“I’ll just stay in here, eating my crack,” he replied, his attention never straying from his food. “But come back in here when you’re done.”
The way to every man’s heart might not be through his stomach, but it certainly looked to be the way to Jase’s. Not that she wanted his heart.
She entered the living room and found West and Beck doing the work for her, and not happily. For the first time the perpetually upbeat guys were actually scowling. Beck’s motions were clipped as he ripped away the doily, dumped out one of the bowls of potpourri and swiped up the pillows.
He noticed her and gritted out, “You can’t just change things, Brook Lynn. Especially when everything was perfect the way it was.”
So...it wasn’t the fact that she had turned a bachelor pad into a chick paradise? It was simply the fact that she’d altered the hobo-hideous design? Too much too fast, Jase had said. Got it.
“Why don’t we keep the rest of the potpourri?” she suggested. “It smells so nice and—”
He tossed the remaining bowls of potpourri out the window, then did the same with the garbage bag of items he’d gathered.
O-kay. She made a mental note to retrieve everything on her way to the car. Today she’d driven straight to the driveway to avoid the awkward ride home Jase would have insisted on giving her. Maybe she would reintroduce the potpourri tomorrow and pray Beck failed to notice. Bottom line: the house wasn’t yet a home; it was simply a place to stay, as generic as a motel. She would be doing him a favor, and one day he would see that. Surely.
It will be for his own good, she thought.
Her sister’s voice mocked her. Warden always knows best, doesn’t she?
Ugh. How many times had Jessie Kay spoken those words? Countless.
Maybe Brook Lynn should leave things alone. Allow Beck and West to deal with their demons—whatever they were—on their own, without any “help” from her.
Nah. Not my style. When she noticed a problem, she wanted to do everything in her power to fix it.
“Brook Lynn. You done yet?”
Jase’s voice sent a shiver traipsing along already sensitized nerve endings. “I suppose so.” Feet suddenly as heavy as boulders, she trudged into the kitchen. He sat at the table, a plate in front of him and another steaming in front of the chair beside him. He motioned for her to take it.
The moment she settled, he said, “Don’t change things, all right. Beck doesn’t like it.”
“Figured that out on my own, thanks.”
“Yeah, but I wanted you to hear it from your boss.”
Had stressing those last two words really been necessary?
“You’re in charge,” she said, somehow managing not to roll her eyes. “I get it.”
“Good.”
“Why doesn’t Beck like change?”
Jase stiffened, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. A haunted gleam darkened his eyes, turning the emeralds into stormy onyx. “He has his reasons” was all he said. “We all do.”
And they weren’t pleasant reasons, she realized. Like maybe a change in his past had devastated him so terribly he now preserved what he could of his present.
After the death of her dad, she’d experienced a similar reaction, not wanting his things to be altered in any way. “I’m surprised you and West convinced him to move here.”
He shifted in his seat, inching away from her. “How long have you lived in Strawberry Valley?”
Message received. Beck wasn’t her business. “All my life,” she said.
“Must be nice, having roots.”
Meaning he’d never had them? The thought saddened her. “A lot of the people here have their quirks, but when my mom died, they really stepped up to the plate to help Jessie Kay and me.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“What happened?”
“Long story.”
“Then you should probably get started.”
“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” she began, shifting uncomfortably.