time for silly fantasies about rich chocolate eyes and a panty-melting grin.

I glance back across the street, picturing exactly how amazing his ass looked in khaki pants.

Or how his shirt molded oh so snuggly to his chest beneath his coat.

And what about those lips? The ones I can picture so vividly, how soft and firm they’d be sliding down my neck.

“Ugh,” I groan, retreating to the confines of my kitchen.

Far, far away from the restaurant across the street…

And the sexy man inside.