He laughed. She was so refreshingly honest. But not mean. And not pitiful. “We might’ve met at a cocktail party like that. I’m not petite enough to hide in corners, so I have the opposite problem. Everything seems scaled down when you’re used to wide-open spaces. Then I’m bumping into shit with my big boots and knocking things over. And it was ten times worse in Brazil because I don’t speak Portuguese.”
For the next hour they talked about bad job interviews and prima donna professors. Of how practicality can crush passion. Of triumphs and disappointments. He told her about the applications he’d filled out and his worry that with the rapid advancements in the field that even just six years out of school, his education might be outdated.
After they put away the lunch fixings, Jade washed the dishes and he dried. Miz G had a dishwasher, but he preferred standing next to Jade, sneaking in little pats on the ass or a quick kiss.
She was equally affectionate. Standing close enough to make sure their bodies touched and some part of her hand or arm connected with some part of his even when she handed him a soapy plate.
With her, the getting-to-know-you stuff flowed more naturally than he’d ever dreamed. But Jade became introspective as she wiped down the counters and table.
When Tobin returned from taking out the garbage, she was leaning against the doorjamb of the back door, gazing across the yard. He curled his body around hers, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Whatcha thinking about?”
“Canning. If GG really expects me to do it, do I buy a book? As much as I’d like to ask her friends for help . . .”
“I’m not much help either. When it cools off let’s head out to the veggie patch and make lists of what there’s too much of.” He brushed his lips across her temple. “Because I know how much you love your lists, darlin’.”
She laughed.
“Something else on your mind?”
“Yesterday when Riss and I were in the ranch supply store, I met Dodie. And she said Lou-Lou the prep cook had given notice, so Riss just blurted out that I had experience as a prep cook. Dodie told me to fill out an application.”
Tobin turned her to face him. “Is that something you’re interested in?”
“I actually liked working as a prep cook. I’m used to getting up early. It’s a part-time position . . .”
“Jade. Sweetheart. You should definitely apply.”
She studied his eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if we worked in the same place? I mean, it’s not the same job. Obviously I won’t be out chasing cows. But we’d be in the same area. That wouldn’t feel like I was trying to insert myself into every part of your life?”
“Let’s see . . . how do I phrase this?” He moved in closer to her. “My life would be a million times better if you were in every single part of it, every minute, of every day.”
“Really?”
“Scout’s honor.” He smooched her lips. “Apply for the job if you want to. Don’t apply if you’re worried that working there will stress you out.”
She fiddled with the collar on his shirt. “Then I’m going to apply.”
Tobin tempered his initial response to whoop and holler and spin her around. But this was such a good sign that she was taking steps to stay here for a while.
Isn’t it ironic that four of the six job applications you’ve sent . . . are for positions out of state?
He wouldn’t think about that now. “Do you want me to bring you an application since I’m there every day anyway?”
“Sure. And maybe put in a good word for me?”
“Jade. Janie and Renner would be thrilled to have a former New York City cook working in their kitchen.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Tell me you’re excited about spending these next three weeks together.”
“I am.”
“I’ve got big plans for us.” He pinched her ass and she squeaked. “Not all of them will revolve around you bein’ naked.”
“Now I’m dying to hear what you’re planning.”
“Next weekend I’m takin’ you fishing.”
“Why?”
Tobin laughed. “Because I like to fish. Maybe you will too. Lots of couples end up with common interests.”
“Great. We’ll go fishing together. Then at some point over the weekend, we’ll make popcorn and watch my favorite movie.”
“Please tell me it’s Die Hard.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s an opera.”
“Like . . . ?” Fuck. He couldn’t name a single opera.
“It’s La bohème, a Puccini opera. The Italian edition is subtitled.”