Chapter 11If not for the tantalising smell wafting from the kitchen, Brinley might have backed up when he stepped over the threshold of the ‘quaint’ cottage Jack lived in. Quaint was how Jack claimed the owner described the small house, though he’d avoided Brinley’s gaze and warned him not to expect much.
“I told you I only ever viewed this place as a stopgap.”
Whoops. Jack’s tone was defensive. Clearly, Brinley failed to hide his distaste. Unable to come up with a sensible apology, he said the first thing to spring to mind. “Yet here you still are five years later.”
Jack hadn’t moved out from the entryway—far too small to call the tiny square space a hall—having barely shut the door while the two men stood close. As Brinley moved to step further into the property, Jack’s attention scor
