Chapter 31
N ora
Jericho’s house is warm, and not just from the heat. It’s the kind of warmth that sneaks up on you. Gentle at first but stubborn. Then it settles in your bones and convinces you that maybe, just maybe, you are very welcome here.
We haven’t said much since we sat at his kitchen island and he started devouring that potpie while I watch him, propping my chin on my interlocked hands.
He looked surprised when he opened the door, like he didn’t actually think I’d come.
But he didn’t send me away either. I would have.
After the way I froze him out after everything went down at the diner.
But I got spooked by the new feelings. By everyone’s eyes on me.
By Cheryl’s uncertain posture. By his intense stare right into my soul.
Now we’re sitting on his couch with my sock-clad feet popped up onto his thighs.
It feels so… familiar. Like we’ve been doing it for a long time.
Yes, I’d been to this house many times before he moved in, but now it seems familiar on a different level.
The air screams about Jericho’s presence.
The ch anges to the house he’s already done.
His black cup on the counter. The lack of clutter.
There’s a couch and a few other things around—the majority of them have been in this house through many owners—but now they feel like they truly belong to him.
He changed almost all the appliances but kept the fridge.
That old vintage monster somehow has become a centerpiece of the space.
The old oak coffee table by the couch looks brand new and yet worn out.
It’s been sanded and stained and now it looks like it’s been ordered out of a high-end magazine.
New countertops and a freshly painted kitchen make this place proclaim that it’s a man’s space—dark, moody colors with high contrasts.
The house belongs to him. And I need to make sure it’s only his energy that remains here.
“You are missing a good burn,” I announce in a voice that implies I run for president.
“Excuse me?” His head turns to me with wide eyes.
“You need to burn sage. To cleanse the house of the energy of its ancestors.”
“Its ancestors?” He slowly blinks twice.
“Yeah.” I wave my hand around the living room. “The people who used to live here. Sage will burn away all the negative energy.”
He blinks again and scratches his beard. Then blinks one more painfully slow time. I might have overdone it; maybe Jericho isn’t ready for my antics, just like everyone else. Giving myself a mental smack, I open my mouth to say that I’m joking when Jericho beats me to it.
“I was just?—”
“Will you do it for me?”
“Wait, what?”
“Will you do it for me?” he repeats. “Burn sage and cleanse my house of the negative energy?” His smile is so open and infectious that I feel mine stretching my face too .
“It will be my honor.”
“Deal then.” He smacks his knees with too much enthusiasm at the prospect of sage cleansing for someone who thought me crazy for bathing in the moonlight a couple of months ago. “Do we need to go and buy it?”
I place my palm to my chest. “You did not just offend me like that!”
“I didn’t.” His eyes run around. “I didn’t?”
I start laughing watching him looking like a deer in headlights. “I have sage. I grow it in my backyard during our short months. It’s tough, but I get enough for a couple of seasons.”
“I don’t know anything about growing… sage. What do you need to grow more of it?”
“A greenhouse.” My voice turns dreamy as I recall all of the Pinterest photos I have saved in my secret folder. “With irrigation and temperature control so I can grow things all year long.”
“I’ll make you one,” he says without hesitation.
“Yeah,” I laugh.
“I will,” he repeats in a serious voice, and when I find his eyes, I know he’s not joking. He will make it. For me. No one has ever promised something like that for me. Ever.
“Thank you.” My voice is a hopeful whisper, and I can’t tell which I hope for more—the greenhouse or him keeping this big promise to me.
We stay like that for some time, smiling at each other, before Jericho’s hands suddenly land on my feet, making them jerk and nearly knock him in his teeth.
“What are you doing?”
He looks at me with a look no less puzzled than I’m feeling. “Fuck if I know,” he laughs quietly. “I’m figuring it out as I go.”
With that, his fingers begin moving. Carefully at first. Almost spooked.
They hesitantly dig into my sore muscles and probe like a careful scientist. This…
experience is not so mething I’ve ever had.
Dick never massaged my feet or anything else for that matter, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act.
Do I lift my legs up for easier access? Do I thank him? Do I massage his feet in return?
While I’m contemplating my actions, he’s clearly having a battle of his own judging by his wrinkled forehead and drawn-together brows.
“Jericho?” I call carefully. “You don’t have to do that.”
His head whips to me. “I want to do this.”
I soften my voice even more. “You don’t look like you do.”
At that, his brows nearly knit together to form one straight line. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just—” I lick my lips, trying to find the right words for the moment. “It’s just, you look so angry.”
“Angry?” He blinks. “Fuck no. I’m not.”
“Then what’s happening?”
His gaze drops to where he’s touching my feet.
“Jericho?”
“Your feet are so small,” he sighs, nearly making me laugh. No one has ever called my size nine feet small, but I’ll take it. “And your skin. It’s so…”
“What’s up with my skin?”
“It’s soft. And look at this.” He stretches his open palm toward me. “It’s anything but. I’m afraid I’m hurting you with these.” He shakes his hand in the air.
My attention is focused on his outstretched arm and open palm. It’s big and rough. It has calluses and scars.
I push myself into a sitting position and grab his hand. He tries pulling away, but my grip is firm. “This,” I start, leaning to his hand, “is beautiful,” I finish, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm.
He’s frozen in time. I don’t think he’s breathing until his head heaves with a shaky inhale. His neck jerks with a rough swallow.
Dropping his hand, I fall back onto the couch and place my arms under my head. “Now,” I giggle, tapping my foot on his lap, “get busy.”
His face brightens with a big, genuine smile, and he digs his fingers into my flesh. Without hesitation and deep forehead lines this time.
“That’s much better,” I sigh, closing my eyes.
His quiet laughter is the music I hear before slowly drifting away.