Jake walked in first, tall and quiet, wearing that familiar leather jacket that always looked like it belonged on a movie poster. His eyes swept the room with his usual calm awareness, like he was always sizing up a situation—even if the situation was just my humble living room with throw pillows and a vase of fake peonies.
Behind him came his friend.
And dear God.
The man who stepped in behind Jake had the kind of presence that shifted gravity. Broad-shouldered, maybe six-two, with sun-kissed skin, a lazy grin that made it hard to breathe, and hair just messy enough to suggest he either rode a motorcycle or simply didn't care what people thought—which somehow made it hotter. His dark jeans hugged his legs in a sinful way, and the white t-shirt under his open flannel framed his torso like a Calvin Klein ad.
He looked right at me.
And smiled.
"Hi," he said, his voice low and smooth, like warm whiskey.
I blinked, mouth open, then closed, then opened again like a goldfish having an identity crisis.
Jake gestured toward him casually. "This is Carl. He's the friend I told Anne about."
Carl offered a hand. "Carl Summers."
I took it, and fireworks went off in my palm. His grip was firm but gentle, warm, confident.
"I'm—uh—Sidney," I managed. "I work here. Well, not just work—I live here too. Not with Anne. I mean, I do, but not like that—I just—I'm the housekeeper."
Carl chuckled. "I figured."
Jake raised an eyebrow at me, half amused, half confused. "You good?"
"Yes," I said too quickly. "Yes, absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?"
And then, just as I tried to take a graceful step toward the kitchen, my foot caught on the edge of the rug.
"Oh no—"
I stumbled forward, heart dropping with the speed of my fall—but before I could hit the hardwood, strong arms caught me. Carl.
Of course it was Carl.
I landed against his chest with an embarrassing "oof," my palms flat against his abs—because yes, those were definitely abs—and for a second, neither of us moved.
I looked up into his face.
He looked down into mine.
His smile had softened into something more...curious. Almost tender.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. My brain was static.
Jake's voice broke the spell. "Sidney?"
I jerked upright, cheeks blazing. "Yes! Totally fine. Just...clumsy rugs. And me. Clumsy me."
I pulled away too quickly and nearly bumped into the doorway again, spinning toward the kitchen like it was a lifeboat in a storm.
Once inside, I gripped the counter like it owed me money.
What. Was. That?
My heart was pounding like a drum solo. My hands were shaking. My face was on fire. I stared at the tray I'd already prepped, suddenly unsure of what to do next.
I had spent the entire day preparing to impress Jake.
Jake, who I'd crushed on for two years. Jake, who smelled like cedar and wore that damn jacket. Jake, who once helped me lift Anne's ridiculous marble flower vase and told me I shouldn't be doing "heavy work like that."
Jake. Anne's brother. The guy I wanted to seduce in a calm, non-desperate, effortlessly sexy kind of way.
So why, the moment his friend Carl walked in, did my body decide to betray me?
Why did I suddenly feel like I was living in one of those K-dramas where the main girl falls for the second lead—and everyone knows that never ends well?
I peeked through the crack in the kitchen door.
Carl was laughing at something Jake said. He had dimples. Dimples, for God's sake.
Jake, on the other hand, was scrolling through his phone, looking casual and cool and every bit the guy I'd had a slow-burning thing for.
I turned back to the tray.
"Get it together, Sidney," I whispered. "You are not thirteen. This is not a character in a novel. You have a mission. Jake. Jake is the mission."
But even as I said it, the image of Carl's grin replayed in my head.
I gave myself a tiny slap on the cheek. "Focus!"
I needed to speak to Prisca.
I added the finishing touches to the lunch spread—mini sliders with caramelized onions, roasted sweet potato wedges, chicken breasts and Anne's special cranberry camembert bites A pitcher of lemonade with fresh mint. Glasses, napkins, everything in place.
When I carried the tray out to the living room, I prayed my hands wouldn't shake.
Carl stood up immediately to help. "Let me take that."
"No, no—it's fine. I got it," I said, setting it down on the coffee table with surprising grace. "Lunch is served."
Jake glanced up. "Smells amazing. You cooked all this?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling. "Anne gave me a very specific list."
Carl picked up a slider. "Well, give my compliments to the chef. This looks restaurant-level."
I flushed, tucking hair behind my ear. "Thanks. I try."
As they started eating,
I hurried back to the kitchen and watched them secretly.
Carl took a big bite and made a low hum of satisfaction. "Okay, this is unfair. You can't be gorgeous *and* know how to cook."
I nearly dropped my phone.
Jake rolled his eyes. "Carl... ."
Carl laughed. "i'm sorry, the food is just too good. Sidney, you're an amazing cook."
I coughed and stood up quickly. I didn't want my blushing cheeks to be that obvious. "Thank you. You guys enjoy."
As I turned to leave, I heard Jake say, "Don't make her uncomfortable, Carl."
And Carl, with a grin in his voice, said, "I'm just being friendly. I swear."
I walked the pass way, I braced myself against the rail, breathing like I'd just run a mile.
He was flirting with me. Carl. Was. Flirting. With. Me.
And I liked it.
Too much.
I closed my eyes and tried to pull myself together.
What was I doing? How could I be this flustered over someone I just met?
Jake was the plan. He was safe. Familiar. The slow burn I'd nursed for months.
Carl was...a wildfire. Unexpected. Dangerous.
But oh, how tempting.
And when I imagined going back into the living room, I didn't imagine Jake's smile.
I imagined Carl's eyes on me.