Chapter 18
Jeremiah
Five-thirty came easier than it had in weeks. I was awake before my alarm, my body humming with an energy that had nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the memory of Saturday night.
The gym felt different, too.
Every rep, every set was charged with purpose. I wasn’t just working out—I was preparing. For what, I wasn’t entirely sure, but my body seemed to know something my brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
By seven-thirty, I was back in my truck with my route sheet, ready to face another day of packages and people and the familiar rhythm of deliveries that gave me an odd comfort in its simplicity.
Some people liked grand plans and strategy.
I didn’t have the mind for all that. I liked simple and clean and neat, something I could wrap my head around or hold or believe in because it was right in front of me.
My job wasn’t glamorous, but it served a purpose—it served people.
The steady repetition of driving my route each day felt familiar and easy.
But today, nothing felt routine.
Today, every customer got the full Jeremiah treatment.
Mrs. Patterson, who always answered the door in her bathrobe, got a genuine smile and a compliment on her garden, the one with more gnomes than plants.
The college kid at the apartment complex who usually just grunted and grabbed his plain brown box got a joke about the weight of what was probably textbooks that made him actually laugh.
Even Mr. Hendricks, who’d never said more than “thanks” in three years of deliveries, found himself chuckling at my observation about how his dogs always knew when the mail truck was coming from six blocks away.
Unlike Cuddles, they were lickers and loved to slobber all over whatever body part I left vulnerable to their eight-foot tongues.
I was spreading joy like some kind of demented, glitter-covered postal fairy, and I couldn’t seem to stop. I couldn’t stop grinning either. For one blessed day, I was all floppy blond hair and brilliant white teeth.
As my route wound through the familiar neighborhoods, inching closer to Maple Street, my mind began to drift back again. Hell, it didn’t have to drift. I was basically living in the evening at Theo’s house, daring me to yank it from the night’s cozy embrace into the cold reality of present day.
My mind’s eye wandered to sitting on that couch with my knee pressed against Theo’s, feeling the warmth of him beside me while Debbie slept in my arms.
I laughed aloud, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all, the silliness of the incessant giggle that little girl had implanted in my chest . . . and the warmth of her daddy’s twinkling eyes.
There had been no sex, no kissing, not even hand-holding.
Hell, we’d barely touched except for the accidental brush of fingers when we’d both reached for the soy sauce at the same time.
If we’d been in one of those grocery store romance novels, we wouldn’t have earned a single pepper.
We might not have even made it into the produce section.
And yet, somehow, the whole evening felt more romantic, more real, than any date I’d ever been on.
Whatever was building between Theo and me felt tangible, a living thing that begged to be fed and nurtured. It grew stronger every time we looked at each other, with every shared smile over Debbie’s head, every moment of understanding that passed between us without words.
Don’t get me wrong—I wanted him.
God, did I want him.
I wanted all the peppers of every heat level any grocer had ever sold.
I dreamed about seeing him naked, about touching and kissing and feeling every inch of his lean, lightly dusted, overly pale body.
My now-crusty sheets were evidence enough of just how vivid those dreams had become.
I wanted to know what sounds he’d make, what he’d look like with his hair even more messed up than usual, what his hands would feel like on my skin.
But this whole thing was strange.
Different.
It was somehow more than physical attraction, more than the usual progression from meeting to dating to sex. This felt like we were building something, the three of us, something that mattered in ways I was still trying to understand.
I could still feel Debbie in my arms, the press of her fingers into my skin, the rise and fall of her chest against mine, the way her breath tickled my neck.
Her tiny arms wrapped around me with the kind of complete trust that I’d never experienced before, not from friends or family or . . . anyone.
Of course I’d played with kids before—roughhoused with my friends’ children, given piggyback rides, made them laugh with silly faces and dumb jokes that made little sense, but I’d never held a little human like that, never been chosen as a safe harbor by someone so small and vulnerable, never felt the weight of another person’s dreams literally resting against my heart.
It was overwhelming in the best possible way.
A fierce protectiveness rose in my chest, mixed with tenderness and something that felt dangerously close to .
. . no, I couldn’t say that word. We didn’t know each other.
Well, barely knew each other. There’s no way I could feel that, not now, probably not ever.
There was surely no way Theo felt it. Not for me.
And yet, I couldn’t deny my heart soaring when I thought about Debbie.
And Theo, too.
For the way he watched us, his expression soft with something that looked like hope and fear all tangled together, for the careful way he moved around us, trying not to wake her, for the trust in his eyes when he realized I wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t going to disturb her sleep or make excuses.
Or leave.
I’d felt my heart expand against my ribs like a prisoner pressing against bars with all its strength and weight, straining toward something I was still too afraid to name, but sitting there in that warm living room, with Chinese takeout containers scattered around us and Disney credits rolling, it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Like everything I’d been searching for without even knowing I’d been looking.
Like family.
Like home.
I pulled up to Mrs. Chen’s house and spotted Cuddles in her usual position on the front porch, but today she wasn’t alone. Mrs. Chen sat beside her in an old wooden rocking chair, sipping what looked like lemonade and running her fingers absently through the dog’s thick golden fur.
The scene was so peaceful I almost hated to disturb it, but I had a package that needed delivering and a beast in need of, well, avoiding.
Over the past year, I’d made a point to chat with Mrs. Chen whenever she was out.
She was a sweet lady, but loneliness hung about her like an insidious cloud.
Despite her rabid pet, and the fact our chats always put me behind schedule, I’d made it my private mission to ease her burden just a bit each time we met.
I guess a brittle bond had formed between us, because Mrs. Chen lit up whenever I came around. It was a beautiful thing to see.
As I approached the gate, Cuddles rose, her ears snapping to attention. A familiar growl rumbled from her chest. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the latch.
Mrs. Chen looked up and burst into laughter.
“Cuddles, knock it off,” she said firmly.
To my amazement, the dog immediately sat, her tail giving a few reluctant wags as though she was disappointed to be called off from her favorite game—though her eyes remained fixed on the intruder about to enter her domain.
“She’s all bark and no bite,” Mrs. Chen said, getting to her feet with the careful movements of someone whose joints weren’t what they used to be. “I think she just likes the attention.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said, opening the gate cautiously. “She’s destroyed more of my uniforms than a washing machine malfunction.”
“Maybe that’s the point. It’s hard to ignore a man who keeps showing up half dressed on the neighborhood doorstep.
” Mrs. Chen’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Or maybe I have her trained to strip the shirts off hot men who come knocking. This old woman has to get her jollies where she can, after all.”
“Mrs. Chen!”
She howled again.
Heat crept up my neck. “I don’t think Cuddles is that strategic.”
“Don’t underestimate her. She’s a very smart dog.” Mrs. Chen stepped up to the fence and accepted the package with a knowing smile. “Speaking of smart, I hear you’ve been making some good impressions lately.”
“Ma’am?”
“Theodore and little Debbie. Word travels fast in a neighborhood this size.” She leaned across the fence, draping her arms onto my side in a lazy pose with the package dangling as though she was about to drop it onto the sidewalk.
She was clearly in no hurry to end this conversation.
“That was a nice thing you did, bringing them dinner.”
How in the world had she heard about that already? It just happened.
I shifted my weight, suddenly feeling like I was under some kind of benevolent interrogation. “They needed food, and I knew where to get good Chinese takeout.”
“Mm-hmm.” She studied me with the sharp eyes of someone who’d seen enough of life to spot sincerity from a mile away. “And I suppose it was just coincidence that you showed up right when they needed rescuing from peanut butter pasta?”
“How did you—”
She grinned. “Like I said, word travels fast. Plus, Debbie told me all about her ‘Willie Wee blessing’ and how you knew all the words to the Aladdin songs.” Her smile was warm but assessing. “That’s not the kind of thing a man does unless he’s serious about . . . well . . . unless he’s serious.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again.
What was I supposed to say?
That I was falling for a man I’d barely known for two weeks?
That his five-year-old daughter had somehow stolen my heart as well?