Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Jake
When I wake up, Rachel is gone. So is my t-shirt.
Pulling on a pair of sweats and my slippers, I stretch my arms over my head as I search the small apartment for her. Snow falls steadily outside, and when I look down at the ground twenty stories below us, all I can see is a blanket of white.
She’s in the kitchen, wearing my t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks and nothing else. As I watch from the doorway, she stirs something in a big mixing bowl. Flour dusts the countertop.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.
She jumps, and whatever she’s stirring jolts, too.
“You scared me,” she pouts.
“You were gone.”
Crossing the room, I pull her into my arms, and she comes readily, leaning up to kiss me.
“Wanted to make you pancakes,” Rachel murmurs.
I pause. “I know we have a break for a few days, but I have to eat fairly clean.”
She smiles. “I know. I added protein powder and Greek yogurt to the batter.” Reaching for her phone, she shows me the recipe. “Protein pancakes are on your meal plan, right?”
Nodding, I kiss her shoulder. “You looked up a recipe for me?”
Rachel shrugs. “I wanted to make you something. You’ve done most of the cooking so far.”
“I like cooking.” It’s relaxing. After a long day at practice or in the gym, it’s my favorite way to unwind.
Well. My other favorite way would involve the two of us naked in my bed. But she has a life outside of me. I can’t ask her to quit her job and stay in my house, ready to be railed at any moment.
I can dream, though.
My arms wrap around her belly and I think of other dreams, too. Maybe one day, a few years from now, we could be standing here with her belly swollen with my baby, making these same pancakes. Sometimes there’s a toddler running around the place. Other fantasies have a dog barking in the background and a cat winding it’s way between our legs.
One thing is constant: Rachel.
It’s soon. It’s ridiculously early to have these types of thoughts. I’m afraid to bring them up to her in case she laughs herself out the door.
She’s got enough on her plate. She’s trying to figure herself out. I can wait. I can be patient.
I kiss her temple as she returns to her pancakes. She’s warming chicken sausages in the oven and chopped fruit for a smoothie. She’s thought of all my dietary restrictions and planned accordingly.
Fuck, I love this girl.
We eat breakfast at the kitchen bar, her legs over my lap as I feed her berries.
“I was thinking of going home,” Rachel says out of nowhere.
My eyebrows go up. “To New Hampshire?”
She nods. “Chanukah starts next week. My mom is alone and, well… it feels like I should go home.”
“But do you want to?”
She chews her lip. “Not really.”
“Why don’t you have her come up here? She can stay in the guest room.”
Rachel blinks a few times. “The guest room I don’t sleep in?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And where am I supposed to sleep?”
“My bed.”
“Jake, we’re not dating,” she says gently.
She doesn’t have to remind me about it.
“I know.” I rub at my chest, trying to take out the sting behind my clavicle. “I can sleep on the air mattress for a few nights.”
“You’re not going to sleep on an air mattress. I’ll do it,” she says.
“Rachel—”
“We can figure that out later,” she says, waving it away. “Why do you want my mom to come visit?”
“You miss her. You want to see her.”
She nods slowly. “And I can go home.”
“You don’t have a car. How would you get home?”
“I’d take the Greyhound.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“No?” Her eyebrows go up. “You don’t get to say whether I do or don’t do anything ,” she snaps.
I take a breath to cool down. “I’d drive you, or I’d get Jeremy to come down and drive you back,” I tell her. “I don’t want you taking some sketchy bus.”
She relaxes. “I don’t want to take a sketchy bus, either. I’m a grown-up. I can deal with it.”
“I don’t want you to deal with it . I want you and your mom to have a fun weekend in the city. You can get a massage and go out to the theater and all sorts of things.” That’s what my mom likes to do when she visits the city. I’m guessing her mom likes similar.
Rachel cocks her head, staring at me.
“Why don’t we invite my parents, too? We can make it a little Chanukah party.”
Her eyes go wide. “You want to invite your parents ?”
“And your mom.” Her dad passed a few years ago and she’s an only child. “My brothers, too.”
She shifts. “What about Josh?”
“Yeah, he’s one of my brothers…” I study her face. “Does that make you uncomfortable? Seeing him again?”
“No, I don’t care about him,” she says, and I believe her. She waves a hand. “Just that if we’re…”
My eyebrows go up. “If we’re what?”
She swallows and straightens her shoulders. “If we’re going to continue sleeping together,” Rachel says bluntly, “We’ll have to tell him. Especially before he comes to visit.”
“Do you want to keep sleeping together?” I don’t know that I want to know the answer. I mean, I do, but only if it’s going to be a yes. I don’t want there to be any other option.
She takes a breath. “I’d like to, yes,” she says. Her eyes flick up to mine and then away. “I’m not ready for more.”
“Am I pushing you for more?” It’s an honest question. I really don’t think I am. Maybe I’m doing something subconsciously.
“You’re not,” Rachel says. “I know you want more, but you’ve respected that I’m not able to give it.” She exhales heavily. “I’m working on myself. I want to get to a place where I can be open to more. I’m just not there yet.”
“There’s no rush,” I tell her, taking her hand. “When we have forever ahead of us, a little bit of time is easy to give.”
She gulps. “Forever?”
“That’s what I want. Forever. With you.”
Rachel goes tense.
“But I know you’re not ready, I’m okay with taking it a day at a time,” I’m quick to add.
“One day at a time,” she agrees.
Snow falls steadily over the next few hours. Because we’re so high up, we can see the snowfall swirling around us and dropping to the street below. We’re well and truly snowed in.
After we clean up the breakfast dishes, we take showers—separately—and curl up on the couch. Rachel puts on a Chanukah Hallmark movie and I make hot cocoa for both of us, with plenty of marshmallows for her.
“I can’t believe you’re watching this,” she comments as she lays on my chest, my hand threaded though her hair.
“Why?”
“I thought you’d want to watch sports replays or an action movie.”
Laughing, I kiss her temple. “Way to stereotype.”
She’s not wrong.
But when the alternative is holding her in my arms? Yeah, I’ll do whatever she wants.
After the movie ends, I pull out the box that lives in my linen closet. I don’t have a lot of holiday decor. I have more flamingo summer decorations than Chanukah.
Rachel takes my phone and opens the online shopping app. Together, we scroll through the site. She picks garlands to hang in front of the mantle and a set of Chanukah gnomes that I kind of want to display year round. There’s a frosted winter gingerbread-style house with a menorah in the front window. I have a menorah already, so she one-clicks on candles to fill it.
I never would have thought I’d need this. As soon as I see her eyes light up, we add it to the cart. Whatever she wants, we add it to the cart.
We spend two days on the couch, buried under a pile of blankets. We make out, take breaks for snacks, and play cards and board games. She cheats. Blatantly. Every time.
And I let her, like the lovesick fool I am.
When the snow starts to clear and the impromptu vacation comes to an end, I’m almost sorry. Does it suck to have missed a game? Yes. I love playing, and I’ll happily do it every chance I get. But these last few days… I wouldn’t change them for the world.