Chapter Sixteen Derek
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Derek
After the best night of sleep I’ve had since arriving at Miller’s Cove, I looked over to find Jasmine softly snoring beside me. I couldn’t believe how much my feelings had changed in the short time we’d spent together.
She’s supposed to be my opponent, my rival.
Her family was responsible for the destruction of mine, and yet at the first sign of weakness, my urge to be her protector overwhelmed my common sense.
Now I was lying in bed beside her, not even trying to pretend that this was not the only place I wanted to be.
The problem was that it was the last place I should be.
I reluctantly peeled myself out of bed, being careful not to wake her, but not before taking one last moment to gaze upon her sleeping face.
Her mouth was slightly open, and a small spot of drool darkened her pillow.
An errant lock of hair had freed itself from her bonnet, and I resisted the urge to tuck it out of sight before leaving the room.
Tora slipped through the door just as I was pulling it closed. Within five minutes, I was outside, sucking in lungfuls of fresh clean air in an attempt to center myself before making the phone call that was going to knock me back to reality.
CJ’s phone rang twice before he answered.
“What up? What up? What up?”
“I slept with Jasmine last night,” I blurted out as a greeting. Yes, there was a better way to phrase that, but my mouth was working faster than my brain, which admittedly had less blood in it than usual, due to my constant proximity to Jasmine.
“Yo, little brother. You can’t just hit me with news like this first thing in the morning.” He chuckled incredulously. “I haven’t even had my coffee yet. How did you go from not being able to trust her as far as you can throw her to clapping cheeks in a matter of weeks?”
“It’s not like that,” I stammered and was reaching up to scratch the back of my head when my wrist was jerked by Tora’s leash. On the rarest occasions, I’d let him run free, but only if I was in the mood to chase after him—and not after the stunt he’d pulled two days ago.
“It’s not like what?” CJ pressed, drawing my focus back to our conversation. “Did you hit it or not?”
“Could you not talk about Jasmine that way?” I had no idea why I was suddenly feeling so protective. Maybe I was pretending I didn’t know. “You know her, man.”
“Correction, I knew her. When she was a little girl. And by your own words, she ain’t little no more.” He sighed and continued. “Excuse me, did you and Jasmine Morgan engage in sexual intercourse or not?”
“No,” I said quietly, following Tora to a large bush. “We slept in the same bed last night… but nothing happened.”
“So, you’re calling me at the ass-crack of dawn to tell me that you and Jasmine had a sleepover? You must be really down bad.”
“Are you finished? I was calling for some advice, but I guess I—”
“Hey. Hey. Hey. Okay, I’m sorry. I could tell that this project was gonna screw with you when you first told me about it. So I’m not completely surprised. Start from the beginning and tell me how you two ended up in bed together… while I make myself some coffee.”
I continued to meander around the park, following my dog, who was patrolling the landscape as if he was on some kind of mystery fact-finding mission, while telling my older brother about the roller coaster of emotions that had been my days in Miller’s Cove.
I was just getting to the part where I woke to find Jasmine and Tora missing when I heard a beep.
The caller ID was from Martin Aldridge, a senior executive at MasonCorp and my direct supervisor.
Though the only thing he excelled at was taking the credit for my hard work.
I didn’t mind it much. My high salary and free rein was worth sharing some of the glory.
It also meant that I couldn’t ignore his call, no matter how badly I wanted to at this moment.
“Hey, CJ. That’s Marty Aldridge. I got take this.”
“All right, go secure the bag, little brother, but call me back later.”
“Will do,” I replied and answered Aldridge’s call.
“Hey, Marty.”
“Hey yourself,” he laughed genially. “I’m just calling to check in about your Miller’s Hill thing.”
“Miller’s Cove,” I corrected him. “And I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, and it’s going well,” I lied.
“All right, big man!” Marty crowed. “That’s what I like to hear. Listen, I’m having lunch with Mason today, and I’d really like to give him a juicy update on the project. What do you have?”
I sucked in a deep sigh and began to recount my last few days in town.
But unlike the recounting I gave CJ, this version was heavy on all the points that would make Miller’s Cove a prime vacation destination that would print money and light on the fact that I was falling in love with this little slice of heaven and the people in it, perhaps one person in particular.
“That’s amazing! All that close-knit community and sense of family. That’s what’s hot in hospitality right now. Miller’s Cove: Your Home Away from Home. Mason is gonna eat this up.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, boss man. I’m gonna let you get back to work. Make sure you’re scouting locations for possible new construction: hotels, commercial properties, the works. This is gonna be big.”
“Yeah,” I repeated. “I’m on it.”
I ended the call feeling more confused than when I woke up this morning. My phone call with Marty was like a million other calls I’d had with him before about a million other projects, but this was the first time it felt wrong.
David and Eleanor invited me into their home, and now I was plotting to disrupt their entire way of life. And for what? A job, a bigger office, an indirect dose of revenge on the Morgans? I didn’t even know anymore.
My walk once again brought me to The Mill, where I found Eleanor behind the counter.
“Derek!” she called and removed her apron to greet me. “Good morning. How’s Jasmine doing?” She reached out and gave my arm a squeeze before calling over her shoulder, “Lily, fill one of the large pet bowls with ice water and bring it outside to that big dog with the tiger stripes.”
“Is there more than one dog tied up outside?” a teenage girl called from a nearby table, not bothering to lower the book she was reading.
“Are you getting fresh with me?” Eleanor perched a fist on her hip and gave the teenager a look that made my hair stand on end even though it wasn’t aimed at me.
“No, ma’am,” the girl replied in a bored voice, followed by the scraping sound of a chair across the wooden floor.
“Teenagers,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “Now, have a seat and tell me about Jasmine. Can I get you a coffee first?”
“Coffee would be great.”
Spending the next thirty minutes talking to Eleanor only made me feel worse about the impossible situation I’d put myself in.
I was pretty sure she attributed my dour mood to Jasmine’s illness, which was probably why she gave me another large container of soup and made sure I had Dr. Lyons’s number programmed in my phone.
When I returned to the apartment, I found Jasmine padding around the kitchen opening and closing cabinets, still dressed in her pajamas. Her laptop was open on the kitchen table, along with a notebook with a page full of scribbled notes.
“What are you doing out of bed?” My voice startled her and caused her to hit her head on a cabinet door.
“Damn it, Derek,” she squealed, rubbing the point of contact on her forehead. “Would you stop sneaking up on me like that?”
“I didn’t sneak up on you.” I laughed and placed the large paper bag from Eleanor on the kitchen counter. “You were too busy rummaging around the kitchen like a raccoon to notice.”
She ignored my statement and zeroed in on the paper bag.
“Is that from Eleanor?” She opened the bag and pressed her face inside, inhaling deeply. “Did she send me more of that soup?”
“Eleanor gave me some soup,” I stated matter-of-factly. Jasmine narrowed her eyes at me. “But I’ll be willing to share with you if you go back to bed and rest like the doctor told you to.”
“You just want to stop me from working, so you can get the edge on me,” she quipped with a smirk, “and withholding food is a low blow, Derek Carter.”
“How about this.” I walked to the kitchen table and slowly shut her laptop. “You get back in bed, I’ll bring you your soup”—she opened her mouth to protest—“and if you eat it all, you can work in bed.”
“Fine.” She sighed and began to shuffle toward the bedroom with Tora at her side. She rewarded him with a pat on the head.
I transferred her soup to a bowl and her tea to a mug while I struggled to quell the overwhelming sense of contentment I felt taking care of Jasmine. How could something that was so wrong feel so natural?
I entered the bedroom to find Jasmine stretched out on the bed, scrolling on her phone with Tora’s head in her lap while she lazily scratched him behind the ear. She looked up when I cleared my throat to get her attention.
“Up, boy!” I called out to Tora, who let out a cross between a growl and a whine before moving out of the way so I could place Jasmine’s tray on her lap.
“Where’s my laptop?” she asked before she even picked up her spoon.
“You’re mispronouncing ‘thank you’ again.” I smiled at her. “And you’ll get your laptop after you eat your soup.”
“Yes, sir,” she quipped and rolled her eyes before beginning to eat. I know she was joking, but those two little words ignited a stirring in my belly.
The thought of her saying those two little words to me under very different circumstances caused me to turn to leave the bedroom before she could see how her words affected me.
“And, Derek,” she called to me just as I passed through the doorway. I turned to face her. “Thank you.”
I nodded and retrieved our laptops. When she finished her soup, I joined her and Tora on the bed, where we spent the rest of the morning silently working side by side, as if this were the way we’d spent every morning for a lifetime of mornings.
Tora and I returned from retrieving lunch to find Jasmine passed out in bed with her laptop open and her proposal displayed on the screen.
Normally, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get an edge on a rival.
Today, even though my performance on this project would make or break my career, I closed Jasmine’s laptop and placed it on the bedside table.
I slipped off my jeans and hoodie and slid into a pair of pajama pants so I could join her in the bed.
I’d watched her sleep for a few moments, when her eyes fluttered open and she gave me a quizzical look accompanied by a smile.
“Have you been staring at me like that the entire time I’ve been asleep?” She chuckled. “That’s big stalker behavior.” She sat up and reached for the glass of water I’d set out for her on the bedside table.
“Stalker?” I sat up. “I just got back from getting you lunch, and for your information, I was watching you to make sure you weren’t dead.” She chuckled, nearly choking on her water. “I came in here and you were knocked out with your laptop all open, notebook on the floor, drooling everywhere…”
“Shut up.” She shook her head at me, and her laughter faded, settling into a smile that lit up her face. She set the glass on the table before placing her hand on top of mine.
“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Derek.” Her expression was earnest, but her eyes were curious. I had no words, so I only nodded. “I appreciate it, but I don’t understand why you’re doing it.”
“Aside from being a decent human being?”
“I think we’re past basic human decency. You dressed me. You paid for a private doctor. You practically carried me into the shower last night.”
“Well, that last one was really for my benefit,” I quipped, and she hit me with a pillow. “And what makes you think you aren’t paying me back for that doctor’s visit?”
“Derek, seriously,” she pleaded. “What’s going on? This entire trip has been an emotional roller coaster”—her words echoed my thoughts from my walk this morning—“and it just keeps getting more confusing. Now, this.” She shrugged.
“Well”—I patted her hand—“I guess I owe you.”
“You owe me?” She tilted her head in confusion. “For what?”
“For taking care of me after I got sick at Six Flags.”
She leaned back and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Derek? Do you remember whose undercooked Easy-Bake Oven cake gave you the food poisoning, which later caused you to have that accident on the Scream Machine in the first place?”
Of course I remembered, and despite the many indignities I suffered that day, it was still one of my favorite memories.
“I don’t think bringing you two Gatorades counts as quality health care.”
“It is for an eleven-year-old,” I responded. “And you felt so bad, you did basically whatever I asked you to do for the rest of the summer.”
“I thought I’d almost killed you. And I’d begged everyone to taste my cake. You were the only one who said yes, and I poisoned you! I felt terrible.”
“I said yes, because everyone else said no, and you’d slaved away all morning over that little sixty-watt light bulb.”
She burst out laughing again. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, I survived, and your baking has improved over the years.”
“Well, it had to, didn’t it?” Her laughter died down, and she grew pensive.
“Jasmine?”
“I’m sorry about my outburst at The Capital Grille.
Yes, I was drunk, but that’s no excuse for behaving that way in public, especially in front of your…
date, girlfriend… whoever she was.” Jasmine didn’t meet my eye, and I could tell she was fishing for information on my relationship status.
A warmth spread in my chest. “I hope I didn’t ruin your dinner. ”
“Well, you did ruin my dinner,” I began. Our eyes met. “It was definitely a date.” Her face momentarily dropped. “But it wasn’t serious.” Her expression relaxed. “Honestly, I was more upset that you stole one of my shrimp.” Her face-brightening smile returned.
“So why are you single, Derek Carter?” Her hazel eyes bore into mine. Her face relaxed into a soft smile as she waited for my response. Unable to think of something clever, I decided on the truth.
“I’ve never found someone that I considered marriage material,” until you, I finished the thought in my head while I stroked my thumb over the emerald ring and gold band on Jasmine’s left hand. We gazed at each other for a moment, and I wondered if she saw the truth in my eyes.
“So, why are you single, Jasmine Morgan?” I parroted her question while I continued holding her hand.
“Well, I’m looking for a man with a fifty-pound dog who loves to cuddle.” She raised an eyebrow.
“The man or the dog?” Her resulting laughter was intoxicating, and I never wanted it to end. “I know someone who might fit that criteria, and I want to be specific.”
She laughed even harder, and before I could be overruled by reason, intelligence or the basic instinct of self-preservation, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers.