Page 37 of Jax & Knox

An hour later, I'm standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta sauce on the stove.

It's nothing fancy, just spaghetti and garlic bread, but it's something I can do. Something I want to do.

I haven't cooked a real meal in months.

Justin never let me. He said I was a terrible cook, that I always burned things or made them too salty. He'd criticize every meal I made until I stopped trying altogether.

But this isn't for Justin.

This is for Jax and Knox.

And maybe, just a little bit, for me.

I hear the front door open and close, followed by the sound of boots on the hardwood floor.

"Something smells amazing," Jax says, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

I glance over my shoulder and smile. "It's just spaghetti."

"Just spaghetti?" He grins. "That's my favorite."

Knox appears behind him, his hair damp with sweat, his shirt streaked with dirt. "You didn't have to cook."

"I know," I say, echoing his words from earlier. "I wanted to."

Knox's hazel eyes hold mine for a long moment, and I see something flicker there, something warm and possessive and proud .

"Stay for dinner?" I ask, my voice quieter now. "Both of you?"

Jax doesn't hesitate. "Hell yes."

Knox just nods, but the corner of his mouth twitches up in what might be the beginning of a smile.

We eat at the small kitchen table, Owen in his high chair between us, happily gumming a piece of garlic bread.

At first, I'm nervous.

I keep waiting for the criticism. For the complaints. For the moment when one of them tells me I did something wrong.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, Jax takes a bite and groans. “This is so good, Ainsley. Seriously.”

“It’s just sauce from a jar,” I say, embarrassed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Knox says. “It’s perfect.”

I look down at my plate, my cheeks warming.

“You okay?” Jax asks gently.

I nod. “Yeah. I just… I haven’t cooked for anyone in a long time.”

“Well, you should,” Jax says. “Because this is amazing.”

I take a bite of my own food, and for the first time in months, I actually taste it. It is good.

Jax reaches for another piece of garlic bread, then leans back in his chair. “Okay, so last week we were at this place out by the lake. Fancy house. Big money. Guy wants this massive Japanese maple moved from the front yard to the back. No problem, right? We dig the thing up, get it on the trailer, everything’s fine.”