Sprinkling mozzarella over the lasagna dish, Jasmine bobbed her head to the smooth music bleeding into the kitchen. She needed all the help she could get to stay focused while Zoey’s father was staying at her inn, and music was her lifeline. How was she supposed to tell a perfect stranger who didn’t even remember her, “Hey, by the way, you have a kid”? And what did it say about her, to not even have known the name of her daughter’s father? She shook her head. Shame blanketed her shoulders with leaden weight.
“You’re such a dirty whore. Just like your mother. A little slut like you is only good for one thing.”
Jasmine pinched her eyes closed tightly, fighting the vomit that crawled up her throat every time her stepfather’s voice poisoned her mind.
“Oh, here she is. Miss Evans?” A woman’s gentle voice pulled her from her dark memories.
Jasmine turned, plastering a fake smile on her face. “Yes? How can I help you?”
An older couple who had checked in the day before entered the open kitchen and dining area. Annie Hobbs was a bit eccentric by Shattered Cove standards with her silver hair, highlighted by streaks of blue and pink. She waved her hand, her dozen bracelets clanking together. Jasmine hadn’t yet seen the woman in a pair of shoes, but her long tunic-style dress in muted brown and indigo looked like one of the ensembles from the organic hemp clothing magazine that her friend Mia had in her yoga studio.
“Steve and I would like to find a place with local fare and wondered if you had any recommendations?” Annie asked.
“I wanted to take my girl somewhere special. We’re celebrating our anniversary tonight.” Steve smiled. He seemed to be the polar opposite of his wife, in dress pants and a button-up shirt. The grey hair on his half-bald head was neatly combed.
“There aren’t many fancy places around here; you’ll have to go into the city. I can get you the directions if you need—”
“Oh, no. We want to stay local.” Annie waved her hand.
“I have a list of all our local restaurants. The closest to fine dining would be the top two.” Jasmine wiped her hands on a towel before leading them out to the front desk. She rustled through her stacks of paperwork and pulled out the printed list she kept on hand for all her customers. “There you go.”
Steve took the paper. “Thank you.”
Annie spun around in a circle. “This place is just beautiful. Wouldn’t Ella and Maggie get a kick out of it?”
Steve nodded. “Yes, dear.”
“How long have you been married?” Jasmine asked.
“We’re not married,” Annie corrected her.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Can’t get this one to commit.” Steve smiled, looking at the woman next to him with nothing but pure adoration.
Annie laughed. “Steve has been my boyfriend for fifty years.”
“Wow.”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone. I like my space. Then, when we get together, it helps me enjoy our time that much more. That’s the secret to lasting this long.” She winked. “Don’t let the patriarchy tell you that you have to play by anyone’s rules but your own.”
Jasmine’s chest tightened. Play by my own rules. Yes, that was exactly what she’d do.
“Alright, dear. We’d better get going,” Steve said, wrapping an arm lovingly around her.
They walked towards the front door together, both of them leaning on the other as they exited the inn.
Beep. The oven was ready. Jasmine went back to the kitchen and opened the stove. Next, she plucked the lasagna from the counter and bent over to slide it into the hot oven. The hair on the back of her neck prickled with awareness. She turned her face towards the doorway.
Atlas leaned against the frame, his eyes darting from her backside to her face. Fire erupted in her finger. She jerked her hand away from the heat source. The casserole shattered on the floor.
“Motherfucker!” Jasmine slammed the oven closed and focused on her throbbing finger.
Warm hands enveloped hers as another kind of heat pulsed through her body. Every nerve ending hummed like she’d been electrocuted. Atlas winced. Could he feel it too? That hadn’t been there last time they’d touched. Maybe it was just the burn on her finger.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Run it under the cold water.” Atlas guided her over to the sink, carefully stepping around her ruined lasagna.
He turned on the tap and held her hand under the steady stream of cool water.
She hissed, flinching in pain. His grip tightened on her wrist. “It will help.”
Jasmine had lost her ability to communicate. Her body hummed with warmth like she’d had one too many glasses of wine. Her heart raced both from the shock of the burn and from his closeness. God, he smelled good. Like icy water, and the earthy musk of man.
“Do you have a Band-Aid?” Atlas asked, pulling her red finger from the water.
“Uh, yeah. Over there.” She pointed to the cabinet next to him.
He pulled a paper towel from the roll above the sink and gently dried her finger before opening the cupboard door. Atlas’s brows tugged together and then he smiled and picked out two boxes. “My Little Pony or Barbie?”
Heat flushed to her cheeks. Her eyes snapped to his, where only amusement was reflected. “Either or.”
“My Little Pony it is.” He picked one out and placed it carefully over her newly forming blister.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for startling you.” Atlas backed up, sliding his hands into the dark-wash jeans pockets. Gone were the dress clothes, replaced with a T-shirt that clung to his sculpted muscles like it had been designed solely for him. Her mouth watered. He definitely had bulked up in the last four years.
“It’s alright.”
“Your dinner is ruined. Let me make it up to you and take you out,” Atlas said.
Jasmine tensed. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
His eyes flicked around the room. “How about I cook dinner for you, then?”
She rolled her eyes, a habit she hadn’t yet been able to break. “You know how to cook?” His clothes looked like they cost more than her car. Someone like Atlas probably had maids and chefs who did everything for him.
He smiled, showing off those perfect white teeth again. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
Atlas was definitely flirting with her. She’d still needed some space when she saw him at the beach, but he was here for two weeks—she couldn’t hide forever. And what better way to get to know him than a conversation over a meal? She wanted to find out what kind of man he was and if Zoey would be safe with him in her life. Not to mention figure out how exactly she was going to broach the subject of her—their—daughter.
“You’re my guest. You shouldn’t be cooking me dinner.”
“I’m cooking us dinner, so really, I’m helping myself to your hospitality.” Atlas licked his lips.
Get to know him. “Alright.”
He clapped his hands together and smiled. “Do you have any of the sauce left?”
“In the pot.” She grabbed the broom and dustpan before bending to clean the mess on the floor.
“I can do that,” Atlas offered.
She shook her head. “No way. You focus on dinner. Let’s see what ya got, city boy.” The taunt left her mouth too quickly to think it through. Maybe she was being a little too comfortable with Atlas. After all, he was still her guest.
He chuckled, settling her unease. “Challenge accepted.”
Forty minutes later, they both sat at the table with plates of spaghetti and shrimp she’d had in the fridge. It wasn’t the lasagna she’d wanted for Mother’s Day, but it was delicious. Her gaze flicked over to the chair where Zoey usually sat, now occupied by Atlas. Her present company was the other blaring discrepancy in her plans.
“I never would have thought to use shrimp with spaghetti.” She twisted the pasta around her fork and took another bite.
He swallowed a sip of the beer she’d found for him. “Good though, right?”
“I guess you do know how to cook,” she conceded.
“Glad I passed the test.” He smirked. “You seem pretty young to own an inn by yourself.”
“Is that your subtle way of asking me how old I am?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Twenty-four. I’ve been saving up for this inn since I was fifteen.”
His eyebrows rose. “You knew what you wanted out of life so early?”
She focused on her plate. It was the only thing she’d done right until Zoey. “Mm-hmm. What is it that you do?”
He lifted the beer to his lips and took a drink before answering. “I’m in real estate.”
“Did you always want to do that?”
His eyes bore into hers and he gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s kind of a family tradition.”
“What is your family like?” Would they accept Zoey?
He shoved another bite of pasta into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “They’re great. Do you like running an inn?”
He was too vague about his job and his family. Was he hiding something? Or was she reading too much into this? “I love it. How old are you?”
He chuckled. “Quid pro quo, huh?”
“It’s only fair.” She took another bite.
“Thirty-five.”
Eleven years difference. That wasn’t too bad. The man looked like sex on a stick. Whoever said you peaked in your twenties had clearly never met a man like Atlas. The flecks of grey in his dark hair only added to his masculine charm. She shifted in her seat, arousal pooling between her thighs. It had been way too long since she’d had anything more than a self-induced orgasm. But anything more wasn’t worth the guilt that always drowned her afterwards. And she certainly couldn’t have sex with the man who was the father of her child. That would add too many complications to an already chaotic mess.
She wanted to ask him more. Did he have other kids? But then he’d probably ask her, and she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet, despite what he might have already assumed thanks to those Band-Aids. “You’re from New York City?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “How do you know?”
“Your reservation paperwork.”
He blinked, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Oh, right. Yes, I am. What about you? Is Shattered Cove where you grew up?”
“Born and raised. I haven’t traveled farther than New England, honestly.”
“Never wanted to see the world?” he asked.
She bit her lip. Of course she’d love to see it, but being able to afford such a pipe dream was another story, and it started with “Once upon a time.” This was just another reminder of how different Atlas’s life was. What little she knew of him couldn’t be further from her reality. The only thing they had in common was a little girl named Zoey. “Someday,” she answered.
“If you could do anything in the world and money was no object, would you still want to be an innkeeper?” Atlas asked before taking another swig from the glass bottle. He saw right through her. Between the patched ceilings and chipped paint, he must have known a woman like her was barely holding it together.
“I can’t afford what-ifs and to live in a fantasy world. This is the home and life I’ve chosen. This place is a part of me. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”
He nodded. “Well, it sure is beautiful.” His gaze never left her as he spoke. She got the feeling that he was talking about more than the inn.
“It’s also a lot of work.”
“Looks like it’s worth it.”
A million butterflies fluttered in her belly. Was it too much to hope he’d think that when all was said and done? When he found out the secret she was keeping? She’d heard pretty words in the past, and not a single one had ever been more than bullshit. However, something about the way Atlas looked at her as he said it was like a flash of light in her dark existence. But then again, hope could be dangerous.