Chapter 27
twenty-seven
CALLA
Jay fumbles with his keys. I lean against the doorframe, every muscle in my body screaming for mercy. When the door finally swings open, I almost collapse into the foyer.
Dinner with my parents went late, as it always does. I told Jay to be ready for three or four hours. We were there for nearly six.
The first two hours were spent eating. The last four were just a lot of my mom and my grandmother sitting on either side of Jay, showing him pictures of me as a kid. It was cute when it started, but an hour in, I was tired.
By now, I’m exhausted and starving.
“I could sleep for a hundred years.” I mutter, kicking off my pumps. I dressed up for dinner, which I regretted after we had been there less than an hour. My feet throb with a vengeance. “Also, I’m somehow very hungry. We did go for dinner, right?”
“We did.” Jay ushers me into the living room with an infuriatingly charming smile. He checks his watch and I think I know why .
It’s almost ten p.m. Things here in Greater start to slow down at seven-thirty; by nine, most shops are closed. Getting a food delivery at this hour would be difficult.
“Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll see what we have to eat.”
I hesitate for a moment, then shuffle over to the couch and sink into it. The cushions are ridiculously soft. I feel myself start to melt. Just a quick rest , I tell myself. I’ll just close my eyes.
The sound of clattering pots and pans pulls me from the edge of unconsciousness. I sit up slowly, every bone in my body protesting. I glance toward the kitchen. I can hear Jay humming something melodic under his breath.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I drag myself off the couch and pad toward the kitchen. What I see stops me in my tracks.
Jay is wearing an apron.
It’s a ridiculous thing, bright red with white polka dots, and it clashes horribly with the rest of his upscale, designer kitchen. He looks like a fashion doll someone’s over-accessorized. But in a weird way, it kind of works for him.
He notices me and waves a wooden spoon in my direction. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” I lean against the doorframe, my lips twitching with amusement. “What are you doing?”
“Cooking.” He says this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re hungry, right?”
“Yes, but I thought you were going to microwave popcorn. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Okay, first of all, it’s not any trouble for me to cook for you. Second, I could nibble on something. Third, though I rarely do it, cooking is very relaxing. I want to showcase my prowess. ”
I step closer, peering over his shoulder. He’s got a mixing bowl full of something that looks suspiciously like ground poultry and a cutting board piled high with greens. “What is all this?”
“My special turkey meatloaf, black-eyed peas, and a green salad.” He says this with a touch of pride. “It’s the only culinary trick up my sleeve.”
The smell is already making my mouth water. There’s something disarming about seeing him like this, in an apron with his sleeves rolled up, hands messy with meat and spices. It feels so domestic.
“I appreciate it.” I’m surprised by how much I mean it. The whole situation is surreal. But there’s a strange comfort in the thought of a home-cooked meal.
Well, to be fair, my mom did have quite a spread at her house. But this is the second time in one day that someone else cooked for me.
I could get used to this.
He washes his hands and wipes them on the apron. Then he takes the meatloaf and slides it into the oven with a practiced ease.
“Low and slow.” He says this more to himself than to me. He moves to the stove and stirs a pot of black-eyed peas. The aroma mingles with the scent of the meatloaf. “These just need to simmer.”
I take a seat at the kitchen island, resting my chin in my hands. “Where did you learn to cook?”
Jay leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “My mom. She was a high-powered corporate raider so she wasn’t around much. But when she was, she made sure we had time together in the kitchen.”
There’s a softness in his eyes when he talks about his mother. A tender vulnerability that tugs at something in me. I push the feeling away, filing it under “useful information.”
“The house smells amazing.” I don’t know what else to say.
Jay grabs a glass of water. He raises it to me with a small, crooked smile. “Here’s to not starving.”
“Hear hear.” I wink at him.
Jay laughs. It’s a sound that I desperately want to hear more of.
“Hey, since you’re cooking… I can start to unpack and organize upstairs. My fingers have been itching to tame that part of the house.”
The thought of putting his house in order is oddly appealing. It’s the kind of task that would let me switch my brain to autopilot. I need a breather from the thousand complications currently vying for my attention.
But I’m also dog tired. My physical exhaustion wars with my need to help Jay make his house a home.
He considers my offer, but shakes his head. “No,” he says gently, and waves me toward the living room. “Come sit down. Relax.”
He leads me back to the couch. I follow, too tired to argue. We sink into the cushions. For a moment, we just sit in silence. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, which surprises me. I’ve grown so used to the constant hum of activity around Jay. His never-ending stream of notifications and updates seem like they are a part of him. I’d forgotten what a quiet moment can feel like.
I scoot closer and rest my head on his chest. His arm comes around me. I feel his steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. It’s a surprisingly grounding sensation .
For the first time today, I feel like maybe I’m doing something right.
“Tell me about your family?”
“My parents?” Jay’s fingers trail idly along my shoulder as he talks. “They’re… hands-off. They retired early a few years ago. Now they’re on a world cruise, for eighteen months. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I talked to either of them.”
“That’s…” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “Lonely?”
He shrugs. A small movement that I feel, more than see.
“Not really. I’ve got Wren. We’ve got Wildflower Lane. All my college friends moved here, too. We wanted to make sure we stuck together, so we all bought houses on the same block.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I even bought the apartment building at the end of the block,” he adds. “Wren’s living there while she sorts things out.”
“Really? You’re a good brother.”
He chuckles. His hand brushes a stray hair from my face. “But what I want is to be a good husband.”
“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Prove it.”
His hand slides down to the small of my back. “Challenge accepted.”
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, our lips meet. His kiss is warm and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second.
I lose myself in the moment. The taste of him. The way his hands settle on my waist like they belong there. I move to straddle his lap and wind my arms around his neck.
His hands slide over my hips. “You smell amazing,” he murmurs against my neck .
I laugh softly and tug at the hem of his shirt. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Clothes fall away, piece by piece, each one discarded with a breathless laugh or a teasing remark. I run my hands over his shoulders, marveling at the strength in the muscles beneath my fingers.
“Are you real?” I ask. “Or did I just dream you up?”
He grins, flexing playfully. “Real as it gets.”
His lips find mine again. The world fades away. Every kiss, every touch, is unhurried, deliberate, like we have all the time in the world. He worships me with his hands and his mouth.
“You’re incredible.” His breath is so warm on my skin that it makes me shiver.
Then Jay pulls away. For a moment I think it's over, that the spell has broken. But he kisses me, hard and full of promise. “Hold that thought for just a second.”
Before I know it, Jay sprints into the kitchen. I hear him turn off the beans. Then the oven.
He’s got a better memory than me. I would’ve left the food to cook until it was ash.
He returns, and before I can sit up, he scoops me into his arms. I let out a small yelp of surprise. “Put me down! You’ll hurt yourself.” But I’m laughing as I protest.
His hard muscles are so warm where our bodies meet. “I’m not that fragile.” He starts up the stairs, carrying me with an easy strength. “And besides, I’ve barely begun to enjoy your body.”
My heart skips at his words. He says them with such certainty . I should protest. I should set boundaries. But I don’t want to. I want to enjoy Jay for every second that I still have him .
I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tighter. The black-eyed peas can always keep until the morning.