For Fox Sake

Chapter 11

Ryan

By the time I emerge from Ari’s bedroom, I half expect Jake to have bailed.

She took a quick bath, then we read The Velveteen Rabbit, and she had two “I have to pee still” episodes.

But he’s still here, in the kitchen, putting all the cleaning supplies back under the sink.

“Did you fix it already?” Already. I’ve probably been in the back of the house with Ari for an hour.

In answer, he lifts the handle on the faucet and water gushes from the tap. He shuts it off. “It’s fixed. There was an old, rusted fitting. It was simple enough to replace. There were extras in the garage.”

“Thank you.” I am always thanking him for something.

He wipes his hands on his jeans and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About your no good, terrible, awful, bad day?”

I snort. “Day? More like decade. You have six hours?”

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “I’ve got a couple, at least.”

I sigh. “Do you want an apple or cranberry juice box?”

He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “How does one choose between such enticing options?”

I open the fridge. “We have more of the cranberry.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Wait. I have an idea so we can feel like real grownups.” I spin around and open the cabinet behind me. On the top shelf are a few champagne glasses, dusty from disuse. I stretch up on my tiptoes to seize the nearest glass.

“Here. I’ve got it.” He moves behind me, reaching over my head and pulling down two glasses.

He doesn’t get close enough to so much as graze my back, and he’s only behind me for a couple of seconds, but my nerve endings all come to attention like every cell in my body is suddenly alert and aware of his every movement.

He steps away, taking them over to the sink to rinse off the dust.

I squeeze the juice into the freshly rinsed glasses and hand him one. We head back into the living room, which is cleaner than when I left it.

At some point, he must have straightened up. The crayons and coloring books that had littered the coffee table are all tucked away, resting on the corner of the table in a neat pile.

When I was grabbing the juice, the hot dogs were in a baggie sealed up in the fridge, which means he cleaned up the backyard at some point too.

It’s such a little thing, compared to everything else he’s done for me lately. Picking up a few things and putting them away—and yet somehow it hits me in the gut like a blow.

When I lived with Shane, I couldn’t get him to clean up after himself, let alone pick up after me or Ari. He changed her diaper one time and acted like he saved the whole world, seeking praise like a giant manchild.

Jake is so different. He does it and doesn’t point it out or ask for praise or expect anything in return.

Involuntarily, my eyes skip down the length of him as he crosses the living room, his broad shoulders, sinewy arms, tapered waist, jeans hugging his trim hips and outlining the curve of his?—

“How was your visit with your mom today?” He settles onto the couch beside me. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about it while we were hiding in the closet, but when I was fixing the light in the bathroom she seemed?—”

“Off. I know. She has more and more bad days.”

Then the words tumble out, more than I intend. It’s like he’s some kind of magician or wizard or something, able to draw thoughts and feelings from my being without my conscious assent.

In a rambling mess of thoughts, I explain how Mom became more alert and suddenly snapped out of her bad day with more clarity, but then she also hallucinated seeing Mia.

“It’s a lot to deal with,” he commiserates.

“It is. No one tells you about having an elderly parent with a debilitating disease. How it’s like skating on ice. The sun is hot overhead, making the ice thin slowly beneath your feet. It’s only a matter of time until it gets fragile, and you’ll fall through... but even knowing what’s coming, you can’t leave. You’re stuck there, waiting for the inevitable crack. Oh, and you don’t actually know how to skate. After a while, you wish it would open up underneath and you could fall into the icy water and be done with it.”

He reaches over, resting his fingers over mine, his thumb brushing the thin skin on the back of my hand.

I swallow hard and take a drink of my juice before continuing. “I miss her. I know she’s still here, but it’s not the same. I miss who she was before she got sick. She was invincible. After Dad died, she picked up the pieces of our lives. Even though Mia was in and out of hospitals constantly, she always made everything, even the hardest moments feel not so bad. She could handle anything. I can’t even handle a leaky sink. Sometimes it’s just so hard.” I drag my gaze to his eyes, warm like dark honey.

He watches me, face unguarded, gaze direct. “Fuck.”

I almost smile at that. “Yeah. Basically.”

“So, you had an intense visit with Mom, then you almost ran into the prick of the year.”

“Yep. To top it all off, Ari was pretty cranky this afternoon. I would have kept her at the day camp, but they closed early today and Priscilla had already scheduled some time off.” I take a sip of juice from the champagne flute and set it on the table beside me.

“Do you ever take a break?”

“No.”

He’s silent for a moment, considering me. “Have you gone out with anyone since Shane?”

“Nothing more than a few crappy dates. I don’t have time, but also, I don’t want to bring anyone important into Ari’s life unless I know it’s serious.”

“That makes sense.”

His normally animated expression is carefully flat.

Insecurity grips me, heat rolling up my face.

And of course I open my mouth and ramble. “It’s not that I don’t want to date, but it’s hard. I’m not exactly tripping over eligible bachelors in a town that is large enough that you can run into your ex every other day, but still date people who don’t realize you have a kid and freak out about it.”

His brows dip. “People freak out about you having a kid?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s hard enough to be single. But with any kind of baggage? Forget about it.”

He shakes his head. “People are assholes.”

I really don’t want to talk about my nonexistent love life. “What about you? Break a lot of hearts in Whitby?”

He chuckles. “Hardly. You definitely aren’t alone with the lack of prospects. After my sister died, dating was the last thing on my mind.”

“Of course. And then you took care of your dad.”

He leans back, his hand lifting from mine. “Yeah. After that, I spent most of my free time at a bar. I met women there sometimes but,” he blows out a breath, “it was never anything serious. The memories are hazy, and I wasn’t ready to be anything to anyone. I haven’t been on a real date at all since I’ve been sober. My therapist said I shouldn’t even think about relationships until after a year of sobriety.”

I rub a water spot on the stem of my glass. “How long have you been sober?”

“A year and eight months.”

“Wow. Good for you.”

The tips of his ears flush red. “Thanks.”

I reach over and rest my fingers on his forearm. “Here I am, basically using you as my therapist since the minute you arrived, dumping all my problems and drama all over you.”

I’m not used to having someone else I can rely on. I’m normally terrified to trust people, or let people in at all, but there’s something about Jake that’s different. Maybe it’s just his willingness to be vulnerable, to admit to his problems and how he’s working on them and working on himself. Why is that so attractive?

Maybe because every other man I’ve dated has had the emotional intelligence of a gerbil.

“I don’t mind being your sounding board. Everyone needs someone to talk to. Especially when you’re raising a child alone. You’re doing a great job. Ari is incredible.”

I smile. “She is. The best thing I’ve ever done. I’m so worried about messing up somehow, doing something wrong. Mia isn’t here and what if I screw it up?”

“You’re not screwing up anything. You’re doing the best you can.”

“What if my best isn’t enough? I’m not growing or changing. I’m not making my life better. I’m spending all my energy just holding on.”

“Your best will be enough. I was raised by my sister, and it all worked out. Finley was only eight when our mom left, and she has been like my mom ever since. Through everything, every bad decision, every time I passed out at Veronica’s and... she’s my best friend. The one person I know I can always count on, no matter how much of a dumbass I am.” He blinks, then frowns at the couch between us.

I look down, half expecting there to be a stain or something because of the look on his face, but it’s the same old brown fabric it’s always been. Not pretty or anything, but not necessarily “look of disgust” bad.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I—I need to call her. I just realized I’m still being a terrible brother.” He swipes his hand down his face.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, it’s very true. I left Whitby sort of abruptly, without a proper goodbye.” His head falls back onto the couch, and he considers me. “I’m not sorry I came here though.”

My stomach flips. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

I grab my glass and take a sip of juice in an attempt to moisten my suddenly dry mouth. “Why did you leave Whitby? What made you pick Dull?”

He blinks and jerks his eyes from mine, picking up his own glass and taking a few deep pulls before setting it back down. “I needed to get away. I’ve spent my whole life in Whitby. I’ve never been anywhere else. My sisters, all four of them are in relationships and have been really busy with their own lives and I’m so happy for them. I want them to be happy but it’s also a little...” His brow furrows as he waves a hand.

“Isolating?”

“Yeah. Exactly. I’m like a ninth wheel.”

I laugh.

He shifts toward me, our knees brushing. “I needed to get away, you know? They are all incredible, supportive, and caring, but I’ve also put them through a wringer, and they feel like they need to take care of me and... hover, I guess. I needed to take care of myself. To prove to them I could do it, but to myself too.”

“Well from my perspective you’re extremely capable of caring for yourself. Not to mention frequently having to rescue your extremely needy neighbor, who is also your landlady.” I grimace. “Honestly, I feel like I’m taking advantage. You would tell me if you were uncomfortable, right?

“You’re not taking advantage and I’m not uncomfortable at all.” His eyes search mine and then snag on something to my left. “You have something.” He leans forward, reaching for my hair and tugging on it.

My eyes trace over his features while he gets whatever it is out of my hair. Probably glitter, or lint, or fluff from one of Ari’s many toys. He’s only inches away. His eyes are focused on the task, his lips pursed.

His very full, soft-looking, kissable lips.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ve almost got it.”

The gentle pressure on my scalp continues.

He smells like cologne and soap with a hint of cranberry juice.

I swallow. Why is this turning me on? It’s more than just the hair-pulling, it’s him. Everything about him.

He holds up a small piece of white fuzz and grins. “Ta-da.”

Before he can lean back, I tip forward and our lips meet.

Lust blasts through me, starting at my lips and racing down to my toes. He tastes like cranberry juice and sunshine.

He jerks back. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

I blink at him, slightly dazed. “What? Why?”

His expression is pained.

The lust quickly turns into embarrassment and shame. Oh no. I totally misread this. He’s truly just being a nice guy, and I’m throwing myself at him.

If only the couch would open up and swallow me.

He frowns. “I should go.”

I shut my eyes but the image of his wince after I kissed him is burned on my retinas. I’m such an idiot. He told me he doesn’t date. It’s been more than a year since he’s been sober, but maybe he’s not ready yet. And here I am, making assumptions and being... horny. “I’m really sorry. I thought—I totally misread that and now I’m really embarrassed.”

“It’s not—please don’t be embarrassed. I wanted that kiss. More than I should want it.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes search mine. “I... we haven’t even been out on a proper date. Can I take you out to dinner?”

Wait. “What?”

“Dinner. You know, that thing where two adults eat good food somewhere other than their home with no children present and something slightly more upscale than hot dogs?”

He doesn’t want to kiss me, because he wants to date me first? Is he for real?

So that distressed look wasn’t because he’s disgusted with me? I didn’t know men like this existed.

“Um, Ari has a sleepover at her friend’s this weekend. Maybe then?”

He grins, and my stomach dips. “It’s a date.”