chapter 31
[Angelica]
“How was your night?” Jude asks, once we squeeze through another crowded bar and find a single stool near the bar.
Jude suggests I sit while he leans against the counter, similar to our position during his holiday party. Nearly three weeks ago, yet it feels like forever has passed.
“Strange,” I admit, picking up the Fireball Surprise he ordered me after learning about the round of shots and the disappointing cranberry vodka.
The drink has a little kick to it, but it feels good going down. The hint of cinnamon fits the season, not to mention I feel a little spicy tonight.
“How so?” He tilts his head. He’s so good looking, and green is a good color on him.
“I really wanted the girls’ night.” I need someone to talk to about my feelings, which are pinging all over the place when it comes to Jude. “But somehow we got on the topic of ex-es and—”
“You have an ex?” Jude stands a little taller. His eyes focus on my face before dropping to my hand for some reason.
“Not an ex, like I’ve been married. More like an ex, because I was supposed to get married, and then it didn’t happen.”
Jude continues to stare at me, waiting out a story that’s a decade old and one I don’t like to discuss.
But I think about how far Jude has come, opening up about himself.
Tonight, he looked especially vulnerable as he apologized to Eva in front of an entire group.
Eva was gracious, letting Jude off the hook rather easily.
The relief in Jude’s face had been instant.
“The long short story is I was engaged. But I shouldn’t have been engaged. We’d been together for almost ten years. Lived together for a while. Talked about purchasing a house one day. And having kids.” Lots of kids.
“We got engaged, thinking it was what we should do to get us out of a rut. Unfortunately, as much as we’d talked about that house and those kids, we couldn’t see it happening between us.” We, with an emphasis more on he.
I sit up, inhaling deeply, and reach for my drink to take another sip.
Jude watches me intently. He leans against the bar top again.
“We both thought being engaged would bring us closer, but it didn’t.”
Still holding my glass, I stare down at the amber liquid. “Between my parents’ death and the separation from Ian, I have an irrational fear about people leaving me.”
I say irrational, because my parents died, and Ian and I fell out of love. Still, I don’t like feeling like I’ve been left behind.
Don’t you leave me, Jude. My request hadn’t fallen into the same category as losing my parents or breaking things off with Ian, but somehow that declaration has grown into something.
I don’t want to lose him next.
“Eventually, I learned he slept with someone during our decade-long romance. I forgave him, because we were over.” The betrayal still stung, though.
Jude watches me when he says, “You’re a bigger person than I would have been. I can’t stand infidelity, and I would have burned his house down.”
I chuckle at the thought. Since I’m in the fire department, I know guys who would have willingly set Ian’s place on fire. The house he eventually bought without me.
“He’s married now. She was a single mom with two kids.” I sigh, recalling the first time I saw him after hearing the news. He looked happier than I’d seen him in years, but he said the same about me. We’d been holding each other back, and I never wanted to be in that kind of relationship again.
Jude’s brows pinch. “Why are you so good?”
“Because I’ve accepted that life is short. It can be taken from you in an instant, and I don’t want to spend my time dwelling on things that didn’t happen, or can’t happen, or did happen. I don’t want to let regret rule my life.” And turn me into Aunt Gertie.
Jude sips the straight whiskey he ordered, taking a moment to question my thought process, probably.
“For so long, I’ve let bitterness pin me down,” he admits, staring down at the glass he set back on the counter. Then he looks up at me. “But now I want to be free from that bite.”
He snaps his jaw to emphasize his point.
I chuckle at the antics. “You’re getting there, Jude.”
“Am I?”
“How do you feel after apologizing to Eva?” I lift my glass again. The Fireball ingredient is slowly taking effect, warming my throat and making my insides feel gooey.
“Like my heart might have grown a size or two,” he teases.
“See, there’s hope for you yet.”
“You won’t give up hoping for me, will you?” He glances back at his glass on the bar before giving me a sheepish gaze.
“Never.” There is always the opportunity to turn your life around. It’s why I forgave Ian. It’s why I moved on.
“Still want that house and those kids?” he asks, arching a brow.
“One day.”
Our eyes remain locked on one another.
“Favorite color?” he asks.
I laugh softly. “Orange.”
He puffs out his bottom lip. “Interesting. And number?”
Having never really considered it, I answer, “I think I’m partial to nine.”
The corner of his mouth curls. That apostrophe-like dimple pops forward. If he can claim my freckle as his, can I gain possession of that divot?
“And food?”
I sigh with a smile. “I like all food.” I slap my thigh, as if proving my point.
Jude snorts, the sound easy and light, compared to the range of derisive noises he can make.
“Let’s go back to that favorite number. How do you feel about a six in front of the nine?”
“Sixty-nine?” I question before the number registers.
“Exactly,” Jude says, holding those clear eyes on me, letting me see exactly what he’s thinking.
“Come over,” I state in the same way he said it only two nights ago. Not so much as a question but a command.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Jude says, taking my drink from my hand, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the bar, and leading me out into the cold.
+ + +
The morning after our rather adventurous night, Jude finds me in my kitchen. It’s early, but I have a full weekend ahead of me.
As I slowly melt semi-sweet chocolate over boiling hot water, Jude approaches me from behind. I sense his closeness while saying, “Good morning.” As I can’t stop stirring for a second, or the chocolate might burn, I hold my position, facing the stove and swirling melting chocolate in the pot.
Jude hesitates, and for half a second, nervous energy wavers off him. He sets his hands on my hips first.
I smile to myself, remaining quiet, while Jude figures out whatever he’s trying to figure out.
He steps closer and presses a kiss to my shoulder before slowly, very slowly, wrapping his arms around me. He remains stiff, almost as if he’s anxious about hugging me.
Running my free hand along his forearm over my waist, I lean into his chest and feel him relax behind me. His chin comes to rest on my shoulder as we stay like this while I continue stirring the chocolate.
“Whatcha doing?” he murmurs near my ear.
“Making my famous chocolate mints.” I don’t tell him that I bake when I’m stressed. Beau’s wedding is coming together. The holiday seems set. Yet, I feel off today. Like I’m forgetting something.
“Famous, huh?”
“Well, famous one day.” I smile again as I stare at the creamy chocolate mix.
“I like that kind of confidence.” He kisses the side of my neck and continues holding me.
Sadly, I don’t think Jude has been hugged enough in his lifetime, and it’s made him skittish to give or receive something so simple as a hug.
So, I continue to stroke his arm, keeping him pinned to my back and holding me while I work.
“Why do I feel like I’m being let in on a secret?”
“You are,” I tease, the seriousness intended in my voice is disguised beneath laughter.
“Can I help?” His question is almost as anxious as his embrace.
“Of course.” I pause, then pull one of his hands forward. “First lesson, keep stirring.”
I make his hand take over the stirring I’d been doing.
“Slow,” I whisper as he goes a bit too fast.
He hums over my shoulder. “I told you I don’t know how to go slow.”
I feel his smile against the side of my neck.
“And you also told me you’d try.”
While the twirl of his wrist, he moves the chocolate around the pot, and says, “But I don’t want to go too slow.”
He kisses the side of my neck, like it’s the reassurance I need that we haven’t leapt too quickly into whatever is happening between us.
“Timing is of the essence,” I state once the chocolate looks smooth. “We need to get the rest of the ingredients together.”
Jude stands back, and I turn off the stove, moving the pot to a back burner. Then, I hand Jude a whisk and show him how to cream butter.
“You have to really beat it,” I say, and Jude chokes.
“Oh, honey, you have no idea how good I am at that.”
I snort at the sexual innuendo. “Have a lot of practice, do you?”
“The past month has been the worst,” he teases.
“Oh really,” I arch a brow as he continues to work the butter to a creamy pulp, and I sift in powdered sugar.
“I met this angel and she fucking haunts my dreams.”
“Haunts, you say?” I tweak a brow again, as Jude chews at his lower lip, really concentrating on the butter and sugar combination.
“She’s all I think about.”
I still for a second, staring at his profile. “Is she like the ghost of Christmas present or something?”
“Apparently, she’s the past I missed and the present I’m enjoying.” He doesn’t look at me, his jaw tightening with the admission. “I think I’d like her to be the Christmas future as well.”
“But you don’t celebrate Christmas,” I say too quickly before realizing he’s using Christmas metaphorically.
He doesn’t correct me.
With Jude still stirring the butter and sugar, I crack eggs into the bowl and watch the yolky mixture blend with the other ingredients.
Eventually, I still his hand and nod at the extracts, vanilla and peppermint, on the counter. “Want to do the honors?”
He glances up at me. The icy gaze is gone again, leaving only clear blue pools of hesitation. It’s always shocking how he’s so confident in some manners and cautious in the simple ones.
“It’s an exact science,” I tell him. “You just measure and pour.”
“All my life, I’ve worked with exactness. Right school. Right friends. Right clothes, job, money.”
I nod. “Well, with baking you can’t really fuck around and find out. What you’ll end up with is a mess. So in this case, exactness matters.”
Is this why Jude has been so wild in other ways? Women. Trips. Events. He’s been trying to break a mold while living within a glass dome.
We reach for the measuring spoons at the same time, but while Jude halts, I cup his hand.
“I’m right here. I won’t let you mess up.” Not the chocolates. Not his life.
He’s checked another thing off his list, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. In fact, last night I learned how very proud of him I am with his face between my thighs and mine over his dick.
I shiver a little at the quick memory, then get back to work.
“You’ve got this, Jude.” Because he has me, for as long as he needs me. As long as he wants me.
He measures out the vanilla, and then the peppermint, with shaky hands. When all is ready, the chocolate is cooled enough to add the other ingredients, then I show Jude how to drop the mixture into the candy forms.
“It will take about four hours to set but overnight is really best.”
“Four hours,” Jude pretends to look at his silver watch, which isn’t on his wrist, but on my nightstand like it belongs there. “Plenty of time to practice exactness.”
There’s something different in his eyes once again. The icy shards that turn to clear liquid now look warmer, like a summer sky. One threatening to give me a sunburn but promising I’ll enjoy the heat.
He lifts me by my hips and sets me on the short counter between my kitchen and living room, making me his pre-breakfast delicacy.