Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jude
B ones and I did a puzzle and listened to music on the lowest possible volume while Jess slept.
At some point, my mind had slipped from thinking of her as Pop and had fallen into the cruel trap of Jess.
Then there was that time you called her baby, and she wasn’t so out of it she didn’t notice.
She likely didn’t remember it now. I couldn’t say why or how the word jumped from my mouth, but I couldn’t take it back.
Could it be the soul-filling tenderness you feel for her and the way she makes you want to be soft and gentle and do whatever she wants? Could that be why you called her ? —
Oh, well. Not a helpful line of thought, and again, she likely wouldn’t remember it or might think it was all a dream. Hopefully.
I peeked in on her to make sure she didn’t seem like she was febrile again, but she was simply sleeping. Her color looked better, and she was, overall, perking up.
She’d stepped away at just the right time earlier. Her apology and kind words about my grandparents had sideswiped me. I hadn’t guessed she’d come here to apologize for what she’d said—Jess wasn’t the kind of person to say something she didn’t mean. But her regret over saying what she did, when she did, hit me in a surprisingly painful way I couldn’t explain.
For a few minutes there, we’d simply talked—shared in the human connection of grief and loss over my grandparents, and joy for her mom’s happiness. It’d been…
Good.
I’d needed the quiet and the mind-numbing practice of fitting pieces into place and making sense of a bunch of nothing so it turned into something. But as late afternoon approached, I started cooking. The vegetable beef stew I’d put in the crock pot earlier smelled amazing, and I just needed to turn out the dough for the no-knead bread and let it rise while the oven heated up. She’d be hungry whenever she woke, and I wanted to have dinner ready.
My appetite had reasserted itself lately, and the idea of sharing a meal with Jess made it somehow more ravenous.
Then maybe, if she wasn’t too tired, we could sit together and watch a movie or… whatever. Now that she’d been here a few days, I’d gotten used to her. And now that we weren’t spewing insults and frustration back and forth, it only made me want more of this gentle, if temporary, detente between us.
But the snow had stopped last night. We’d likely be able to leave tomorrow morning. Might even be able to go tonight, if she wanted, which I should really tell her. I could drive her—I could bring Kenny back with me to get her car .
Would it all crumble once she was better? Once we left here?
No doubt, the fantasy would come to an end. This waking dream I’d been stuck in since she crossed my threshold, and her words amidst delirium last night…
I was a different man than before she’d come here. I couldn’t unknow what she’d said… that at some point, before everything, she’d wanted me. Wondered about how it might be between us. Maybe even wished I would smile at her.
Eyes closed, I could feel her finger press between my brows.
“Hey. Sorry I slept so long.”
The sight of her standing at the edge of the kitchen with her arms wrapped around herself and a pair of my sweatpants she must’ve found in the drawers nearly drowning her stole my breath. I let out a huh , a mix of a laugh and something else unintelligible, as my gaze dropped to the excess material pooling at her ankles.
“Oh, yeah.” She looked down, then curtseyed as she held out the material on either side of her thighs. “I borrowed these.”
It shouldn’t have been appealing. My heart should’ve had no response to her borrowing my clothes. After everything over the last few days, why would that make my gut tight? “Whatever you need.”
She tucked her lips together, then her gaze shifted behind me. “Wait, are you making homemade bread?”
I’d just uncovered the dough. In another minute or two, I’d pull the Dutch oven from the heat and dump the dough in so it could bake covered for half an hour.
“Yes. It’s a simple recipe. ”
Her eyes stayed glued on the dough until they shifted to meet mine. “I really don’t know you, do I?”
I stepped closer, wiping my hands on a towel to give them something to do. “It’s been a long time since we knew each other.”
She hummed. “Maybe so.”
Not wanting to drown in the memory of the past and get stuck on the landfill-sized pile of baggage between us, I pulled the Dutch oven off the heat. “Want to watch some TV until dinner’s ready?”
“What do you have in mind?”
I tipped the dough into the preheated Dutch oven and slipped on the lid, a lick of satisfaction hitting at the sound of the sizzle where dough met heated cast iron.
“I have a poor selection of movies, or I have Parks and Rec . We can try the internet but it’s never that great for streaming.” I needed enough reception for calls, texts, and emergencies, but getting away from the constant scrolling and input was part of the point of being here, so I’d made no effort to improve.
“Oh, definitely Parks and Rec. ”
A half smile was already on my face when I shut the oven and turned toward her. “Excellent choice.”
Two hours later, we were settled into opposite ends of the couch, her legs stretching across the cushions toward me. We’d feasted on bread still crackling from the heat of the oven—an admission that would have Dorian cringing and likely any other bread baker I knew, but oh, well—and stew. Jess had found her appetite again and I could say with certainty I’d never had more satisfaction witnessing someone eat a meal. And that was saying something, because I’d witnessed men who were literally starving take a bite of food.
Caring for Jess had taken on a life of its own. Or maybe my desire to had. In the short forty-eight hours since she’d arrived, I’d moved through so many responses and settled on one unavoidable truth—I wanted to meet her every need. And in doing so, the shroud of grief had eased a touch.
Acknowledging the thought made my gut tighten and I shifted in my seat, then decided to take a break.
“Need anything?”
She gave me those dark eyes of hers. “No, thank you.” Then Andy Dwyer did something ridiculous on the screen and her face split into a wide, unfettered smile.
My stomach swooped low and I turned away, busying myself refilling my water and double-checking the stove knobs to confirm they were all off. Of course they were, but it gave me a reason to linger and take a second to calm the stupid swell of my heart.
Not this again. Not this.
Only she gave me this feeling—this skin-too-tight, heart-too-big feeling. I could feel it when I hated her for hating me, and I’d felt it… before that. I’d felt it when we were friends, before she and Kurt got serious. Before I accepted she’d never be mine because she was falling for him, so I removed myself. It’d been painful, but I’d known removing myself and locking myself down was what I had to do. It’d been clear.
Until it’d gotten murky. Until he’d screwed up so badly I couldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt anymore.
Until she started hating me for ruining everything, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her just how bad Kurt had been because it would’ve hurt her more.
And in truth, there had been a nasty part of me that’d been relieved. I hated myself for admitting it, but I’d been glad I finally had a reason to push him enough so he ran away with his tail between his legs. I knew he’d never confess to what he’d done, and then he was gone. But it certainly hadn’t given me a chance with her.
I exhaled silently and willed away that rabbit trail. Nothing good came from digging around in those old feelings. The fact that they’d sprung up again and very much against my will… I had to hold out maybe twelve more hours. Then we’d be out of here and deal with whatever happened next.
I poured myself a highball of whiskey. I hadn’t planned on getting roaring drunk and staring at the ceiling every night I was here, but it had been on the docket for at least one before Jess had showed up. While I wouldn’t do that now, a drink would give me something to do—somewhere to focus the energy that kept centering in on her.
Returning to the couch, I took my same seat, but she was sitting closer to the middle and Bones had taken up residence where her spot had been. She must’ve shifted around long enough to let the little thief come steal her warmth.
When my thigh brushed hers, she raised a brow. “No whiskey for me?”
I scowled.
She pressed her pretty lips together, but her eyes lit in the way they did so I knew she was smiling, even if she was hiding it.
“I should know better than to think you’d give me alcohol after being so sick.”
I only gave her a look .
“I don’t actually want any.”
“Good. You can’t have any.”
She chuckled and knocked into me, her shoulder bumping into mine. A cascade of sensation at the voluntary contact shimmered out from the touch point, a wave of fizzing awareness sliding down my arm and up my neck and across my chest.
She settled back into the couch, one hand occasionally testing Bones’ patience by petting him as we binged the show. She laughed and grinned, commented on how much Dove reminded her of Leslie Knope, and how she imagined Wilder was actually a lot like Ron Swanson. I refilled my whiskey and teased her by bringing her two glasses of water.
But mostly, we were quiet.
After some amount of time, a soft weight pressed into my shoulder. Her head. She’d fallen asleep and her head now rested against me.
A sharp longing hit me. I breathed out like I would if I were queasy. She was so stubborn and beautiful and hard and soft and everything.
I’d never wanted anyone or anything the way I’d wanted her, and I couldn’t tell if this restlessness to haul her into my arms was new and real or just a bizarre form of nostalgia.
Damn, but it would be so much better if it were nostalgia.
I should wake her and help her get to bed. Or I could carry her there, though now that she was on the mend, I didn’t want her to wake and feel I’d crossed a line.
Or I could stay right here for as long as she needs me to.
So I did.