Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Winnie
I plan to enjoy every second of the ride back to Sheet Cake. Soak it up , I tell myself. Soak him up.
Because I can’t shake the feeling that the moment we cross the city lines, James and I will go back to what we were before, which was two people who maybe hated each other.
Or pretended to? I can’t begin to untangle my complicated emotions or when exactly I fell hard for the man I told myself was trouble the moment I laid eyes on him.
We’ve been living the past few days in a bubble.
Away from home, away from nosy Sheeters and my meddling brother—who is going to lose his mind when he finds out about any of this.
The bubble is going to pop. It has to. So the car ride is our farewell tour of sorts, the last moments I can enjoy James being tender and caring—albeit in his gruff caveman sort of way, which is apparently my own personal favorite thing. That and his thighs.
Instead of enjoying every moment, I fall asleep almost immediately.
When I wake up, James is pulling up to the curb in front of Chevy’s house.
I have drool on my face and a stiff neck from my awkward position.
I feel heavy and realize the strange weight is the leather jacket spread over me.
James’s scent fills my nostrils, and my brain goes right to an article I read on dog training.
A good way to help ensure bonding, especially when crate training, is to let a puppy sleep with his master’s shirt.
I want to snuggle down into James’s jacket and breathe in the smell of him.
Those dog trainers really are on to something.
But we’re here, my sleep-addled brain realizes. And James has already gotten out of the truck. Did he think I was still sleeping? Or is he just ready to be rid of me?
Frantically, I leap out, tossing his jacket toward the passenger seat. I grab my bag just as James rounds the back of the truck. I can’t meet his eyes and focus on wrestling my unwieldy bag up the sidewalk.
“Thanks for driving and everything!” I say, much too brightly, wanting to avoid the word goodbye.
James says nothing, plucking my bag from me like it’s nothing. He starts up the sidewalk with me like a yappy little dog on his heels.
“You don’t need to carry my bag!”
He only grunts.
“I can get it!” I protest.
“Already got it.”
Just before we reach the door, I trip over literally nothing. James reaches out a hand to steady me, gripping my arm without losing his hold on my bag.
“Need me to carry you too?” he asks, eyes sparkling.
Yes. Yes, I would like that very, VERY much.
I glare. “I’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?”
He’s smirking at me again, and I don’t understand. Where’s the aloofness? Where are the walls I expected him to put up?
Is it possible James hadn’t planned to hit the reset button?
His hand is like a brand, burning my skin, even through my clothes. Hours from now, I’ll still be able to see his handprint.
“Positive.”
I try to snatch my bag from him. But James only moves it out of reach on the other side of his body.
“Stop it, temp. You’ll tire yourself out.” James hoists the bag above his head when I ignore him. Now, I have to jump, and that’s exactly what I’m doing when Chevy throws open the door.
I stop grabbing for the bag, letting my shoulders droop. Chevy leans casually against the house in his uniform, sipping coffee from a travel mug.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Chevy says. “This is highly entertaining.”
“James, give me my bag.” I stamp my foot a little for emphasis, which only makes me feel like the toddler I’m impersonating.
“No.”
Chevy clucks his tongue. “A trip away and y’all are still going at each other?”
His phrasing has heat flooding my cheeks. “We’re not—he’s just—”
James moves past me, nodding at my brother. “Chevy,” he says as he deposits my bag inside the door.
“James,” Chevy drawls. “Thank you for taking care of my sister.”
Oh, he took care of me, all right.
Are my cheeks as red as I think they are? I really hope not.
James only grunts a response, but as he comes down the steps, his gaze meets mine and holds. This is it , I think. This is the end . It was nice while it lasted. My insides twist, like they’re wringing themselves out.
I almost fall over as James pauses in front of me. With eyes bright and one corner of his mouth kicked up, he cups my cheeks and places a tender, lingering kiss on my lips. When he pulls back, that smirk is firmly in place again.
Meanwhile, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
James drops his heavy hands to my shoulders and glances over at Chevy. “This is happening,” he says. Firm. No question.
“Of course it is,” Chevy says. “Do we need to have the talk again?”
“No,” James and I say at the same time.
I wait for an argument or a fist fight or maybe for a gigantic sinkhole to open and suck me inside. Instead, James kisses me again, a quick peck this time, and strides back to the truck.
“See you at work tomorrow, temp,” James says, and then he drives away, leaving me stupefied on the sidewalk.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chevy says with a shake of his head.
I most definitely do NOT.
* * *
When I can’t stand the thoughts stampeding through my brain, I do something desperate. I place a long-distance call to Lindy.
“Is it Jo? Is everything okay?” Lindy sounds sleepy but frantic.
I wince, only now remembering I don’t know where she is or what time it might be. We were only supposed to call if there was an emergency. Does whatever’s happening with James count as an emergency?
Yes. Yes, it does.
“Jo is fine. Sorry—did I wake you?”
A yawn comes before the answer, and I can hear Pat murmuring something in the background. “It’s okay. What’s up?”
I pause, not for dramatic effect but because I choke on the words. Which is why what comes out of my mouth is: “I slept with James.”
“What?!” Lindy’s screech is ear-splitting and makes me realize what I’ve said or more how it sounds .
“Like, in a bed.”
“Winnie! I don’t need details!”
I slap a hand to my forehead. “No! I’m not saying this right. What I mean is we slept in the same bed. Just for the sleeping. Not the sexing.”
Hi. I’m Winnie. I’m twenty-eight, and I just referred to sex as The Sexing. I need more sleep or more coffee. Maybe more of both.
Lindy yawns again. “Okay. I know it’s like the middle of the night here so I’m having trouble computing. But can you start over, speaking softly and using small words? Also, please say what you mean. No idioms or euphemisms.”
It’s a relief to tell Lindy everything—and I mean everything —about the weekend’s events.
Kyoko, whom I hugged in a tearful goodbye a few hours ago, is the only other person I talked to about James, and our conversation at the restaurant hardly counts for much.
It feels like everything has changed since then, and the need to talk about it has been building with volcanic pressure inside me.
The only thing I leave out are the details about my nightmare and my dad. Confessing the truth to James made me realize I need to tell my best friends … but not yet. One big, emotional thing at a time.
Lindy squeals at periodic moments, which is very uncharacteristic of her.
I chose to call her rather than telling Val, because I assumed I’d get a more analytical, maybe even cynical, response.
But maybe being with Pat has changed her genetic makeup.
By the time I finish, her deep sighs make it sound like she’s melted into a puddle of goo.
“I expected more from you, Linds. If I wanted the reaction of a teen girl at a K-Pop concert, I would have called Val.”
She scoffs. “I’m on my honeymoon. Forgive me if I’m in a mushy romantic place right now.”
“You’re supposed to be the voice of reason. You should tell me James is a bad idea and remind me that Dale and I just broke up.”
“You and Dale were DOA. You just waited an excessively long time to call the time of death.”
“Have you been watching Grey’s Anatomy again?”
“It’s so funny dubbed into Italian!”
I’ll bet .
“I don’t want James to be a rebound.”
This makes Lindy laugh. And laugh and laugh. I don’t know how much this call will cost her with the international plan she set up, but I hope it’s a lot. She totally deserves it.
“James—a rebound for Dale ,” she says. “That’s rich.”
Okay, fine. The feelings I have for James are not rebound feelings. And I think she’s also right about me and Dale being over long, long ago. Did we ever even start? Knowing now about Celia, I’m grateful I held so much back.
But am I really ready to risk myself for James? He’s the kind of man who probably has Heartbreaker and Commitment Issues tattooed somewhere over his heart. Though I didn’t notice any such tattoos when he was walking around shirtless …
“So, you think I should forget about the fact James and I work together, forget all the mixed signals from him and just go for it?”
“I think it sounds like you’re looking for a reason to object,” Lindy says. “That’s why you really called me, not Val. You expected me to shoot this down.”
Okay, maybe she’s got a point here too.
“It’s just … complicated.”
“When is love not complicated?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, son. No one here mentioned love.”
Lindy laughs. “I just wanted to see how defensive you’d get if I said love . Pretty dang defensive, Winnie. Which tells me you may not be in love yet, but yet is the key word.”
Love is a massive, terrifying word. It’s a monster underneath my bed, and I’ve got the covers pulled tight over my head.
But as much as I’d like to hide from it, that word more than any other describes the depth of feelings I’m grappling with.
They’re not just like. They’re not just lust. They’re beyond infatuation or attraction or any of the other -ions.
“You’re the worst when you’re happy and in love,” I tell her.
“I miss you too. Lucky for you we’re coming back early.”
“You are? What about your amazing honeymoon?”
“It is amazing. But I miss Jo. And can I just say that my insides are not loving all this rich food? Plus, the toilet paper over here is weird. It’s very chafey and—”
“You lost me at chafey . When exactly will you be back?”
“In time for Feastivus. Will you make sure someone invites the Graham clan? I don’t know what their plans are, but Pat wants them to come.”
With everything going on, I’d forgotten about Feastivus, Sheet Cake’s unique take on Thanksgiving.
A few women from the Ladies Literary Libations Society started the tradition the fall after Mom died and Val’s mom ran off.
Someone decided there were too many people around town with missing family members, so they established a big feast on Thanksgiving Day.
It’s like a dysfunctional version of a church basement potluck with better food.
It was originally The Feast of Us, but got shortened over time—and because of accents—to Feastivus. I didn’t have the heart to tell anyone that the name is shared by the game Plants vs Zombies. Most of the older Sheeters wouldn’t know what that is anyway.
“I’ll ask them. So, any actual, practical advice, my terribly lovestruck friend? I mean, I have to work with James, and I don’t even know what’s going on.”
“You’re only working with him temporarily, though, right? I mean, this was never the long-term plan?”
“Right.” The word tastes wrong, like coffee with bitter, over-roasted beans. I’m looking at you, Starbucks.
This job for James was never supposed to be long-term.
And actually, before we left brunch this morning, Harper said she’s going to get me in contact with one of her friends’ husbands who has launched several successful apps.
Which means I could move from just thinking about selling Neighborly to actually doing so.
Even if I get a modest price, it would mean I don’t need to work with James.
But I WANT to work for him. After this weekend, I’m practically burning up with ideas for Dark Horse. I’ve got a whole notebook full of session notes and to-do lists. I want Dark Horse to succeed. I want James to succeed. And I want to be a part of it all.
NOT as a temp but as more of a partner. Not, like, officially, like a partner making equal pay. More that I want to be fully on board, to have James see me not as a temp, but a part of what he’s doing.
The issue is … I don’t know where I stand with James, personally or professionally. He kissed me in front of Chevy, which was a declaration, but not a DTR. And his favorite nickname for me only emphasizes the fact that he doesn’t see me as a permanent part of the team.
Maybe what I need to do, at least in terms of the job, is make sure James knows I’m indispensable to him, both personally and professionally. And I think I have the perfect idea of where to start.
Lindy yawns again. “You want my advice, Winnie? Stop freaking out. Be open and just see where this goes.”
Easy for her to say. She’s on the other side of her happily-ever-after. Me? I’m the heroine hoping she’s not betting on the guy who’s going to really and truly break her heart.