What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4)(16)

“Handsome man,” she murmured, as Claire lifted her arms towards her. “Is that what you’re thinking, baby? Want to play eat the spaghetti and flirt with the pretty man who flirts right back at you? Yes?”

Yes.

“I’m out of practice when it comes to flirting,” she said. “And I’m counting on you to weigh in when the going gets awkward.”

Her baby let forth with a string of incomprehensible encouragement.

“Perfect.” Yes. “That’s very helpful. Do that.”

*

It wasn’t any great desire for sweet pastry and custard that made Jett head round to the back door once he’d finished stowing his gear. It was his ever-growing interest in the woman who offered it. Slender to a fault and far more serious than he was used to, there was something about Mardie that made him want to know more. Even at school, there’d been something there, on his side at least.

He’d looked. And he’d liked what he’d seen.

He liked the way she moved – a pleasing mix of grace and economy. He liked that she worked hard for what she wanted and that she had goals for the future. This house. Claire’s well-being.

He liked the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He was waiting for a cue from her as to what she wanted from him, beyond his handyman skills.

If anything.

He kept the kitchen bench between them as he took a seat. He gave her the space to make coffee and set an éclair in front of him, fresh from the box it came in, and now young Claire was eyeing him narrowly and looking down at her plate of spaghetti and then back at what he was eating. She was trying to eat hers with a spoon, heaven help her, and she was mum mum mum-ing her way towards actually getting some in her mouth until he picked his éclair up in his hand and bit into it and then, yeah…it was all food and fists and completely not his fault that she abandoned the spoon in favor of gathering up her spaghetti in her hand and shoving it directly in her mouth.

“Your daughter has a fine appreciation for food,” he murmured once he’d swallowed his first mouthful of éclair.

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

Yes. A firm nod and a snort as Claire offered him a handful of her spaghetti and dropped it on the floor when he didn’t take it. “Can she have some of mine?” He made sure to break some éclair from the clean end. Hygiene, and all that.

“There’ll be no going back if you give it to her,” Mardie said solemnly. “You’ll be custard man.”

“Meaning?”

“There’ll be adoration. Squealing. The expectation of more custard. And heartbreak when you leave.”

“Well, that sounds… familiar. I’m all in.” He’d been called worse. He handed a piece of the sweet over to Claire without dropping it. Ever the competitor. He gave Mardie some éclair too and the slow smile that spread across her face dug deep into his gut and stayed there.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” she asked.

“Sure I do.”

“Name something.”

“Safety. You need a new lock for your front door. And locks on all your windows.”

“It’s on the to-do list.”

“It’s not on the one you gave me.”

“Moving on,” she said. “What else do you get serious about?”

“Competition.”

“Are you a sore loser?”

“Yes.” Jett offered up a wry smile. “If I don’t ski my best it takes me a while to get the disappointment out of my system.”

“I can see how that might be essential for someone who competes at your level.”

“I’ve got my sulking down to approximately the time it takes me to rub down, take a hot shower, get dressed, and find whoever’s celebrating their win.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it sorted.”

“Been working on it for years.” He watched her smile play peek-a-boo with her mouth again. “My turn. What do you take seriously?”

“Everything.”

“Really?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s not how I remember you from school.” She’d been vibrant and fun-loving back then. Daring, even. “Weren’t you the girl who used to sneak into the Wolf’s Den to play eight ball?”

“That was a seriously considered plan,” she said with exaggerated gravity. “Jack Carlton played there, and the only way I was ever going to get him to give me a game was to beat everyone else at the table. I did it. I beat everyone else.”

“Did he play you?”

“He had to. Wolf’s Den rules.”

“What happened?”

“He ran the table. I never even got a shot in.”

“Ouch.”

Mardie sighed heavily. “Tell me about it.”

“Did you try again?”

“No, I got banned from the Wolf’s Den for being underage after that.”

“Of course you did.” Jett smothered a grin by taking a huge mouthful of éclair, and it took him some time to swallow it, especially given that Miss Mimic over there in the high chair had decided that she too would stuff her mouth with more éclair than she could manage.