23
Jessie
Brock had given me the money. Not Cort.
I’d devoured the stew while he spoke on the phone right outside the front door, my slurping keeping me from hearing his conversation. But then I finished, resting the bowl on my lap.
And I heard every word from that point on.
Why hadn’t he told me? Why keep it a secret?
I started to ponder those questions, but Brock came back into the cabin, letting in a blast of cold air.
“You okay?” He kept his focus on my face while locking us in and striding my way.
I nodded, fighting to focus on his eyes as they flitted to my empty bowl.
“Too much? Want more?”
“I’m good.” My gaze tracked him as he took my bowl to the bucket he used to wash up the dishes. What was his angle? He didn’t need to buy his way into my pants—I couldn’t keep the damn
