11. Good Old Fashioned Hospitality
GOOD OLD FASHIONED HOSPITALITY
Robbie was trying too hard. Jake had finally gotten to him, and he allowed a self-satisfied smile to creep across his face as Robbie disappeared around a street corner.
Then his smile faded. Robbie had gotten to him, too. There was nothing sadistically pleasing about that.
Jake turned around, deciding it was best to make the slow trek back to his car before it got any later. Isabel would almost certainly be wondering what happened by now, but he would come up with some feeble excuse to feed her on the drive home.
He did just that, and before he knew it, he was walking through the door, clothes still covered in sand and dried sweat, calling out his apology for being so late.
“We stayed and talked forever,” he told her as he strode through the house to his room, only now taking time to glance down at his clothes. He’d done his shirt back up one button off, and he rushed to fix it before Isabel noticed. “We… had a lot to discuss.”
“You and Robbie?” Isabel sounded surprised, but also maybe a little hopeful.
Jake stopped and closed his eyes, not daring to turn around and face her. “Yeah. He’s okay, I guess. You were right.”
“I told you.”
That phrase made Jake wince, and he shut his bedroom door quickly behind him, gathering up pajamas and a towel so he could take a shower and slip into bed as soon as possible.
The hot water was a balm to his sticky skin, and under the sharp precision of the water droplets that hit his back, he allowed himself to relax for the first time in hours. His mind was a tangled mess of Robbie, and he hoped—knew—that Robbie was dealing with the same thing.
Jake ran his hands over his hair, lathering it up with shampoo. Robbie had been the one to touch his hair last, and he could still feel where his fingertips dug into his scalp now, as though his own fingers were Robbie’s. If only.
He needed to let it go. When the time was right, it would happen. Until then, he would have to suppress his nagging lust and remember that once it was over, it was over. That was the deal.
Even now, in the absence of any exertion, Jake’s heart was racing as fast as it had been on the beach. He stepped out of the shower, blood pumping in his ears and his head swimming, and sat down on the closed toilet lid, resting his face in the soft, dry towel.
When he lifted his head a minute later and stared down at the towel, he noticed something curious: when darkened with water, it was almost the exact same shade of blue as Robbie’s eyes.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered, wishing he could slap himself into some kind of sense.
He left the bathroom feeling worse than before. A warm bed sounded amazing, but Jake already knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep easily, no matter how much he messed with the blankets.
The top quilt was on the floor when Jake finally gave up and sat up straight in bed, turning on the bedside lamp. It was nearly eleven, and all the lights down the hall were off when he checked. Isabel’s door was shut, the light in her room off too. She’d long since gone to bed.
Quietly, Jake tiptoed down the hall, cringing every time he forgot to watch his step and a floorboard creaked. He unlocked the front door and stepped out onto the porch, the welcome rug scratchy on his bare feet. It was pleasantly cool and so unbelievably quiet outside.
The city Jake had left had trains and sirens and car horns going all night.
He’d grown used to it there, and for the first week or two out here, he’d missed falling asleep to their chaotic lullaby.
But now, standing out on Isabel’s porch watching the stars twinkle, everyone else in the entire town fast asleep in their cozy little houses, he could finally see the appeal of living in a place like this.
He sat down on the first step and rested his head against the porch railing. His eyelids were growing heavy. He wondered if Robbie was asleep yet.
Robbie probably slept in a massive canopy bed, with one of those fancy mattresses and silk sheets. He probably had a bedroom the size of Isabel’s whole house and decorated to perfection like an undisturbed dollhouse, left high on a shelf for display only—no touching.
Jake’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since lunch; back too late for a sit-down dinner and too preoccupied to get anything after his shower. He went back inside and foraged in the fridge until he found some leftovers that would do. He ate them cold and straight out of the container.
Robbie probably had stacks and stacks of homemade leftovers in his refrigerator. The food he made probably tasted pretty decent too, if he cooked as often as he let on. Did his house smell like cooking all the time? Or did it smell like him: light and aquatic with a hint of sandalwood?
Jake padded back down the hallway to his room. He could barely keep his eyes open now, and though he should have brushed his teeth again before collapsing into bed, he simply couldn’t.
He awoke late in the morning when the sunlight that filtered in through the curtains got too bright to bear.
“Damn those flimsy curtains,” he muttered, turning over so his eyes were better protected and he could pretend it was still nighttime.
But it was too late. He was awake, and his day had officially started.
Isabel sent Jake off to the store with a grocery list once he’d eaten breakfast and had some coffee. She told him he could wait until after lunch, but Jake needed to get out of the house anyway. A quick drive to Sandway would do him good—as long as Robbie wasn’t there this time.
People were starting to recognize Jake now, and as Jake walked down the wide aisles tossing boxes and cans and bundles of fruit and vegetables into his basket, the occasional townsperson nodded in his direction or smiled and waved.
“Hi, Jake,” one of Isabel’s friends said.
“Hi,” Jake said back, offering a brief smile.
He was on his way back to the house an hour later with two bags’ worth of groceries and a car full of gas, the latter courtesy of Robbie’s parents. It was as successful a day as he could hope for out here, and that made him miss his old life all the more.
When he returned to the house, there was another car in his spot in the driveway. He pulled up to the curb, getting out without the groceries so he could examine this new car. It was almost familiar, though Jake couldn’t quite tell if his mind was playing tricks on him.
It was a sleek black little thing; an expensive make.
He peered into the tinted windows to see a smooth brown leather interior and polished wooden trim.
There was only one family in town that would drive a car like this, and Jake highly doubted Isabel would have Robert Jr. or Madeleine Eaton over for lunch.
With a scowl on his face that he could feel dragging his lips down, Jake hauled the two bags out of his own car and stomped up the front steps. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, listening carefully for that warm, honey-sweet voice he used on people like Isabel.
“Marcus really did have an impressive collection.” The words filtered in from the kitchen. Why was he in the kitchen?
“Thank you,” Jake heard Isabel say, clearly flattered. “Like I said, any and all are yours if you want them. It would make him happy to know they’re going to a… what are people like you called?”
“Pricks,” Jake muttered under his breath. “Scheming, manipulative little pricks.”
“A bibliophile,” Robbie said. Jake could hear his smile.
Isabel snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”
“Well, I’m hardly that, but I appreciate your flattery.”
“God knows you don’t need it.” Jake burst into the kitchen, slamming the bags of groceries down on the counter. “Hey, Robbie, why are you here?”
Both Isabel and Robbie looked up. Robbie was holding a cup of coffee, and Isabel her favorite mint tea.
“Oh, Jakey, you’re back just in time for lunch. Want some coffee or tea?” Isabel seemed entirely unfazed by his attitude, if she’d even noticed it at all.
“Not until Robbie answers my question,” Jake said, folding his arms over his chest as he scrutinized the man he’d looked at entirely differently just half a day earlier. “Why are you here?”
“Isabel invited me,” Robbie said simply.
“No shit. Why did you come?”
“Jake, what’s gotten into you?” Isabel set her tea down, moving closer to Robbie as if to protect him. “I asked him to come look at some of Marcus’ old books and see if he wants any or if I should try selling them. That’s all.”
Jake glared at Robbie, his gaze unflinching. Slowly, that punchable smirk spread across Robbie’s face. “I can leave if this is going to be a problem,” he said, his tone as calm as the sea on a quiet day.
“No.” Jake set his jaw firmly. “Not a problem for me. Stay, Robbie, have lunch. Tell us all about what you’ve been up to these last few days.”
Robbie’s smirk faltered. He took a sip of his coffee, his lips parting to take in the liquid, and then he set the cup down on the counter, never once taking his eyes off Jake. As ceramic clinked on granite, his eyes twinkled, and Jake knew he’d just lost. “With pleasure.”
Isabel had Jake set the table for lunch, allowing Robbie to sit back, finish his coffee, and flip through books while they worked.
“You know you can make him do something too, Aunt Isabel,” Jake told her as he tossed napkins haphazardly onto the table. “He’s had a lifetime of sitting on his ass already. Put him to work for once.”
“You can be a little kinder to our guest,” Isabel said, keeping her voice down as if Robbie couldn’t hear as little as a whisper from the living room. “Besides, I thought you two were getting along better.”
Jake shrugged. “We were. Are. It’s just that I didn’t expect him here. This is sort of my own private space, you know? I don’t have to worry about hurting the poor little rich boy’s feelings here normally.”
“You won’t hurt Robbie’s feelings. Haven’t you learned that by now?”