Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(42)

She’d seen these scars before. The details were murky, but she knew he’d been injured in the course of duty, that he sometimes moved a little stiffly when it was cold out. Katrina wasn’t a veteran, but she knew trauma. She knew scars, scars on the body and on the soul.

She studied the lines of exhaustion and pain etched into his face. Her heart melted. He was so focused on her, always. On her comfort and well-being.

Because you’re his client.

Her lips twisted. Her silly romantic dreams were just that, dreams, and he couldn’t help that he didn’t feel the zings she did. Nothing else would come of this, but she considered him a friend. She’d be a better friend, his best friend. He had things going on in his life that had nothing to do with her, and she ought to be more sensitive to all the stuff he might be dealing with, the stuff he didn’t show her or anyone else.

Katrina didn’t want to wake him. On the contrary, she hoped he caught up on his sleep. Before leaving, she opened his window a crack so air could flow into the room. A poor substitute for her cool hand on his face, but probably a much safer option to mitigate his discomfort while he slumbered.





Chapter Thirteen


JAS HAD GROWN up with peach everything—peach cobbler, peach pie, peach jam, even peach sandwiches. He might not be a farmer but peaches ran in his blood, and occasionally his mouth watered when he remembered the taste of the first crop of the season, fresh from the trees.

So it was no surprise the delicious peachy scent of whatever was cooking lured him out of bed and downstairs in the morning.

He entered the kitchen and found Katrina at the stove, stirring something in an old cast-iron pan. She wore leggings and a soft cozy cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a lacy bra strap and light brown skin. He kept his gaze above her neck. “Good morning.”

Her beaming smile caught him off guard. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” he lied. His sleep had been fitful, as it occasionally was in times of stress. He didn’t remember his nightmares perfectly, but the feelings always lingered in the morning.

For the most part, he could repress the memories of getting hurt, but sometimes . . . well, sometimes they popped to center stage. “You?”

The dog lifted her head from where she lay at Katrina’s feet. He expected the animal to growl or huff at him, but instead she only put her giant head down and closed her eyes. Looking at Doodle’s still big paws, he feared she wasn’t quite done growing.

“Excellent. Doodle kept me nice and warm. Did Bikram get back to you about anyone missing her?”

Her words were casual, but he caught the hint of worry underlying them. Her attachment to the dog was very clear. “He hasn’t responded yet. He seems to be a little annoyed with me, so he may be delaying.” He hadn’t meant to confide that last part. The nightmares must have loosened his tongue.

“Hmm. Maybe he’s annoyed with you for the same reason he seems to dislike me.”

“He doesn’t dislike you,” he said automatically.

She lifted a shoulder, and the sweater slipped farther. Not that he was looking.

“It might be he’s resentful that you working for me has kept you away from your family for so long.”

Jas shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, I see them all the time,” he said, even as he thought back to Bikram’s visit yesterday.

She must be pretty special.

He frowned.

Katrina waved a spatula. “Something to think about before you see him next.”

“If he doesn’t respond in the next couple hours, I’ll take the dog to the vet and see if she’s chipped or if they know anything about a possible owner.” Though that would entail leaving Katrina alone, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do that.

“Well, if the vet doesn’t know anything, you could get a temporary tag for her, just in case. It’s Doodle with two o’s, one l.”

Jas didn’t particularly want to do that, on the off chance Katrina couldn’t keep Doodle, but he didn’t want to crush her hopes either. “We’ll see. What are you making?”

“Peach cobbler.” She nodded at the windowsill. “I made a couple of pies earlier. There were so many peaches. You could perhaps take a pie over to your brother and any of the other workers?”

The men and women would be delighted. Everyone who worked on the farm carted home the non-sellable fruit, but an out of season pie was next level. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. You know I’m an early riser.” She gave him a wry smile. “No newspaper here, so I did a bit of reading on this new start-up I found, and cooked.”

That sounded more like her schedule, except . . . “You’re not listening to any music here.”

She swiped her hands on the towel tucked at her waist. “My headphones block out noise. I don’t know this place well enough yet.”

“Ah.”

“How do you feel about a nice fruit salad for breakfast? Maybe a yogurt parfait. Something quick.”

“Sounds good. Do you need help cutting anything?”

She waved him off. They were silent as she chopped fruit and assembled the parfait in little glasses she must have found in the cupboard, Doodle patiently sitting at her feet ready to gobble any fallen scraps. “Bikram did a great job stocking our fridge,” she remarked.