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They should be doing more than just idling around. There’s so much more that can be done than just the typical paperwork.
But they don’t owe me an explanation.
One narrows his eyes at me. “Fuck you, Jackson,” he says. “You don’t get to walk in here and tell us how to do our job. You shouldn’t even be here.”
“He’s fine.” Ben says as he enters the house, stopping me before I can reply with something shitty. “There’s no problem.”
He shoots me a look, and I nod at him.
Then I tune everything else out as I explore.
I learn more about Skylar.
Her kitchen is cluttered but organized, as if she tried to cram the entirety of the café into the area. She has at least five different types of coffee bags, all lined up against the tile backsplash of her counter, next to a sleek espresso machine.
I remember the pride in her eyes when she saw my reaction to tasting the coffee she handed me.
It was the best I’d ever had, along with that cookie.
I wonder if that particular roast is sitting on her counter right now.
I stare at the photos on her fridge, her smiling face and bright eyes captured beautifully by whoever took the pictures.
There’s one of her and April Waters at a theme park.
Another of her and an older woman, her face full of pride as her arm is wrapped around Skylar’s shoulders.
This girl is loved and easily lovable.
I swallow, shake the thought away, and open her fridge.
It’s just as organized as her counter, with containers of what I assume are homemade pastries.
Another glass container holds different colored macarons. Three jugs of iced coffee sit on the bottom shelf, along with a soy, almond, and oat milk.
I stare at the contents of her fridge a little too long, realizing how ridiculous I look.
“She’s not in the fridge, Jackson,” someone snickers, and I slam the appliance door harder than necessary.
This isn’t a fucking joke.
Landon said the fight started when he and River told her she shouldn’t go back to work, which makes sense.
Her work is obviously her passion.
I used to know the feeling.
Exiting the kitchen, I head down the hallway, past the tiny bathroom, and halt at what I assume is her bedroom door.
Technically, I don’t need to be in here.
Landon and River would already have looked through.
They’ve already been in here more than once, and unexpected jealousy races through me.
They never technically told me what was going on with them, but it doesn’t take a genius.
The stale aroma of sweet, sugary Heat still lingers from behind the door, with the smallest hint of musky Rut.
