“You know, I’ve had it many times since I moved to Boston, but nothing compares to your mother’s. You have big shoes to fill, buddy.”
He just laughs at me as he pulls cheese and the scallops from the fridge. “White wine?”
“I’d love some.”
He looks back in the fridge. “I forgot to grab it from the garage.” He makes a move toward a door off the kitchen and I hold my hand up.
“It’s the least I can do.”
He hesitates for a long second, his brow furrowed. “I…it’s kind of a mess in the garage.”
“I’ve seen messes before.” Then I hesitate, getting the sense it’s not the mess he doesn’t want me to see. “If you’d rather…”
He scratches the side of his head and my gaze goes to his bicep as it flexes. “No, uh, there’s a fridge just to the left of the door. There are different kinds of white wine chilling. Choose whatever you like best.”
I cock my head. “I thought you weren’t much of a wine drinker.”
He grabs a pot and starts filling it with water. “I keep bottles for company.”
I nod and step up to the door, biting my tongue before I ask if this company’s name is Poppy. Good Lord, what is the matter with me? I am not his real girlfriend. I am his friend.
I open the door and run my hand along the wall until I find the light switch. The room comes to life as I flick it on and the heavy garage door clicks shut behind me as I take the two stairs to the painted cement floor. My gaze goes to the fridge and as I move toward it, I note the faint smell of wood. I turn, and when I see that his garage is actually a workshop, I stop moving. What the heck? I thought I knew everything about Jaxon.
Abandoning the fridge for a moment, I walk over to the tools, but it’s not the newly planed wood or the bags of sawdust that hold my attention. No, it’s the shelves filled with homemade ornaments that give me pause. I glance over my shoulder, like a kid about to get caught snooping at Christmas time, and when I see that the door is tightly shut, I reach out and pick up one of the ornate ornaments.
My mind goes back to the Snowberry Inn, to the rooms that are always decorated for Christmas. Then I think about the town, the ornaments that hang from the light posts. But it’s the ornaments shaped like hockey sticks and pucks that pull my attention. I’ve seen these on the community tree back home in Snowberry Falls.
Jaxon makes them?
I carefully examine the ornament and my heart jumps in my throat when I see a name burned into the wood. I have no idea who Coleson is, or what he means to Jaxon. I only know that there is more to this man than I ever knew and I can’t help but think there’s a great story here.
13
Jaxon
After running upstairs to grab a condom, I’m back in the kitchen. I turn the water on to boil and start seasoning the scallops, the kitchen filling with the buttery scent of garlic and lemon. Just as I finish, the garage door creaks open. I glance toward it, already knowing what she found in there.
“I was starting to think you got lost,” I tease, wiping my hands on a towel.
She steps into the kitchen, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips and a bottle in her hand. “Nope. Just took a minute to decide. Sauvignon Blanc,” she declares proudly, holding the bottle.
“Excellent choice.” I reach for two glasses, and she sets the bottle down on the counter, watching as I work the corkscrew. Her gaze lingers a little too long, curious and warm, and I can’t stop my own grin.
“What?” I ask.
She bursts out laughing. “Jaxon, I knew you were good in the kitchen, but I had no idea you knew how to use tools.”
My brows shoot up. “Tools, huh?”
She pauses mid-laugh, eyes widening. “Wait, did that come out wrong?”
I can’t help it. I laugh, the sound rolling out of me. “It definitely did.”
She groans, covering her face. “Oh my God.”
“Hey, no need to be embarrassed,” I tease. “I can work a tool or two.”
Her blush climbs deliciously up her neck. She swats my arm. “I meant the ones in your garage.”