Happily Ever His (Singletree #1)

ignoring the driving demands of instinct every time I was near Tess, but I could do that. I might have decided this once before, but this time I meant it.
I could absolutely do that. Besides, I was not about to break a promise. I knew too well what it felt like to have promises broken, and I wasn’t going to do that to anyone else.
I let myself back into the big house, nodding at the security guards stationed by the door.
“Hey,” one of them said, stopping me from walking right by.
“Hey,” I replied, turning to smile at the guy. He looked a bit like a regular guy until you noticed the muscles bulging beneath the dark T-shirt he wore. “It’s Jace, right?”
He nodded, and leaned his head toward the other guy. “That’s Chad.”
“Thanks for being here, guys. Looking out for us.” I wasn’t used to round-the-clock security, but it felt weird to just accept their presence and not acknowledge it.
“We’re here for Juliet,” Jace said, his voice deep and a little bit terrifying.
“Right, yeah,” I said, feeling sheepish now. I hadn’t been implying that I was so important they were here for me. But I wasn’t surprised these goons thought I was just another entitled Hollywood asshole. “Just… thanks.”
Jace sighed, and Chad muttered, “any time.” Then Jace said, “Juliet was looking for you a while ago.”
Worry pricked inside me that I might be messing up on my promise already, and I thanked Jace and hurried through the door.
I went upstairs to shower and to find Juliet. She was in the room across the hall, pacing and talking into her phone. I waved and pantomimed that I was going to shower. And I should say here, that while I am an excellent actor, a shower pantomime is particularly difficult.
She wrinkled her nose at me, her eyebrows dipping over those gray-blue eyes. “What?” she mouthed.
I upped my shower-acting game, picking up an imaginary bottle of shampoo, squeezing a bit into my hand and then washing my hair, whistling all the while.
See? I can act, no matter what the critics say.
Her eyes cleared in understanding and she smiled, mouthing, “got it.”
When I was done, I went back to her room to see what she’d needed while I’d been out running, but her door was closed. I considered knocking—we were definitely nowhere near the just-barge-in stage. But I wasn’t sure a closed door was really an invitation. I raised my hand to rap my knuckles on the wood, but I thought I heard her moan softly in the room beyond, and my heart went out to her. Was she crying? She’d had a rough time lately. If she was taking a nap, or even having a cry, she definitely deserved it, and I wasn’t going to interrupt.
I wandered down to the kitchen, and I felt the smile cover my face and work its way through the rest of me when I spotted Tess at the counter, wrapped in a pink apron and leaning on her forearms on the counter watching a YouTube video about making big cakes.
She had gotten out a few oversized pans, and they were lined up on the counter.
“We better prepare these bad boys,” I told her.
I saw her shoulders stiffen as she pressed pause on the video and straighten up. She turned to me with a grin that actually made my knees wobble, then looked back at the lined-up pans, lifting a finger to shake at them. “Okay, pans. Here’s what’s going to happen. First, we’re putting cake batter in you and you’ll need to hold it all inside, okay? Then we’ll be sticking you in a hot oven and hoping for the best. This is going to be an important cake, so don’t mess it up.”
I stifled the laugh that wanted to come out, along with the urge to take her in my arms, to push my nose into the hair at the back of her neck. I chuckled, waiting until she looked up at me for approval.
“Not exactly what I meant, but that was a good first step.”
She raised her palms as if to say, “I did my best. They’re as prepared as they can be.”
“I meant by greasing them. Or better yet, lining them with parchment paper.”
“I don’t think we have any papyrus around here,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously?”
“Okay, fine. I know what parchment paper is.” She went to the pantry and came back with a big roll of it. “I use it for baking fish.”
“That sounds interesting,” I said, taking it from her. “Maybe you can teach me that sometime.”
I refrained from slapping myself. I shouldn’t be making future plans or trying to give her the idea I wanted to make plans with her. I could spend some time with her, ask some questions, get to know her. Not make plans.
“Sure,” she said, and I heard the hesitation in her voice too.
We prepared the pans, buttering, flouring and lining them, and there was a quiet companionship between us that I found myself trying to soak up and savor.
It was an odd thing, I realized. Being a celebrity meant there were millions of people in the world who “knew” me—but I spent much of my time alone, and even more of it feeling lonely. It was rare to have a quiet moment shared with another person, to be able to enjoy something simple, something pure.
Tess didn’t push me to talk, and together we measured, mixed and poured, and before long, we had the first of the pans in the oven.
“Where did you learn to bake?” she asked as we cleaned up.
I sighed. Every story about my past was lined with landmines. How much did I want to share with her? I started off slowly. “I didn’t. I just started doing it after my mom left. It reminded me of her, I think. She used to bake. Kind of taught myself.”
Tess’s face changed, her lips pressing slightly into a frown. “Did you bake with