Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CASEY
I woke up, Jesse already gone. But I could still feel his warmth on the sheets, and I could smell coffee.
I sat up, drawing my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Lou had been right. Her blue dress was pure magic. Jesse loved it.
I was so glad we’d made up. That he’d explained his anger to me. Apologized. And his confession of hating the fact that we were hiding. It never occurred to me he wanted to be open about our relationship. Or that he considered us a relationship.
The word made me nervous, but he was right. Whether it was for now or for always, we were together and exclusive, so it was a relationship.
His words in the tub last night also surprised me. He’d never brought a woman here before me. Never shared his bed.
I was certain he never allowed them to see the sides of Jesse I saw.
His teasing. His gentleness. His terrible poem-making skills.
I knew he’d never built a garden box for someone.
And he certainly never allowed another woman to put flowers by his front porch or look after his dog.
I sighed, hugging my knees, thinking of yesterday.
He was incredible. His protective side was something new to me.
No one had ever shielded me before the way he did.
Even knowing he had gone after Chris once was a surprise, but finding out he’d done it already—before we were even really together?
It made my chest ache with some unknown feeling.
He was, hands down, the most incredible lover I had ever been with. Commanding but gentle. Rough yet careful. So sweet at times, I wanted to weep. He touched me with feeling and intent. He wanted my pleasure as badly as his own. He was a rare gift.
And I suddenly needed to be close to him again.
I slid from bed, pulled on his T-shirt, and hurried downstairs.
He was at the table, Lou’s journal open and the letters from Gerard to one side. He glanced up as I came in, and I stopped in shock at the round, metal-rimmed spectacles on his nose.
“You’re wearing glasses.”
“I need them for fine print,” he muttered with a frown.
I sighed. “Every time I think you can’t get hotter, you surprise me and do just that.”
He smiled with a wink. “And every time I think you can’t be sexier, you show up in one of my shirts.”
I beamed at him, and he held out his hand. I took it and let him pull me to his lap. He pressed a kiss to my head.
“You’re up early,” I said, reaching for his steaming cup of coffee.
He chuckled. “Stealing my shirt, my coffee, my he—” He cut himself off. “My, ah, heat at night. God, your feet are cold.”
I tried not to react. He was about to say heart. I knew it.
And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
So I let it pass. “You were hogging the covers.”
He nuzzled my neck. “Liar. You were wrapped around me, with the comforter jammed all around your legs and arms. I barely had enough to cover me.”
“Well, you were still warm,” I replied, tilting my head to give him more access.
He pressed a kiss to my ear. “Hot-blooded.”
“I’ll say.”
“Pour us more coffee,” he instructed, bumping me off his knee.
I poured us each a mug and sat across from him, drawing one leg up to my chest and pulling his shirt over it. He lifted one eyebrow at my action.
“You’re stretching the material.”
“You stretch my pussy every time you ram yourself in there,” I replied.
He sputtered into his coffee. “Ram myself?”
“Well, you know, pop the porpoise, hide the salami, insert yourself. Whatever you like. You really should come with a warning. Wide load or something.”
He threw back his head, laughing so hard, tears sprang from his eyes.
“Have I mentioned how good you are for my ego?”
“Maybe.”
He hooked the chair with his foot, dragging it and me closer. He kissed me hungrily, then sat back, looking pleased. “Well, you are.”
I rolled my eyes and sipped my coffee, internally grinning. I did hog the blankets, but I would never admit it. And he was above average.
But I loved it.
I indicated the table. “You’ve been reading.”
“I have. Quite the story.”
“I don’t know how much my mom knew—if they ever talked about it. I hope they did. I hope she was able to share some stories of her life.”
“I called Sims.”
“Already?”
He took a sip of coffee, looking serious. He was still wearing his glasses, the round rims giving him a professor-type look. It suited him. “I told him you found the journal and what you thought she wanted. He said you were right.”
“What would have happened if I hadn’t?”
“Sims was a good friend to Lou and knew her wishes. He would have scattered them if a year had gone by. But he said she hoped you would be the one to do it. It meant a lot to her.” He paused, taking my hand. “You meant a lot to her—even after all this time.”
I nodded sadly. “I wish I had found her sooner.”
He squeezed my hand. “Maybe then, we wouldn’t have found each other.”
I blinked at his words.
“I think Lou hoped we would,” he added.
I had to admit, I thought he was right.
“Anyway, Sims was going to call the funeral home, and we can pick up the ashes today. It’s a little overcast, but tomorrow is supposed to be sunny. We could scatter them then?”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll get the box of pictures down from the guest room closet, and we can go through it later.”
“Okay.”
“I was hoping for breakfast?” he asked. “Maybe one of your omelets?”
“I can do that.”
He smiled. “Great.”
That afternoon, we opened the box. Lou’s ashes were on the table, the bright-blue urn adorned with a daisy, making me feel sad and happy at the same time.
It felt as if she was with us, watching as we looked at pictures.
The color and the daisy were like our matching glasses, and I recalled her loving daisies.
We used to pick them and make crowns, wearing them all day.
The box was a treasure trove. There were more wedding pictures and even one of them standing in place, her holding a bouquet of daisies and tiny roses and wearing the yellow dress.
She was tall for a woman, and Gerard was at least six inches taller, making them a striking couple.
There were pictures of his family. One of them taken in this house.
Jesse was interested in those, comparing them to the house now and murmuring about putting the house back to its former glory.
“I’ve always hoped that under that wall is a matching wooden rail. I bet they built around it,” he muttered, indicating the staircase.
“I guess you’ll find out after I’m gone.”
He frowned and looked at me, then returned to the photos. I picked up a pile and gasped.
“What?”
“It’s me,” I said, showing him a picture. It was Lou and me, sitting in the kitchen, crafting. We were both smiling, our fingers covered in whatever project she had us working on. I looked happy, and she was beaming. “I think my mom must have taken the picture.”
He looked at others. “There are lots of you. You were adorable.”
I stood and peered over his shoulder. There were several. Me laughing, playing, eating roasted marshmallows by a fire. Sleeping on the same sofa that I’d recovered. Hamming it up for the camera. In a dress, obviously for Easter, with a basket over my arm. My mom must have insisted.
“She had so many,” I said in wonder. “When I went through my parents’ things, there were hardly any. School pictures and the occasional photo, but not like these.”
“She loved you,” Jesse said simply.
I felt the tears well, and I could only nod. He pulled me to his lap and pressed a kiss to my head. “You deserved to be loved by everyone, Pixie. But I’m glad you had her.”
“She loved you too.”
“I know. I was one of the lucky ones, having her in my life.”
We were quiet for a while, and I stayed on his lap as we went through all the photos in the box.
You could see when her life changed. There were fewer pictures.
There were gardens and other people. Community events.
Kittens and puppies. Bake sales. She was in very few of the pictures, and when she was, it was the Lou we remembered.
Overalls and jeans. Her hair went from dark to gray quickly, it seemed.
No doubt the shock of Gerard’s death had something to do with that.
And there was always a trace of sadness on her face.
Except the ones where she and I were together. “You made her happier too,” Jesse pointed out. “Her eyes are glowing.”
I nodded.
“So are yours.”
“She made me feel special. My parents sort of ignored me most of the time. I always felt in the way. Lou made me feel like I belonged.” I traced one picture of the two of us laughing. “That was the only time in my life I felt that way.”
I almost added until now , but I stopped myself.
We finished looking at the pictures and repacked the box with the albums and loose photos. I kept out the ones I wanted to get copies of and hopefully restore. Some of the old ones were very faded and cracked.
My phone beeped, and I read the message. “Damn,” I swore.
“Problem?”
I sighed. “This client wants another change to the website. I do exactly what he wants, and then he changes his mind and wants it ‘tweaked.’ Except tweaked means rewriting shit. And fixing the links and—” I stopped talking and stood. “I need to go call him.”
Jesse stood and kissed my forehead. “Go work. I’ll finish this, and I’ll look after dinner later, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m taking Miller for a run too.”
“All right. I’ll see you later.”
For some reason, I picked up Lou’s urn and took it with me. Jesse watched me with understanding on his face. As I was walking toward the closet, he called my name, and I turned.
“You like musicals, Pixie? Live theater?”
“Yes. I rarely get a chance to go, but I do.”
“Okay.”
Then he waved me off, and I headed to my desk.
Work waited.
I worked until Jesse appeared, carrying a pizza. We sat on the sofa, the box between us, eating. My eyes kept going to the screen, and Jesse waved his hand. “Just take a break for a bit, Pixie. You looked tired.”
“I’ve almost got it.”