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the room, doorknob in her hand. Before she shut the door, she said, “If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of food in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
    “Thanks,” he said to the wall. Or maybe it was the bed. Either way, he didn’t say it to her.
    Bewildered and unsettled, she went down to the living room. Had it been her imagination, or had he intentionally been kind of cold toward her all of a sudden? Why?
    She grabbed her book, checked all the doors and windows to make sure everything was locked then headed upstairs. Remembering Cojack, she pushed Logan’s door open enough to squeeze through and tiptoed to his bed. Cojack had made himself comfy in Logan’s bed, his little dog body curled up against Logan’s little boy one. She reached for him, but Logan rolled over, flopped an arm over the dog and smiled.
    “Can he sleep with me tonight? Please?” he begged.
    “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
    “I will be. I promise. I sleep better with Cojack.”
    “Of course you do,” she said on a chuckle. As his wide little-boy eyes blinked in the darkness, she shook her head. Who could tell this kid no? Who? “Fine. But you’d better get to sleep pronto. If I come back and find you awake, I’ll take him away.”
    “I promise.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “See? I’m almost asleep already.”
    Sure he was. As almost asleep as she was. With her book hugged to her chest, she tiptoed back out, pulled the door closed and turned around.
    The bathroom door swung open, and Aeron ambled out, wearing a snug tank shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He gave her a little nod.
    Her gaze locked on his broad chest. Her face warmed to the temperature of a steam iron. “Um…good night,” she sputtered.
    “G’night,” he grumbled and shut himself in his room.
    Realizing she’d been standing in that same spot, staring at his door, she shook herself out of her stupor and trudged to her room at the end of the hall.
    Clearly she was making a fool of herself, ogling the guy who was there to help her. It was silly. It was juvenile. And obviously it was unwanted.
    “Get yourself together, girl,” she mumbled under her breath. “He might look like Zagan, but he’s no angel--fallen or otherwise.”

 
     
     
Five
     
    Saturday mornings were special. Saturday mornings were a tradition. The tradition started at eight A.M.. Logan slept in. Jenn did not. She woke early to cook pancakes or homemade waffles and bacon and sausage, just like Mom used to do when she was a kid—not so long ago.
    Jenn began the process by pretending to forget about the man sleeping in Mom and Dad’s old room. She took care of the essentials in the bathroom , added a little makeup to the routine then bundled herself up in a thick sweatshirt and yoga pants. Ready to get cooking—once she had her coffee--she trotted down to the kitchen.
    Today, she would make pancakes. With butterscotch chips. Delicious. Her favorite. Logan’s too. After getting the coffee started, she climbed the stepstool to reach the bag of butterscotch baking chips on the top shelf.
    “I can get that for you.”
    It was him. Aeron. He was behind her.
    A wave of heat spread over her back.
    She twisted to glance at him. “Oh, that’s okay. I have it.”
    He angled closer, one arm stretched overhead. His scent, man and soap, clean and strong, drifted to her nose. His fingertips brushed against hers, and a little spark ignited in her body. Reacting, she jerked backward, bumping her rear end into the world’s most perfect chest. Her sudden shift in bodyweight caused the stool beneath her to wobble. She let out a little squeak, and a strong hand gripped her upper arm, steadying her.
    “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He handed her the plastic baggy and released her arm.
    She wasn’t exactly happy about that.
    H er face was hot. And she felt like a total idiot. How silly she must appear to him. Clumsy and awkward. “It’s okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “It’s the stool.