Chapter 11
JUDE
Gathering the containers from the passenger seat, I take a breath and push out of my truck. Arden texted me to tell me she was too tired to meet up which made this little trip pretty risky.
But the idea of her sitting at her house tonight having to figure out something to eat had me on edge.
So, I cooked.
And cooked.
Things she could eat now or freeze. Bland dishes and things with more flavor depending on how she’s feeling.
Climbing the wooden porch, I take a single step and knock on the door.
Soft footsteps sound before the curtain on the window moves to the left, falling into place a moment later.
“Jude, what are you doing here?” she says, leaning against the doorframe. She looks exhausted, and while it’s not the right time to talk, I can definitely help.
If she’ll let me.
“Can I come in?” I ask, holding the containers up as she nibbles on her bottom lip.
“I’m not up for entertaining.”
“And I’m not here to be entertained, Tennessee. I’m here to feed you. Stock your freezer and put you to bed.”
Opening her mouth without saying a word, Arden steps back and I sigh with relief that there weren’t any more hoops to jump through.
She yawns, shuffling over to the island and dropping into one of the high-back bar stools. Her elbow rests on the granite while her hand supports her face.
“I don’t want this to feel so natural,” she says. “Maybe I’m too tired for it to be weird.”
“Weird that I’m in your kitchen?”
“That and we’re having a baby.”
My lips twitch as I set the containers onto the counter and brace my hands on either side.
“I’ll take that as a good thing and we’ll talk about it more later.” She yawns and I know my window is closing to get her fed before she passes out. “I made chicken noodle soup, baked potato soup, then grilled chicken with rice and vegetables and meatloaf with mashed potatoes.”
“What?” Perking up, she leans both forearms on the granite and leans forward to see what I brought.
“I didn’t know what you’d be able to eat, so I brought things I thought would be okay.”
“You cooked?”
“I own a bar.”
“A bar, yes. But you cook.” She says the words as if she’s never seen me running each part of the business including the kitchen.
“Yes…”
“Huh.”
“You know we’ve met, right?” I deadpan, only slightly annoyed because I’m more than just a thirst trap or whatever the hell people call it. Disregarding my tone, she grins.
“Oh, come on, this is different from you frying up French fries for me.”
“I’m going to ignore that.”
“Why? It’s a compliment.”
“Does any of this sound good to you?”
“It all sounds good, but I think I’d better start with the chicken noodle soup.”
“All right.” Opening the container, I cross the kitchen and put it into the microwave before starting the timer and moving back to the others. “I’m going to put the other chicken noodle soup in the fridge with one potato soup and one grilled chicken. The rest are going in the freezer.”
“Do you think I can’t feed myself?”
“Are you tryin’ to pick a fight?”
She frowns. “Not really. I’ve just never had someone cook for me before.”
The microwave beeps, stopping me from saying something that will probably come off dickish instead of the way I intend it to.
“Where are your potholders?” I ask, pulling open the drawers and finding one lonely kitchen towel next to the silverware.
“I don’t have any.”
Choosing not to comment, while mentally adding that to my list to pick up for her, I grab the towel and carefully remove the glass dish.
“Watch the sides,” I tell Arden as I place the soup in front of her, the savory smell reminding me that I haven’t eaten in a while. Waiting until I’m home is totally worth it when I see the absolutely blissed-out expression on her face.
“This is amazing.” With a blush of her cheeks, she adds, “Thank you for taking the time. It’s so incredibly sweet.”
“You’re welcome.” My voice is gruff as I rub the back of my neck, the urgency of my visit dissipating as she eats her soup.
“Do you want to see her?” she asks, my breath seizing in my lungs at the abruptness of her question.
“You know it’s a girl?” I manage, my voice hoarse as a new wave of awareness washes over me.
“Not officially,” she says, placing her hand over her small stomach. “I just have this feeling. Here.” Reaching for her purse, she pulls out a strip of black-and-white pictures and hands them to me.
“Wow.” My breath is a heavy exhale. The picture doesn’t really mean anything other than I know it shows our baby.
Our baby.
“It was only the first appointment. I was in denial and I needed someone else to tell me what the ten pregnancy tests I took already confirmed.”
“That must have been really scary. I’m sorry you went through that alone.”
We’re silent for a minute, her spoon resting in the empty bowl. “Ten was an exaggeration.”
“I figured.”
“What are we going to do? I mean, coparent obviously but—”
My mind has locked onto the words coparent obviously, the two casually stated words grating on my restraint, my knuckles turning white as I grip the lip of the counter.
I may not have known Arden James a long time, and I may be pretty far out on the proverbial limb with this but I don’t care. She’s mine.
She was mine the minute I gave her a nickname.
Mine the day she came looking to drown her sorrows in alcohol and allowed me to take its place.
Mine in the same breath that told me she’s carrying my child.
It’ll be a cold day in hell when I let some other man take the honor of being hers.
But I can’t say any of that—not yet.
Lucky for me, I have an unnatural amount of patience, and undoubtedly, Arden is going to test every last drop of it.
“How about you rest tonight? You had a long day. But Arden?”
“Yeah?” She looks at me with a sleepy smile.
“Be ready because we’re done playin’ games.”