Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
“She was there for me at a really hard time of my life,” he answers. “Now, she’ll be a grandma.”
I freeze at his words. I hadn’t even thought about my baby having more family than me. But now my child is going to have a father and a grandmother. It seems too wonderful. “Will she be happy…about this?”
“Are you kidding me?” He looks at the chocolate he removed from the stainless-steel stove. He pours the mixture into a pan that’s lined with parchment paper. “She’s going to be over the moon. Then there are all the baby’s uncles. Ma has raised and fostered so many boys. Probably gonna have a dozen of them.”
“Oh, wow,” I grip the edge of the counter. “You have a whole family.”
“You do too, now. You and our child.” His face lights up when he says our child. He says it with such reverence and delight, as if our little life is nothing less than a precious miracle in his eyes.
“I haven’t had a lot of…practice with the whole family thing,” I admit, cringing as soon as I say the words. “I might be terrible at it.”
He sets the pan in the fridge and wraps his arms around my hips, pulling me close. “We can learn together.” His gaze drops to my lips and my heart skips a beat.
“I like learning,” I murmur as I stand up on my tip toes, offering my face to him.
His lips meet mine in a slow, sensual kiss. He takes his time, exploring every part of my mouth until I’ve plastered my body to his. My panties grow damper with every stroke of his tongue as I remember what it felt like to have his head between my thighs.
When I feel the growing bulge pressing against my stomach, I finally pull away. I’m breathing hard, and my lips feel swollen. My breasts are aching, my nipples sharp points beneath his flannel shirt. But this can’t happen again. I can’t let myself fall for Jasper, even if he does believe we’re soulmates.
“We can’t…” I whisper.
He accepts my refusal with an easy nod. “We need to set up a dipping station anyway.”
The next two hours pass by quickly. He’s easy to talk to and asks me plenty of questions. He asks me what I love about living in Nashville, where my favorite restaurants are, and what I enjoy doing when I’m not busy managing my clients’ careers.
“I do a little bit of crochet,” I explain. “I brought my project bag with me in the rental car. I always have at least a couple of projects I’m working on at any given time.”
“How did you get into it?”
“When I first started managing Zac’s career, I was with him on the road. I would get bored and restless traveling all day. Finally, I took up crochet. It kept my hands busy while I was on calls.” I dip one of the truffles into a toasted coconut mixture that Jasper prepared. “What about you? Do you have any projects you do for fun?”
“I think I mentioned I’m an artist.”
“Oh, yeah, Da Vinci level if I remember.” I wonder for a moment if I should tell him how often I’ve thought back to that night since I met him. It felt so significant. Now that I’m pregnant I understand why. It was the start of the most precious gift of my life.
He chuckles. “Yeah, well, that’s kind of my full-time job. I draw stuff on paper, and some people think it’s worth money.”
“And what you’re not saying is that you’re very successful in the art world.” This truffle gets rolled in toasted pecans. I had no idea there were so many ways to top truffles until today. According to Jasper, the possibilities are endless.
He tips his head. “How did you know that?”
“My most successful clients usually downplay their accomplishments. They’re very humble people,” I explain. “When you’ve achieved a certain level of success, you don’t feel the need to brag. Your work speaks for you.”
“Like Zac,” he supplies.
“And you,” I say softly.
“And me,” he finally agrees gruffly, rolling the final truffle. The collection of sweet treats goes back in the fridge to harden for a few more minutes.
“What’s next in our Valentine’s Day celebration?” I ask him, getting into the spirit of this now.
“Now, we’re making paper hearts. Wait here.” He returns a few minutes later with reams of scrapbook paper in various colors and patterns. It makes sense now that he’s an artist. That explains how his home feels so cozy. He has an eye for making things fit together.
“Why are we doing this?” I ask after he handed me scissors and showed me how to cut the squares into intricate little hearts.
“You’ll find out in a little while,” he replies taking a seat beside me on the floor. The fire crackles cheerfully as we work, getting little paper clippings on the hardwood planks that he tells me not to worry about.