Chapter 144
[ 505 words ]
Chapter 144:
Jarrod watched the door click shut behind her. He let out a long, shaky breath. A slow, relieved smile finally broke across his face.
The beige cashmere sweater felt like a warm hug against Caroline’s skin. She pulled the matching lounge pants up to her waist. The soft fabric instantly made her feel human again.
She opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway.
A thick, heavy smell hit her nose immediately. It was the distinct, acrid scent of burning butter.
Caroline frowned. She followed the smell down the hallway and turned into the massive, open-concept marble kitchen.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Jarrod had taken off his suit jacket. The sleeves of his white dress shirt—the same one he had worn through the long night, now deeply creased—were rolled up past his left elbow, exposing his thick, corded forearm. His right sleeve hung loose and unrolled, the cuff still buttoned at the wrist.
Tied around his narrow waist was a plain black cooking apron. The visual contrast was incredibly jarring.
He was standing in front of the stainless-steel stove, staring down into a frying pan like he was defusing a live explosive.
𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆
The hot oil in the pan was popping and hissing violently. A few drops of grease shot up into the air. Jarrod flinched slightly, gripping the plastic spatula in his left hand, his right arm held carefully still against his side. He was holding the utensil exactly like a tactical combat knife.
Caroline leaned her hip against the edge of the cold marble island. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched him in absolute silence.
Jarrod heard the soft rustle of her cashmere pants. He snapped his head up. His jaw was clenched tight.
He pointed the spatula at the pan with his left hand.
“I am making sunny-side-up eggs,” Jarrod announced. His tone was entirely too defensive.
Caroline looked at the two blackened, crispy lumps sizzling in the pan. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.
“They look very… tactical,” Caroline noted.
Jarrod ignored the sarcasm. He carefully slid the spatula under the eggs—his left hand maneuvering with focused precision—and transferred them onto two pristine white bone-china plates. The edges of the egg whites were completely charred.
He reached across the counter with his left hand and grabbed a heavy glass salt shaker.
He didn’t sprinkle it. He shook his wrist violently, dumping a thick, white layer of salt crystals over the eggs like he was trying to bury them in snow.
Caroline’s left eye twitched. She didn’t say a word. She pulled out a high stool and sat down at the island.
Jarrod slid one of the plates across the marble counter. He placed a steaming mug of black coffee next to it.
He stood on the opposite side of the island. He planted his left hand flat on the marble surface, his right arm still held rigid at his side. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders filling her vision. His dark gray eyes locked onto her face.
He was waiting for his performance review.
.
.
.
If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.