“I know, I know,” Eve said. “If it weren’t for your many injuries and the space you need for your arm, you’d be a gentleman and switch beds with me.”

Jacob snorted. “Would I fuck. No, I was going to say—if it weren’t for the fact that I poured all my money into this bloody business, I’d have already replaced the damn thing.” He shook his head and turned, leaving her to it. His own bed was calling him like a siren song. Even if he did feel slightly guilty at the thought of her lying on that monstrosity.

Like she said, it wasn’t as if they could swap. He had to sleep with his cast propped up on a pillow.

So why don’t you share? It’s a big bed.

Jacob froze, then forced himself back into motion. Get. Out. Before you say or do something incredibly terrible.

“Whatever,” he managed, hoping he sounded exactly as bored and unaffected as he should be. “You want to sleep here, then sleep here. Just don’t wake me up.”

“Well. Charming. Absolutely charming.”

“No one,” he said over his shoulder, “has ever accused me of that.”

Chapter Ten

The gingerbread meeting, as Eve had begun to think of it, happened two days later. Eve had fallen into a steady routine: she made breakfast, cleaned up, and spent a while calling her sisters or reading Mia Hopkins or painting tiny ladybirds on her fingernails. Then she went back to the kitchen, made and served afternoon tea, gossiped with the guests a bit while Jacob hovered broodily and disapprovingly in the background, before retiring for the evening.

It wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it certainly wasn’t terrible. Actually, Eve was rather enjoying herself.

Today, though, her new routine broke down somewhere post–afternoon tea. Instead of disappearing back to his office once cleanup was over, Jacob hung about by the thundering industrial dishwasher and said, “Meeting’s tonight.”

Eve blinked. “Pardon?”

“The—”

“Oh, the gingerbread meeting! I’d quite forgotten.”

“I know you had,” he said, sounding incredibly long-suffering. “That’s why I’m reminding you. Again. And stop calling it the gingerbread meeting. It is the meeting of the Pemberton Gingerbread Festival Committee.”

“Right,” Eve said slowly. Sounded dull, dull, dull. Then a thought occurred, and she brightened. “Will there be free gingerbread to keep us going?”

Jacob sighed. “I’ll meet you out front at six.”

Since this whole gingerbread situation was clearly Super Important and Very Serious, Eve changed into one of her favorite new T-shirts—READ LIKE YOUR BOOK IS BURNING—and put on a shit-ton of pink eye shadow. Then she remembered that Jacob found excess color offensive, and added pink lip gloss as well. It was good for him to be kept on his toes.

They met outside on the gravel drive, the evening hot and sticky and golden. He was in Ultimate Jacob mode again, everything about him even more pristine and precise than usual. Eve took in his perfectly sewn-up shirtsleeve, the razor-sharp part in his hair, and his gleaming, polished glasses with a single look.