Chapter 19
Jason
“What do you mean, a party?”
Mitch watches me warily as I dismount the ladder, a screwdriver in one hand as I make my way down the rungs.
We spent the morning working on separate projects but now all the guys are here at Casey’s bar. We’ve just finished screwing in most of the lighting and, once we test that they work, we’ll be pretty much done.
Except for the furnishings, which Sunday now has plans for.
I step down onto the hardwood and head toward the switch panel.
“Self-explanatory,” I tell him. “Sunday thinks it’s a good idea to have the bar ready for when Case gets home from deployment.”
“When does he get home?” Knox asks, his expression wary.
And I understand why – because we aren’t used to doing up interiors.
We fix homes and build houses and make sturdy wooden hardware.
“According to Sunday? We’ve got around two months. But we can’t put an exact date on it because Case doesn’t have that information yet.”
It’s the Army, not a nine-’til-five, meaning that Case isn’t going to have official leave until whatever mission he’s working on is fully done and dusted.
“And we won’t be doing the finishing touches. We’ll be helping Sunday with any heavy lifting.”
Mitch’s brow rises slightly. “Sunday’s doing the finishing touches?”
I breathe out a laugh, letting out a gravelly, “Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ.” Mitch swipes his hand down his jaw. “That’s a little ironic, don’t you think?”
Yeah, we all know why Case bought this bar, and Sunday helping us finish it off without knowing what this project is… it’s a little ironic. But then again, maybe it’s perfect, so I don’t intend on trying to stop her, and I also have no intention of telling Case about what his sister is doing.
I flick the light switch with two fingers and the room instantly flushes with a warm glow – and it’s goddamn perfect for the kind of bar where small towners will want to hang out at the weekends. It’s beautiful and intimate, while still having some of its original dive-bar appeal. Nothing flash – just dark wood panelling on the walls, rich red booths, and sexy lighting.
Not only is Case going to love it, Sunday is going to love it too.
And the guys are thinking the exact same thing that I am.
Beckett glances around and lets out a low whistle. “Place looks damn good.”
We all used to come here when it was under its old ownership, and I love that Case bought it from the old couple and asked us to revive it in small-town style.
I switch the lights back off and join the crew leaning against the tables.
“Sunday’s going to plan it and get all of the, you know” – I gesture vaguely toward the bare wooden walls – “things for us to put up in here.”
“What kind of things?” Mitch asks, flicking his gaze toward the wood that he’s spent the past month working on.
I give him a dry look. “She’s not gonna fuck up the wood, man. Trust her on this. She spent over a decade working in Tennessee, turning that bar that her mom and step-dad loved so much into the most-decorated bar in the whole of Nashville.”
He looks at me in alarm. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘most decorated’?”
“Jesus Christ.” My chest heaves on a deep inhale. “I mean decorated with accolades, not fucking neon signs. Sunday’s country bar was the most inconspicuous on the whole of Broadway. Which is probably why everyone in Nashville fell so damn in love with it.”
Beckett raises an eyebrow at me. “Sounds like you know an awful lot about it.”
I don’t bite the bait, because I know what he’s subtly suggesting.
If you’re so familiar with Sunday’s bar… you must have gone to see it for yourself.
I flick him an irate look and then turn my attention back to Mitch.
“It’s not going to take much work. I trust that Sunday will keep it simple. It’ll be the organising everyone to arrive on time that’ll probably be the hardest part.”
Knox watches me for a beat and then finally gives me a nod. Mitch does too.
And I know that they’re on board.
We all grab our shit and Mitch locks up as we head to the town square’s snow-covered lot. I secure one of the ladders in the frosted bed of my truck and pull open my door as Knox tips his chin at me.
“You get the power fixed at Casey’s place?” he asks over the hood of his car.
I toss my toolbox in the back and nod. “Yeah. Got it done this morning. Half the town went down so it took the power guys a while to stop by.”
It gave Madden and me time to finish up Casey’s yard though, so we’re flying through our winter workload. Meaning that, before the spring hits, we might actually get a full week off.
I’ll still be doing the last of the winter calls with the search-and-rescue department, but at least Mad will get a little time off with his girl. Plus, we’re about a week away from finishing up the annex at the ranch and Madden’s clearly fucking stoked about it because he’s been working harder than the Terminator today.
And I know the feeling because, even though Sunday will probably be heading back to Casey’s place tonight, the tickets to Phoenix Falls’ annual Valentine’s outdoor cinema screening went on sale this morning, and I managed to grab us a pair before they all sold out.
The second that I get back to my place I’m going to ask her if she’s up for it and, if she says yes, I’ll have a good idea of where we stand.
Because there’s no way you’d hang out with someone on Valentine’s Day and not call it a date.
I hunch inside my car, insert the key, and hit the pedal, and then the drive through town is decent seeing as the roads have been cleared.
We finished up early this afternoon, considering that sometimes we’re not done until way after five. When you’re running your own team and a client’s given you full reins on a project, as the lead it can be hard to let yourself finish up for the day. There’s always something that needs looking at, or something that one of the guys wants you to fix, but seeing as Casey’s bar is almost good to go, I don’t have a single thing holding me back from getting to Sunday.
And around forty-five minutes later, I pull up through the clearing, the snow-topped pines swaying overhead.
When we were having dinner last night, Sunday mentioned exploring the forest around the house while I’m at work, and as I step down from my truck I wonder if she managed to do that this morning.
I unlock my cell as I trudge toward the front door, swiping through to the tickets to the outdoor cinema screening. Just making sure that they’re still there.
I open them up and, after a moment, I smile.
Warmth spreads through my pecs, making them swell on a deep inhale, because I’ve been wanting this to happen since the moment I left the Army. I can’t believe my luck that Sunday decided to take a break from Nashville, and I’m going to do everything I can to show her that it was the right decision.
I open up the door – unlocked, meaning that Sunday’s inside – and I drop my work gear in the foyer, glancing around to see where she’s at.
I unzip my jacket and toss it on the couch, my gaze flicking toward her discarded laptop.
While she’s been staying at my place, she’s spent almost all of her time working on that thing. And if this is how busy she is on vacation, fuck knows how busy she must get on the regular.
I grip my hand around the neck of my sweater and pull it off over my head, making my way toward the stairwell seeing as she’s not on the first floor.
“Sunday?” I call up, climbing the stairs slow and steady.
I can’t wait to finally ask her out. Maybe get another kiss on the cheek before I grab a shower. I fucking love how natural it feels to have her staying over at my place, how easy it’s been to talk to her while getting a little flirty every now and then, too. It feels like we’re kids again, as close as we were way back in high school, only now we’ve got maturity on our side and we both know exactly what we want.
And what I want is a shot at what we never truly started.
I want Sunday. And it’s time that she knows that.
“Sunday?” I call again, but then I’m coming to a stop at her bedroom doorway, as I take in the sight of her wrapped up in the centre of the bed.
She lifts her head about a millimetre before wincing hard and dropping it back down.
“Hey,” she whispers, her teeth chattering as she swallows quietly.
And I hesitate for barely a second before I’m thinking fuck it and storming right in.
I immediately crouch down at the side of the bed, settling my forearms on the quilt beside her.
“What happened?” I ask immediately, my voice low as I look her over. “What’s wrong, Sunday? Did something happen?”
She starts to shake her head but then squeezes her eyes shut in pain, burying her face in the pillow so that she can moan through the sensation.
“Sunday, tell me what happened,” I repeat, my voice deeper this time.
And that gets her attention, but her brow quivers as she searches my eyes.
I take one of her bunched fists in the palm of my hand, and then I inhale a quick breath at the feel of how hot her skin is.
She’s sick, and it’s clear as day.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” she whispers breathlessly, “or, actually, I shouldn’t be in here. I don’t want you to get sick. I should go drive to Haven’s.”
I bring my other hand to our joined ones because there’s no way that Sunday is driving anywhere when she’s sick.
“I’m serious,” she rasps, trying to sit herself up on one elbow. And as she attempts to find a position that doesn’t make her head spin, I flick a glance at what she’s wearing while she gets comfortable on the sheets.
She’s in a baby blue tank top and a pair of sleep shorts, her fluffy curls free of her signature ponytail.
Ill or not, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
My eyes linger on her pyjama top for a brief moment and then I clear my throat and meet her gaze.
“I’m not going to get sick,” I tell her. “But I can help you get better.”
“Jason,” she says warily, her brow creasing in concern.
“I’m going to be honest with you. We got the power at Casey’s place fixed today. But I’d rather you crash here for a couple more nights before heading back to his cabin, so that you’re completely well again and okay to be on your own.”
She breathes out a raspy, ironic laugh. “Jason, I’m always on my own.”
I hold her hand tighter, caressing my thumbs over her delicate wrist. Her delicate wrist that’s on fucking fire, even though shivers are racking her body like a goddamn hurricane.
What does she mean, she’s always on her own? She’s one of the most successful businesswomen in Nashville and she doesn’t have a decent support network around her? I know that Case and her mom don’t live near her, but it gets me a little agitated to think that no-one in Tennessee is standing by her side.
But I can’t deny that it makes me think of something else, too.
The fact that, if she’s always on her own… she isn’t currently in a relationship.
Which brings me back to exactly why I came upstairs for her in the first place.
Because of the Valentine’s outdoor cinema screening that Sunday has always wanted to go to.
I was going to ask her out.
But now she’s sick, and because the screening takes place at the end of this week…
I drop my forehead to the quilt and grunt out a curse.
“What?” she whispers quietly.
I stifle a sigh and lift my head.
“Doesn’t matter, baby,” I murmur. “I was just thinking something.”
“Tell me,” she presses, and I flick my eyes back to hers.
Heat spreads up my neck, making me shift my shoulders as I hold her gaze.
“It’s not important,” I tell her. “Especially not right now. Not while you’re sick.”
She links our fingers together tighter. “Jason,” she whispers.
I wince and glance away from her, but she shifts her body as if she’s trying to recapture my attention.
And, rest fucking assured, she recaptures my attention.
“I’m bummed for us,” I tell her honestly. “Can’t deny it. I was really looking forward to taking you to the movies for Valentine’s.”
She blinks at me for a moment before understanding sparkles in her eyes, suddenly remembering what we talked about the first day I found her at Casey’s cabin.
She’d probably forgotten all about it while I’ve been thinking about it for a full month straight.
She slaps her free hand over her forehead, groaning as she throws herself back down on the pillows.
Then she peeks at me from between her fingers and whispers, “Did you manage to get tickets?”
I hesitate for a moment, considering withholding the truth to soften the blow, but we’ve never pussyfooted around the facts before so I release another exhale and give her a nod.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking genuinely upset.
I shake my head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You can’t help it that you caught something.” I think for a moment and ask, “You think it’s what Tucker had?”
She starts to nod but then she suddenly pauses.
I watch her for a couple of seconds before asking, “What?”
She shifts around in discomfort, cheeks blushing as she looks at our joined hands.
“It’s, uh…” Her voice is light and breathless, and hoarse as hell because of the cold. “I think that, um… it might be a little exacerbated because of something else.”
I blink at her. “What d’you mean?”
“Like, cold aside, I knew that I was going to get a headache but… because I’ve caught a temperature, it’s just made it a little worse.” She looks up at me with earnest eyes and says, “Because, if it was just a headache, I would have totally still gone to the movies with you.”
I mean, that’s something, but I don’t fully understand what she’s getting at.
I nod slightly, trying to figure her out as I search her face.
“Do you… get a lot of headaches?” I ask.
She rolls her lips into her mouth before dropping her voice so that it’s barely audible. “It’s, um… it’s what happens when it’s my time.”
My biceps flex, still not following. “Your time,” I repeat.
She watches me, her cheeks staining darker, before she whispers, “Like, the crimson time.”
I stay silent, shifting my quads as I maintain my position beside the bed.
When she doesn’t continue, I finally say, “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, baby.”
“My crimson time ,” she says, super enunciated this time. “You know, my moon cycle? I’m riding the crimson wave?”
When she sees my blank expression, she covers her face in humiliation.
“It’s my time of the month, Jason! Which means that – not only do I have a freaking temperature – but I also have a bunch of hormonal issues happening on top of that, too.”
My abs clench as I glance at her stomach, the curve of her waist visible beneath the thin cotton of her top.
I release one of my hands from its clasp on hers, raking it through my hair as my breathing becomes deeper.
“Right, okay,” I rumble, rolling back my shoulders. “I get what you mean. It’s your… crimson time.”
“Oh my God!” Sunday squeals, releasing a little sob of embarrassment as she tries to roll away from me.
“Sunday,” I say, immediately tugging her back around to face me. “What are you looking all shy for? You never need to be embarrassed around me.”
She smothers her face in her palm and whispers, “Please just blame everything on my hormones.”
I swipe my tongue over my lower lip and nod. “I promise. Just tell me what I can do to help, and I’ll do it.”
“Nothing,” she whispers glumly, before flicking those big eyes in my direction. “You should take me back to Casey’s.”
I watch her steadily as my chest rises. “Is that what you want?”
We search each other’s eyes, neither of us saying anything for a couple of moments.
Then, finally, she whispers, “Are you sure that you wouldn’t mind me crashing here for a while?”
Warmth spreads up my abdomen because I know what that question means.
It means that, if I’m okay with it, she’s okay with it, and that deep down this is what both of us want.
“Stay as long as you want,” I reply, no hesitation. “I’ve got ibuprofen and, you know, lots of other healthcare stuff, too.”
But suddenly a thought hits me and now it’s my turn to get hot under the collar.
Because I guess that I don’t have all the healthcare stuff.
I glance at her shorts before rumbling, “Is there anything else I need to grab from the pharmacy?”
She lifts herself back onto her elbow so that she’s looking down at me from the bed.
“You’d do that for me?” she whispers.
“If you need anything, I’ll do it.”
We aren’t saying the words out loud but she knows what I’m implying. I’ve never bought women’s health stuff before but I’m pretty sure I’d manage to find whatever she needs.
“I think I’ve got enough,” she whispers, “but thank you for offering. That’s… really sweet.”
I shake my head. “It’s the bare minimum. Let me go and grab some water and a couple painkillers.”
“I took some for the temperature earlier,” she rasps quietly. “I can’t take any for a couple more hours.”
I curse again and lock our fingers back together, thinking that maybe I should set up camp by her bedside.
She must know exactly what I’m thinking because she asks, “Are you sure you won’t get sick?”
I chuckle softly, squeezing her hand. “I don’t really get sick, baby.”
After over a decade in the Army, being exposed to so many different people and climates, my body learned pretty quickly that it needed to regulate to keep healthy. In those kinds of environments it’s necessary, because you can’t have sick-days in the middle of a mission. You have to eat good, stay strong, and keep as positive as possible, because it’s as much a mental thing as it is a physical one.
You have to be on the top of your game twenty-four-seven when you’re in the military.
Even if I did catch something, I’m confident it wouldn’t last long. I’ve dealt with some dire shit so a cold wouldn’t faze me too much.
But that’s not something that I choose to verbalise because talking about the Army with anyone other than a former soldier always brings questions.
So that’s why soldiers don’t choose to talk about it.
Because civilians don’t like the answers.
My gaze drifts back to Sunday’s and we watch each other in silence. I always feel like she knows what I’m thinking, which is probably why I start mulling over the idea of opening up to her about my time in the Army.
Sunday has always been the exception to the rule.
I bring her knuckles to my mouth and press a kiss to her warm skin, my stubble rasping over her smoothness and making her shiver for another reason entirely.
“I’m sorry you got sick,” I murmur. “And I’m sorry about… your crimson time.”
She laughs at that, until she hisses, her brow creasing in pain.
“I’m sorry, too,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m sorry I caught a cold at the worst time of the month, and now we can’t go to the outdoor screening together. We’ve been waiting for, like, over a decade.”
I smirk at that and murmur, “What’s one more year?”
She laughs softly and my heart races because technically I’m not just talking about the movie night. I’m talking about us. I’m talking about the fact that we did our time apart and, no matter how long it’s been, we still feel the same.
One year, two, ten… our feelings never changed because we knew that it’d be worth the wait.
And even if she needed more time in Nashville, I could work with that.
Like I said – what’s one more year?
But before I can open my mouth, she reaches over and cups my jaw.
And my eyes are on hers the second that her palm touches my skin, my stubble scraping her soft hand as she strokes me more gently than anyone has before.
My chest swells and I swallow hard, keeping still even though I want to lean into her touch.
We broke the touch barrier a little while ago but this is the first time that Sunday has made a move toward me. The first time that she’s showed me that this physical attraction isn’t totally one sided.
And I knew that she liked me as a friend but, right now, with her in my house, stroking my stubble as the snow-covered pines sway outside… it finally feels like more than that.