Atlas was in the zone—the place where sound around him muted and his other senses heightened. He only knew the feel of the pasta dough stretching underneath his fingertips, the scent of the crab mixed with ricotta and fresh herbs he’d expertly chopped. The white flour was bright against his tan skin as he kneaded it into the dough.
Cooking was the one thing he still did for him—when he had the opportunity. He’d never actually cooked for anyone else besides his parents’ chef who’d taught him. So why did he feel comfortable enough to share this with Jasmine?
Maybe because she was still practically a stranger. And this gave him the opportunity to get closer to her. He needed to find out how he could buy this inn. Focusing on the task at hand also got his mind off the fact that Jasmine was upstairs right now, naked in the shower. His cock hardened, pressing against the edge of the dining table where he worked. Atlas shook his head, trying to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts—flashes of that dark hair slick against her skin, dripping fat water droplets down two perfect handfuls of breasts. Would her nipples be rosy? Or maybe light brown?
“Who the hell are you?” an authoritative voice boomed from behind him.
Atlas swiveled around. A tall man in a tan police uniform stood in the doorway. His sharp blue eyes pointed directly at Atlas.
“I’m a guest,” Atlas explained.
“Where’s Mommy?” A little voice drew his gaze down. A few pieces of her jet-black hair had fallen over her angular eyes. She looked just like a miniature version of the woman upstairs. But that grey color in her gaze—that was like looking in a mirror. He sucked in a breath. What a coincidence.
“Hey, guys.” Jasmine’s sweet voice smoothed over his skin like silk.
She came around the corner as the little girl ran towards her. Jasmine picked her up and kissed her before hugging her tight. The man still loomed in the doorway, eyes flicking between Atlas and Jasmine.
Jasmine was a mother. How had he not known that? Was this the baby’s father? Jasmine’s boyfriend? That burning sensation boiled in his stomach once again. Why should he care if Jasmine wasn’t single?
The little girl slid down from her mother’s arms as Jasmine asked, “How was your day at school?”
“So fun, Mommy! Then we got ice cream with sprinkles!” she shouted excitedly.
Jasmine smiled, looking up to the guy, appreciation and, fuck, was that love reflected in those green eyes? He clenched his jaw hard.
“Thank you for picking her up, Bently,” Jasmine said.
Bently pulled her into a hug, narrowing his eyes at Atlas as he replied, “You know I’m more than happy to help.”
Every muscle in Atlas’s body tensed. He didn’t like the look of her in another man’s arms.
Jasmine pulled away, nodding.
“Who’s this?” Bently asked Jasmine, as if Atlas hadn’t already told him.
Jasmine’s gaze flicked to him before she blinked and looked down. Her chin lifted as she spoke. “He’s a guest. Bently, this is Atlas. He’s staying with us for a couple weeks.”
Bently gave him another hard look before he nodded.
Atlas had barely returned the gesture when Bently said, “Link called me. Said this car isn’t worth fixin’ again. Why don’t you let me—”
“Let’s step outside.” Jasmine pulled her daughter’s hand and walked out the back screen door.
Atlas kept his gaze fixed on Jasmine as she led Bently down the stairs. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and opened the cupboards closest to the back door, deciding now was a good time to search for a pasta roller or rolling pin as close to the trio as possible.
“I think it’s time you get a new car. That junker isn’t safe anymore. You and Zoey need something more reliable,” Bently said as Zoey walked past them with a bucket and shovel she’d procured from a toy bin in one corner, then got to work digging in the sand.
“I can’t afford a car payment right now. I can make do for a while longer.” Jasmine’s voice wavered on the last part.
He should feel happy to know she was desperate for money; it meant she’d be more likely to take his deal. But for some reason, seeing her like this made his stomach turn to stone and his chest tighten.
“And what about him? You don’t think I’m blind, do you?” Bently said.
Seemed like Bently was jealous and possessive. Maybe he wasn’t with her but wanted to be?
Jasmine turned towards the door and he quickly averted his gaze, closing the cupboard and opening another. He didn’t want to make it obvious he’d been eavesdropping.
He took one more peek. Jasmine had walked farther down the sand path, her arms crossed defiantly in front of her as Bently shook his head.
“Are you making dinner?” Zoey asked, her little face pressing against the other side of the screen door.
Atlas smiled. “I sure am.”
“When will it be ready? I’m soooo hungry.” She rubbed her belly.
“You just had a big ice cream. How can you be hungry?” Jasmine said, scooping up the little girl from behind before raining kisses over her face.
Zoey giggled, dropping her spade as Jasmine opened the screen door and walked in. Her eyes flicked to his as a blush crept over her cheeks. Then she diverted her attention to Bently with a wave as he disappeared around the side of the house.
“Zoey, this is Mr. Atlas. He’s gonna stay in one of our rooms for a couple weeks,” Jasmine explained as she set her daughter in a seat at the large dining table, a small space away from where he’d been working.
“Hi.” Atlas waved, unsure how he was supposed to respond.
Jasmine’s eyes were glued to him as she pulled a juice box and bag of crackers off the counter and handed them to the little girl.
“Do you need help?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I got this. But you could make my day and tell me you have a pasta roller?”
Jasmine smiled. “Is that the silver thingy with the turny lever?”
“Well, I’ve never heard a more technical description of the tool, but yes, that sounds about right.” He chuckled.
“My sister-in-law bought me one in the hopes of teaching me to cook. I think I still have it down here.” She opened a low cupboard and reached way back before coming out with an unopened, dusty box. She handed it to him.
“Perfetto.”
She blinked. “Is that Spanish?”
“Italian. My grandfather only spoke to us in his native tongue until we were fluent.” Atlas closed his mouth. Why was he telling her so much about himself?
“So, you’re Italian, then?” she asked, grabbing herself a glass and filling it from the tap.
“Both my parents are Sicilian. What about you?”
She walked over to the table and sat next to her daughter before she answered. He followed her, opening the pasta roller.
“My biological father was Korean, I’m told. My mother was Scottish and European.” Jasmine pushed the juice closer to Zoey, whose mouth was full of orange crackers.
She was told? Was she adopted? “That’s pretty cool.”
She shrugged.
He cut the dough in quarters and began rolling out a sheet of pasta. “So, Bently is the sheriff here in town?” Was he too obvious?
Jasmine nodded.
“Uncle Bently catches the bad guys!” Zoey said.
“He’s your uncle?”
Zoey nodded.
“Bently is my oldest brother.”
Oh. The relief that hit his body was more noticeable than it should have been. His muscles relaxed, and breathing seemed to come just a little bit easier.
“Are you a chef?” Zoey asked.
He smiled. “Only in my dreams.”
Jasmine looked at him, her eyes flashing with something akin to recognition.
“If you work hard, your dreams can come true. Right, Mommy?” Zoey turned towards her mother.
Jasmine met her daughter’s gaze, her face softening as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind the little girl’s ear. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”
The moment seemed so intimate between mother and daughter. It was obviously a conversation they’d had before. This precious exchange tugged at his heart. A piece of him wanted to be part of it.
“What are you making?” Zoey swiveled back towards him.
“Ravioli. I hope you like crab. If not, I can make some plain cheese ones.” He hadn’t exactly planned this dinner with a kid in mind.
“Do I like crab, Mommy?”
“We’ll find out.” Jasmine winked.
He got to work with his small captive audience watching him roll sheets of dough and slice them into squares. He used a Ziplock bag with the corner cut off to pipe the filling onto the squares of pasta. He made some with plain ricotta and cheese, just in case Zoey didn’t care for the seafood ones.
“This is so fancy,” Jasmine said.
Fancy was not a word he’d use to describe the mess on the table before him. But the more he learned about Jasmine, the more he wanted to know. What kind of life had she led? Where was Zoey’s father? Did she ever have anyone who took the time to notice the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled?
“Can I help?” Zoey asked.
“Uh, yeah. I’m going to brush the edges with this egg wash. If you clean your hands first, you can help with that part.”
Zoey clapped and scooted off her chair before running to the kitchen sink. Jasmine wasn’t far behind, pulling out a stool that was folded up between the refrigerator and the counter. They joined him once again and he showed Zoey how to line the edges with just enough egg wash. Jasmine’s gaze burned hot on him as he patiently showed the little girl how to press the second pasta layer on and get all the air bubbles out.
He’d never actually spent time with kids before. He was lost as to how to talk to her or what she was capable of, but Jasmine’s smile never left her face, so he must have been doing something right.
Once he finished the Alfredo sauce and boiled the pasta, it was time for plating. He gave Zoey one crab ravioli and the rest cheese. Jasmine had moved the sunflowers to the center of the table and gathered drinks for them all. Water for her and Zoey, and a beer for him.
Atlas set the steaming plates of pasta in front of them before going back for his. He joined them, watching and waiting as they both took their first bite.
Zoey scrunched up her nose before spitting out half a ravioli on the napkin next to her. “This is yucky.”
Jasmine’s face flushed red. Her tone was firm, but kind. “Zoey Evans, that’s really rude. Mr. Atlas spent a lot of time making us this dinner. Remember what you should say when you don’t like something?”
Zoey looked down. “No, fank you.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s quite okay. Maybe you’ll like the plain cheese ones?” Atlas offered.
Zoey looked at her mother. Jasmine nodded towards the plate. The little girl picked up a piece of cheese ravioli with her spoon and tentatively licked the edge. It must have been to her liking because she stuffed the whole thing in her mouth and chewed. She smiled and her eyes widened. “Mmmm.”
Atlas chuckled. “Seems I’ve won over a critic. What do you think?”
Jasmine focused back on her plate and took a bite. Watching the fork disappear between those pink, glossy lips shouldn’t have been erotic, especially with a child at the table. But goddamn, it was. She licked her lips and his cock stirred to life. A spark of lust lit inside, flamed with each tantalizing flick of her tongue. Forget dinner. He wanted to taste her.
“I have to say. You’ve proven my assumptions about your cooking skills wrong. That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Jasmine sipped her water.
I bet you’d be good to eat. Fuck! What was he thinking? She was the owner of the inn he was trying to buy. Not to mention a mother. He might not have much experience with kids, but he knew enough to know that you didn’t get involved with a woman if she had a kid and you didn’t plan on sticking around.
“Glad you like it.” He picked up the glass bottle and drained half the beer. He needed to get a hold of himself, focus on the business, the opportunity of a lifetime for his career. He needed to prove he was good enough to his family . . . and himself.
They ate the rest of dinner with pleasant conversation including Zoey. Jasmine cleaned up, despite his protests, while Zoey wrangled him into coloring at the table.
“What color is your favorite?” Zoey asked.
Jasmine flit around the kitchen with ease—she made being a single mother and an innkeeper look easy.
“Mr. Atlas?”
He turned his attention back to the little girl. “I’m sorry. What?”
Zoey sighed with what seemed like a great deal of patience. “What is your favorite color?”
“Uh, blue.”
She dug through the little box of colors and handed him a crayon and pointed to a blank corner of her page. “You can draw right there. Can you draw a mermaid?”
A mermaid? Was she serious? “I’m not very good at drawing, Zoey.”
She grinned. “That’s otay. Mommy says to get better we just have to pwactice a lot.” Zoey nodded self-righteously, and was that a smile on Jasmine’s lips?
“I’ll help you. First, dwaw the tail.” Zoey pointed again to the empty space before him.
“Okay. Here goes. One mermaid.” He pressed the crayon to the paper.
He hadn’t any real experience. But the little girl was happily babbling about little ponies as she scribbled across the paper, so he couldn’t be doing too bad.
“Now draw the body. Here—” Zoey handed him a red crayon. “Make her have red hair like Ariel.”
“Alright.” He cringed at the final product—a stick figure with a fish tail and flaming red hair. He certainly wouldn’t have a future in art.
“Yay! She is so pwetty.” Zoey clapped.
At least the kid liked it.
“Mommy, can we go for a walk on the beach? I want to look for mermaids!” Zoey asked, peeking up from her drawing.
Jasmine dried her hands on the dish towel before rubbing the dark circles under her eyes. She seemed like she was going to fall asleep just standing there. She worked hard, that was for sure. She wiped a few strands of hair out of her face and nodded. “Sure, baby. Grab your jacket because it’s a little chilly out.”
“Are you going to come too, Mr. Atlas?”
He glanced up to Jasmine. Her eyes widened, and her brows creased. Point taken.
“Not this time. I’m pretty tired,” Atlas answered Zoey.
“Otay. Come on, Mommy. Let’s find some she-shells.”
Jasmine’s shoulders relaxed. She grabbed a coat from a hook by the door and helped Zoey get it on. She zipped it up and pulled on a grey hoodie with a couple of holes in it. They waved goodbye.
“Thank you again for dinner,” Jasmine said as Zoey tugged her by the hand and out the screen door.
“It was my pleasure.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
He watched them go, trailing down the beach, getting smaller. Zoey stopped every few feet to pick up something, collecting treasures and depositing them in the bucket Jasmine carried. She looked back after a while, and he waved. The farther away they got, the stronger the pull tugged on his heart. He wanted to go with them, but he was here to do a job and get back to New York. He had a billion-dollar company to run alongside his brother. As tempting as the thought was, Jasmine and Zoey didn’t fit in his life. And he most certainly didn’t fit in theirs.