15. Jefferson
CHAPTER 15
JEFFERSON
I get home more eager to see Harlow than I should.
She didn’t ask more about the begging that happened last night even after I teased her about it.
That’s interesting. Does she remember it? Maybe. But if not, I will happily tell her all about it.
She was asleep, and I think actually dreaming when she asked me to lie down with her. But far be it from me to deny a beautiful woman with her mouth pressed against my neck, begging me to stay in bed with her.
Yes, we slept together.
I could tell her that we didn’t touch all night, but that would be a lie.
Harlow might not be into blankets and pajamas, and I wouldn’t exactly call her a cuddler, but I couldn’t sleep in even a king-sized bed, trying to keep space between us, and not know she was there.
If she didn’t have a hand on my arm or chest, she had a foot against my leg or wedged between mine. And there were about three hours where her sweet ass was nestled up against my hip.
She just seemed to want to have some part of her body against some part of mine at all times.
And she definitely doesn’t like blankets.
I tried to cover her up, because she wasn’t wearing much and I didn’t want her to be cold, but also for my own sanity. Without a blanket, there was a lot of smooth, bare skin and sweet curves on display in my bed. But she almost immediately threw any coverings off.
And while the shirt covered a lot when she was upright, it did a pretty poor job of covering her when she was lying down and moving around on the sheets.
I not only know the color of the panties she was wearing, but I now know the exact shape of her thighs, hips, and ass, how smooth her stomach is, and that she has a tattoo on her left rib cage. It’s a quote, done in a pretty script. It says, be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.
I’ve already looked it up. It’s a Maya Angelou quote.
I’m not surprised by the quote at all. Or that it’s placed, essentially, under her heart.
I’m surprised by how fucking hot it makes me, though.
I didn’t even have to stare and ogle her. There was just no escaping it.
Especially when she did strip her shirt off sometime in the night.
I put it back on her, but…how could I avoid taking a mental snapshot of a nearly naked Harlow Hansen in my bed? I’m no fucking saint.
She’s gorgeous. Her body is toned and curved in all the right places. I would very happily spend hours running my hands, lips, and tongue all over every inch.
Not, of course, when she’s asleep and unaware.
But were she ever fully aware and begging for it? It would take one please and I would be the happiest man on the planet.
The second I step through my front door I see what she was up to this afternoon.
There is now a plethora of colorful throw pillows covering my couch and chairs.
There are also house plants on every obvious surface. The coffee table is no longer the space solely for coasters and remote controls. Now there are magazines and books stacked haphazardly across the top. There’s even a blanket draped over the back of the couch. Which makes me grin and roll my eyes. Who the fuck will be using that? She didn’t bring that over for herself.
The air is scented with a light lemony vanilla scent, and I notice a candle burning on a new table. She brought an entire table over. It’s a long, narrow piece that sits right behind the couch. Where there are more books and another plant.
“Harlow!” I call.
She pops her head around the corner from the kitchen.
“Oh, good, you’re home. I have all the ingredients prepped.”
“Ingredients?” I ask, kicking my shoes off by the door. “You’re cooking for me?”
She laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. You're cooking for me. Well, us, I guess.”
I should’ve known. I wait for a moment, but she says nothing about the new décor in the living room. She disappears back into the kitchen.
Still, she has clearly moved into my house.
Damn, that means she has pants here now.
“What am I making?” I call, refusing to say anything about the pillows and candles.
I don’t hate them. They’re clearly not to my taste, but they’re very Harlow. And it’s interesting how they blend into what I’ve already got going on. My furniture is mostly dark gray, which goes with the dark hardwood floors and the colorful rug my mother insisted had to be put down if my interior decorating was going to be so dull.
I have the basics. That’s all I need. I am a single guy, and I simply need things to sit on, put things on, sleep on, etc.
Taking in the room as a whole, with all the homey touches, I realize that I was maybe, subconsciously, keeping the slate clean for when someone else was around to add to it.
I’ve never assumed that I would stay single forever. Coupling up makes sense to me. I’ve been raised around couples. Happy couples who made families and homes. That feels normal to me. Just because it hasn’t happened for me yet, doesn’t mean that I’ve written off the possibility.
“Strawberry Jalapeno Chicken,” she calls back.
I chuckle and start for the kitchen. “Did it occur to you that I might not know how to make that?”
“You caught on quickly with the spicy popcorn, so I figured you’d love to learn to make something new.”
She’s not wrong. I’m always up for trying something new. And how hard can it be?
“Do you like strawberry jalapeno chicken?” I ask.
“I’ve never had it, but I read the recipe and I think I will.”
“Then I guess I would want to learn.” I pause a beat then add, “If you were really my girlfriend.”
I don’t know when this little game shifted. But I like it. I am able to show her what it would be like for us to date without either of us having to commit to anything.
It’s risk free. Even while I cannot forget my dad’s words about us dating for real, this feels like we have a safety net. Anytime it starts to feel too real, we can simply fall back on the idea that while these might be real gestures, real thoughts, real likes and wants, we’re just going through the motions.
Or at least that’s what we’re telling each other. And ourselves.
I study the ingredients that are set out on the countertop and then Harlow hands me her phone, with the recipe displayed.
I’ve just started to scroll when a streak of gray flashes past in my peripheral vision.
I frown and turn toward it.
Big green eyes blink back at me from my kitchen table.
I immediately look at Harlow.
“Why is there a cat on my kitchen table?”
She smiles and moves toward the animal. “We’re fostering them.”
“We’re what? Them ?” I ask the questions in quick succession as they occur to me.
“There are three. But the other two are a little skittish. One is under our bed and the other is on the bed but hisses when I go in there.”
“Three? Fostering? Our bed?” Again, the questions tumble out in the order they flip through my mind.
“Well, I’m not going to the guest room now that I’ve slept so well in your bed. And I assume you’re not.” She shrugs and picks the cat up, nuzzling her face into its fur. “And yes, three. They lived together so we can’t break them up. But we’re just keeping them until Delaney can find homes for them. But it might take a while since Delaney and Tucker have the kids there and they’ve got a lot going on. These are Delores Landers’ cats.”
The cat blinks at me as I process the information.
Delaney and Tucker were taking care of these cats since Delores passed away about four days ago. But they are also helping one of their sons with his two kids, so finding homes for the cats is low on their list of priorities.
Got it. That all makes sense.
Of course, they need to focus on Jack and his kids. Jack was widowed about six months ago. He’s moved back to Sapphire Falls to regroup and because he needed help with his two heartbroken children. Delaney and Tucker took him and his three brothers in when their parents—Delaney’s sister and her husband—died when Jack was only six. It’s a fucking tragedy that Delaney, Tucker, and Jack are all now doing this again. But of course this is where Jack and his kids belong.
Obviously, I’ll help with Delores’s cats. I would have even if there weren’t extra kids at the Bennett farm.
But…
I study Harlow, who is now softly cooing to the cat in her arms.
I think about the pillows, candles, and books in my living room. I think about Harlow saying she’s going to be sleeping in my bed with me from now on.
I like that part a lot. I also realize there is a very good chance that my bed now has new sheets and pillows. I’m ninety percent sure my bathroom has new towels and shower gel and lotion that now smells like Harlow. I am also cooking something for her I’ve never done before. And I’m now fostering three cats.
And I understand completely what’s going on.
She’s trying to annoy me.
That’s…funny. And interesting.
Because she’s failing miserably.
“I think you should know that I really like the way that candle smells.”
Harlow looks at me. This was clearly not what she was expecting me to say.
“You do?”
“I do. And the pillows look nice.”
She frowns. “You always say how cluttered my house looks.”
I step closer to her and run my hand over the cat’s head. It’s purring. I’d be fucking purring if I was nestled against Harlow’s breasts too.
“I do say that,” I agree. “Because I’m kind of an ass sometimes. At least when it comes to you. The truth is your house is very cozy. Very comfortable. Very… you .”
Her frown deepens.
I grin. “You’re disappointed that I’m not annoyed.”
“Are you not annoyed just to annoy me?”
I chuckle. “No. I’m actually not annoyed.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then tips her head, and closes it.
“You don’t believe me?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. I’m just realizing…”
“What?”
“I was thinking that if Zach ever comes over again, there should be signs that I’m here a lot. And throw pillows and candles would be signs of that.” She shakes her head again. “But he would never know if I added lotion and towels to your upstairs bathroom.”
I knew she’d added lotion and towels.
“Did you add lotion and towels to my upstairs bathroom just to annoy me?”
“I think in part, yes. But also…just to be more comfortable while I’m here.”
“I want you to be comfortable while you’re here, Harlow,” I say.
She swallows and looks down at the cat in her arms. “And it just hit me…if I was your girlfriend…” She trails off, then looks up at me again. “This is something I’ve always wanted to do, but I can’t at my house, because some of my friends are allergic. I can’t have cats and cat hair on my stuff. But if I had a boyfriend, I could foster cats at his house. Because I would only seriously date a guy who would let me do that.” She takes a deep breath. “And you would be great about it. You’re kind and patient. And you like cats. When you were a kid, you were the one that rescued Pixie. I’m just remembering that.”
Pixie was a stray I had found and taken home, prepared to negotiate and battle with my parents over letting me keep her. But it hadn’t been a battle. They’d been fine. Pixie had lived with us for twelve years. The rest of her life.
“You’ve always known that I like cats.”
“Yeah. I did think about how it might annoy you a little to move all of this stuff in without asking but…I was actually just more excited about bringing the cats here. Tucker and Delaney love to have extra hands and homes whenever they can and I’ve wished I could help out before.”
I nod. I’m very aware of Tucker and Delaney’s animal fostering.
There’s a strange warmth in my chest as I realize that Harlow and I have always had some antagonism between us, that we’ve definitely butted heads, but it’s always been over important issues that really matter to both of us. It’s never been trivial. And it’s always made me like her because I like that she’s passionate.
And there are a lot of ways that we would fit together really well.
I take the cat from her hands. “We can definitely foster cats here. Even after these guys find a home, there’s no reason we can’t keep doing this here.”
I look into the cat’s eyes instead of staring at the beautiful woman who’s getting to me. Very quickly.
“Thanks,” Harlow says softly.
“Of course.”
Okay, so something going on between us is going to keep happening.
I wonder if other things are going to keep happening between us.
And I like that idea way more than I should.