She swallowed her unspent emotion, washed away the sweat and blood and grief, shaved her legs, and dried off, taking the time to brush her hair and put on a little makeup. Then she slipped into a pair of old jeans and a gray Henley shirt, skipping the bra. She needed softness and comfort tonight, not underwire.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. She wouldn’t impress Jesse tonight. Her eyes were red from crying, and there were dark circles beneath them from her night of horny non-sleeping.
Don’t worry about it.
She walked out of her bedroom to find the kids sitting with Jesse on the couch watching Sesame Street. Daisy snuggled against his left side, sucking her thumb, while Daniel sat on his lap, holding his blanket.
Ellie's heart gave a little squish.
The twins’ faces lit up when they saw her.
“Mama!”
They climbed down from the sofa and scampered to her, Daniel dragging his beloved blankie behind him.
She scooped them into her arms. God, it felt wonderful to hold them, to inhale their familiar scent, to know that they were safe. “Did you have fun with Jesse?”
Daisy said something about a bear on Daniel’s blanket, and Daniel said something about his dump truck—or that’s what it sounded like anyway.
She looked over at Jesse, found him watching her, his gaze warm, his lips curved in a half-smile. She put the kids down. “Is anyone hungry?”
“I have an idea about that.” Jesse got to his feet. “Unless you really want that boxed stuff, I thought I could make my spaghetti. I know a few shortcuts. It wouldn’t take long.”
As much as the idea of not cooking appealed to her, Ellie doubted they had the ingredients on hand. “I don’t feel up to running to the store.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” He stepped into his boots, tied them, then grabbed his parka. “I’ll just get what we need from my place. Be back in a few.”
“Okay.” Ellie turned off the TV and sank to the sofa, snuggling her kids close. “Can you tell me what you did today?”
As the twins shared their day with her, very little of it making sense, she did her best to let her stress fade away. It felt strange to let Jesse take over like this. It had been a long time since a man had made a meal for her.
He was back in a few minutes, a paper grocery bag under one arm.
She met him at the door, took the bag from him, and glanced inside. On top was a piece of paper—a copy of his EMT certification. “Oh, thanks for this.”
While he slipped out of his boots and parka, she set the ingredients he’d brought on the kitchen counter—pasta, a gallon freezer bag filled with homemade pasta sauce, a package of sweet Italian sausage, a block of parmesan cheese, and salad fixings. “You make your own spaghetti sauce?”
“My Italian mother would roll over in her grave if I used sauce from a jar.”
She laughed. “Just tell me what you need—”
He came up behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek, his masculine scent spilling over her. “Unless you keep your pots and pans under your bed or something weird like that, I can handle this. You go chill.”
*
Jesse set the salad on the table. “Buon appetito.”
Ellie slipped a bib over each twin’s head. “You speak Italian?”
It took him a moment to answer. He had noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra the moment she’d stepped out of her bedroom, and some part of his mind was stuck on one thought: boobs. “Italian? Just a little, mostly cuss words.”
Pull it together, idiot. You’ve already seen her boobs.
And touched them and kissed them and tasted them.
Damn.
She grabbed a few paper napkins. “Who taught you to cook? It’s not a skill you picked up in the army. I know that much.”
“My mother taught me.” While Ellie served the kids, Jesse filled her plate and then his own. “I watched her cook. I like good food, so I paid attention.”
Also, the closer he was to his mother, the less likely his father was to take a belt— or a fist—to him.
“Try to eat with your fork, Daisy.” Ellie gave a helpless shrug as both kids began picking up pasta and bits of sausage with their fingers and shoving them into their little mouths. “How did you survive deployment? MREs aren’t exactly gourmet.”
“You can get used to almost anything, but if I never lay eyes on an MRE again, it will be too soon.” He set a plate for Ellie and one for himself on the table and sat.
She closed her eyes and sniffed, her lips curving into a smile, her fingers curling around the handle of her fork. “This smells amazing.”
“Wait till you taste it.” Jesse watched while she took her first bite. He couldn’t remember feeling nervous about anyone eating his cooking before.
Her eyes drifted shut as she chewed. “Mmm.”
“You like it?”
“It’s delicious.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “It’s the best homemade spaghetti I’ve ever tasted.”
A knot of tension inside him dissolved. “You should try my lasagna.”
Listen to you. Who’s cocky now?
“Feel free to make it for us anytime. Seriously.” There was a sparkle in those green eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d gotten home.