Ready or Not (The Ready Series Book 4)(31)

I turned briefly to find him in the same spot where I’d left him in. “And you’re going to help, so don’t just stand there!”

He grinned and came racing up behind me. “You’re not going to make any of that hippie food, are you?”

I pulled open the refrigerator door. I began pulling things out and then set them on the counter.

“Hippie food?” I laughed. “What exactly is that?”

“I don’t know. Plants and nature stuff?”

“That just sounds like food to me, weirdo. Come on. We’re going to cut some veggies—you know, nature stuff.”

We chopped up some bell peppers and a few mushrooms. I even threw in a little bit of onions when he wasn’t looking.

I cracked a few eggs into a bowl, and had him scramble them while I began sautéing the veggies.

“Is that spinach?”

He grimaced as I threw in a few leaves to wilt.

“Yes, and you’re going to love it. Promise.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced.

I let him pour the eggs over the cooked veggies. I tossed in a small handful of cheese and let it melt, and then I flipped it over and cut it in half. After only a few minutes, we had a perfectly cooked omelet.

I pulled two plates from the cupboard, and I poured some freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Do you want some salsa on top?” I drizzled a fresh mix I’d bought from a local grocery store over my half of the omelet.

“Is it spicy?” he asked, eyeing the container with suspicion.

“Nope, not at all.”

I handed it to him and watched him mimic my motions, taking a few spoonfuls and placing the salsa on top of his eggs. I waited for him to take his first bite, and I held my breath the entire time he chewed.

“Wow, it’s actually good!” he exclaimed.

“See? I told you!”

“Can I come over here every morning?” he asked.

He meant it as a joke, but I could see the little boy inside him, peeking out from behind those light eyes and begging me to say yes.

“Absolutely, Noah. You can cook me breakfast any day of the week,” I answered with a wink.

We cleaned up, and Noah even helped me load the dishwasher. As I grabbed my purse, I sent a quick text to Jackson.

Taking Noah to the cemetery. Is that okay?

He immediately replied back.

Yeah, it’s great. Thanks for checking in. X

The X at the end of his text made my stomach flutter as my memory raced back to our good-bye kiss the day before.

He slowly walked me to my door as if we had all the time in the world. I just wanted to drag him by the hand all the way up to my bedroom where I could discover every delectable inch of Jackson Reid. He cupped my chin, tilting my head, as he leaned forward and tenderly placed his lips against mine. I moaned, long and low, as he deepened the kiss, pushing me against the solid wood behind me. Every masculine hard inch of him pressed into me. It was divine.

“Come inside,” I whispered.

“No.”

I pulled back and found him smiling.

“Why?” I was pretty sure I was pouting.

“Because that’s exactly what everyone else would do.”

And that was exactly how he’d left me, a wanting mess of need, on my doorstep, which had probably been his evil intent from the beginning.

Stupid, sexy jerk.

“What?” Noah said as we made our way out the door and toward my car.

Shit, did I say that out loud?

“What? Nothing.”

“Adults are weird,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Oh, Noah, you are so right.”



Both of us were quiet as we walked the curved path to Mrs. Reid’s final resting place. Noah’s attention moved from name to name as we passed aged gravestones, weathered through the decades. Finally, we stepped off the path and found Etta lying next to her husband, Theodore.

“Do you want some time alone?” I asked.

He looked back and forth between the two stones. “No. Please stay.”

I nodded, watching him bend down to trace his fingers over the words etched in the stone.

“I didn’t know her that well. Dad wasn’t able to take much time off when I was little,” he confessed.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you didn’t love her.”

“What was she like?”

“Kind and giving. She loved her garden, and she baked the best cookies and pies.”

He smiled. “She used to send us cookies on Christmas. They were good.”

“Yeah? What else do you remember about her?” I asked.

“She would always send me a card on my birthday with a ten-dollar bill inside. It always looked new, like she’d gone to the bank especially for me.”

I grinned, remembering Etta’s love for cards. “She did. She loved sending you those birthday cards, and she would always make sure she went to the bank a month in advance, so she could send it out in time. When she got really sick, I would take her.”

“How come you liked her so much, Liv?” The tiny pads of his fingers briefly touched the wilted flowers I’d brought last week.

“I guess it’s because, for a while, she was the closest thing to family I had.”