“Good morning.”
“You’re never up this early. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I am usually up this early.” He checked his watch. “You’re fifteen minutes late. Usually I don’t see you in the kitchen. You like to run down the stairs and out the door every morning. I can hear you when I’m having my coffee.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. If I knew you were in here, I’d say good morning before I left.”
“That would be nice.”
At his unexpected admission, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Nodding and clearing my throat under his unflinching gaze, I looked away. When I noticed he was closing the cabinet door, I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I need the other travel mug, too.”
“For what?” he questioned, glancing at my hand on his arm before he reached for it. I pulled my hand back and kept it behind my back so I wouldn’t get myself in more trouble.
I thanked him softly when he put the cup next to the other one on the counter, close to the shiny espresso machine. “The other one is for Raymond.”
“You two seem to get along well,” he commented casually—perhaps a little too casually.
I gave him a quizzical look before trying to refocus on the coffee. “We spend every morning together, so yeah. I mean, we talk. Is that a problem?”
“Of course not.” Looking a little uncomfortable, he shifted on his feet, surprising the hell out of me. “I was just trying to make conversation.”
Feeling like a jerk, I dropped my head forward and felt something tickling my nose. Thinking I was getting a nosebleed because something was definitely trickling down, I leaned my head back. “Oh, Jack, Jack—paper towel. I think my nose is bleeding.”
Keeping my head tilted back, I tried to blindly find the paper towel myself. Instead, I placed my hand on what felt like his forearm and held on.
I was not good with seeing blood. I didn’t faint or anything dramatic like that, but I wouldn’t have called myself a fan of it either.
“Here,” Jack murmured, and I felt him gently cup the back of my head. “Stay still.” Then he pushed the paper towel into my hand and I curled my fingers around it.
His hand holding my head up and my hand gripping his shoulder, I held the towel up to my nose and slowly, with his help, started to straighten myself. Something definitely did run down my nose, but when I looked down at the paper, I felt like a complete moron.
My face flaming and my ears ringing, I loosened my death grip on his incredibly muscled shoulders and turned my back to him, wishing the floor would open up and I could just disappear.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice coming from right over my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck.
Dear God. I closed my eyes.
“Nothing. It’s not bleeding—false alarm,” I croaked and stationed myself back in front of the espresso machine, sniffling constantly—because something was still coming down—and trying to hide my red face the entire time.
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
The croak hadn’t been just because of my embarrassment. My throat actually did hurt a little when I swallowed, but I’d thought it was nothing when I first woke up. Add my runny nose into the mix, though, and maybe it was something more.
“My throat is hurting a little. It’s probably nothing, just a little cold.”
“Are you going to be sick?”
“No, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine for the event.” It was neither attractive nor helpful when I had to sniffle a few times right at the tail end of my sentence.
“That’s not why I asked, Rose.”
I gave him a quick look before touching the screen for the espresso. “Oh, well, still…I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“You’ve been working too hard.”
“You work hard, too. You lock yourself in your office even after we get back here every night. What’s that got to do with anything?” I shrugged, still trying to keep my head slightly tilted back to avoid any liquid coming down my nose. “It’s probably the cold weather. I never get sick for too long. It’ll go away in a day or two.” The espresso stopped dripping, so I started steaming the milk. “Were you saying something about the event on Saturday when you first came into the kitchen?” I raised my voice so he could hear me, but he was already one step ahead of me because he had gotten even closer and was now standing right behind me.
His chest touched my back as he leaned forward and pushed something in front of me. One hand holding the milk jug in place, I looked down to see a credit card.
“What’s that?”
“My credit card.”
“I can see that. What is it for?” When the steaming was done, I swirled it for a bit so the bubbles would settle down. Pouring the espresso into the travel cups, I followed it with the steamed milk. Securing their tops, I faced Jack, waiting for his answer.