15 – Princess-Worthy Romance
Jessie
I have no idea when I fell asleep, but the only reason I notice I was asleep at all was because of the knocking at my front door.
“Open up, Jay!” Casey’s melodic voice floats through and like a pirate to a siren my heart beats faster, my muscles relax, and I’m stalking for the door without a beat to think about it. I was halfway through the Odyssey when I apparently dozed off. It’s late out, maybe 9pm, my reading lamp the only light on in the dark apartment, every blind open, letting the lights of the city set my small apartment in a glow.
“What on earth are you doing out in the city alone this late at night, Ace?” I grumble at the thought of this walking ray of sunshine skipping through the dangerous streets of the city, completely oblivious to her own fucking safety.
I barely get a chance to greet her as she waltzes on past me, her arms full of grocery bags. It’s nice to see her confident glow back, considering the last time I saw her was Monday when she dropped by, I assume, to suss out the success of my weekend. I did take great pleasure in seeing her get jealous over me with Chloe. Chloe also found it amusing. The moment we got inside, she let go of the painfully loud cackle she was holding on to and just teased me for being ‘a lovesick idiot’ for the rest of the night. I hadn’t admitted anything. Chloe only said the sexual tension was so thick she almost needed a snow plough to make it out–her words, not mine. So fucking dramatic.
The joy in her jealousy settled like a sour pit when I saw the hickey marring her skin. A mix of rage and frustration took over, and I had no idea what to do with it. Why had she come? To rub it in my face? She was jealous of my date, that much was clear. But still went home with someone else? What kind of fucking game is she playing?
Her soft humming on her path into my apartment brings me back and I kick the door shut so I can trail after her, grabbing the heavy bags from her arms as she tries to protest.
“I found the perfect recipe for you date with your mom! I thought I’d grab everything, and we could make it together.” She hits me with the sharpest smile that steals the breath from my lungs as I place the bags on the counter and repeat the same mantra I’ve been trying to beat into my brain since that day I found her crying in her apartment: just friends. Just. Friends.
“This time of night?” I ask, confused why she’d go out of her way to do this. More confusion. More frustration.
She shrugs, but her smile remains. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway, and Elle is going to take my classes tomorrow.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”
She purses her lips as her eyes dart around the groceries as she tries to come up with a lie. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this recipe, and I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself with your own mother, soo…” She trails off as she pins me with an amused smile.
“I didn’t need you to come and make it for me. I know my way around a kitchen.” Her smile drops and I try to clarify. “Not that I don’t want your help… I don’t want to put you out. I appreciate it—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She waves me off and laughs under her breath as she swings her long auburn hair into a knot on her head, baring her slender neck, which makes me need to close my hands into fists, so I don’t grab her. Don’t succumb to this stupid caveman desire to feel my lips on that bare patch of skin. She is oblivious to my internal struggle as she heads to the sink to wash her hands. “This is an old family recipe. I wasn’t going to let you fumble around and ruin it. What kind of a baker would your mom think I am then? No pun intended.” She says it sweetly, and I ignore all the annoying reactions my body is having at her being here as I start unpacking the grocery bags.
“Fine,” I grumble.
Seeing her leave with Lame Lane on the weekend, then finding out she actually did sleep with him–add to that the fucking hickey–I was vibrating with sexual frustration. I was close to wrapping my fist around that strawberry-blonde pony, yanking her to me and wiping any trace of his touch from her. Replacing every mark with one of my own. I don’t, of course. Instead, I try to shake it off and remember: she isn’t mine to possess. I have no right, and this stupid lust-filled obsession needs to stop. Friends, we are friends, and she is damn good at it.
And now she’s here in my kitchen.
“You have a Bluetooth speaker?” I point in the direction of the speaker near the TV and glare at the back of her as she skips toward it.
Her floral scent filling my senses, filling this room.
Taking over my mind, body, and soul.
“We need an epic soundtrack for this one.” She smiles and bites down on her bottom lip as the song she picks starts to play through the room. She skips back over, adore u by Fred Again fills my small apartment, and she looks like the picture of joy as she fills my space with her smile.
I can’t help it. I’m drawn to her. I want to be in whatever space she’s in. I want all those smiles. I want to hear every laugh. I want… her.
“So, what is this recipe?”
“Scottish Macaroons. Was flipping through my mom’s old recipe book and found it. It was actually the first thing Mom let me make on my own when I was a kid.”
The memory tugs on my mind. “Wait, I remember that. You brought them over, and I polished off the whole container. They were delicious.”
“You remember that?” she asks, a bright smile on her face, but a gentle blush heats her cheeks.
“Of course. I remember all the things you made over the years.”
“No way,” she chuckles in disbelief. “I brought a container of food over like every weekend from the age of six.”
“I said I remembered everything you made. Not the food you mom made for you to bring us.” She seems stunned, and when I search her face, I see her big blue eyes blink rapidly, like she is trying to understand something. I leave her to her shock and turn to line up the ingredients from the bag. I wasn’t lying. Casey’s mom made most of the desserts she brought over, but every now and then, the treats were Casey’s, and they were always epically delicious. She has such a talent in the kitchen.
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?” She looks puzzled as she responds.
“The recipe book.” She looks at me over her shoulder, a mischievous smile slowly growing on her face. Leaning slightly toward me, she lifts a finger to her temple.
“It’s all in here, Jay.” I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. I stare at her lips as she bites down on them. We’re close now. Close enough that if she just pushed up on her toes and I leaned in slightly, I’d finally know if she tastes like the floral scent of her hair. Whether she makes a little moan as I swipe my tongue through those pretty pink lips. I’d finally be able to replace that fucking hickey with one of my own.
“Umm...” She swallows, clearing her throat, and I realize I’ve inched forward ever so slightly and we’re now sharing breath. Breath that is ragged, as her chest rises and falls at the pace of mine.
Fuck’s sake. I can’t be around this woman for more than five minutes without sporting a semi and wanting to be balls deep. I run a hand down my face and try to think of grandmas and sick dogs, trying to will away the lust-filled haze we seem to constantly find ourselves in.
“Let’s start then, shall we?” I say as I pull out a baking tray and a bowl.
She nods and then blinks rapidly, plastering on a fake smile as the song plays, and that weird universe thing happens where the words of the lyrics fit perfectly for this exact moment.
‘You walk through life just like a dancer, if I had my way, every day would be your parade, oh, I adore you.’
“Okay, we’ll pop them in the freezer for forty-five minutes and then the fun part happens.” She claps her hands, the same beaming smile plastered to her face as she closes the freezer.
“What’s the fun part?” I’ll be honest, I’ve never questioned Casey’s baking, but… there is potato in this dessert and I’m a little concerned.
She smacks my chest and then leans on the counter opposite me, crossing her arms against her chest. “You’re supposed to say the whole thing was fun.” I roll my eyes amusedly as I nod and pad over to the bookshelf.
“What, you didn’t have fun?” she asks, but her tone is teasing, a small chuckle lining her words.
“Yes, Ace, I had fun. Can’t wait for what’s next.” My words are low and sarcastic as I hunt amongst my stack of books, an absolute mess that it is.
“What on earth are you looking for, Jay?”
“I got you some— There it is.” I reach and grab the special edition that I had picked up earlier in the day.
“You got me something?” She sounds confused, like it is absurd that I, or anyone, for that matter, would think of her.
“I did.” I nod my head as I hand it to her. Her eyes bug out as her mouth opens in a delicate O and it warms my chest. “You like it?” I try not to sound nervous, try to hide the way my palms clam up in her silence, anticipating her response.
“ Jessie.” She whispers my name as she gently swipes a hand over the white canvas hard back cover. The yellow and orange indented foiling under the lattice pattern and the cursive title that reads, Age of Innocence , flashing through the angles of the overhead lighting. “You… remembered?” I assume she means the day she searched my bookshelves and discovered my love for literary fiction. I noted her special attention to this title in particular. I shrug and scratch a palm at the back of my neck as I try to remain relaxed and calm and not like my heart is exploding out of my chest at her delight. I’ll buy them all if it means you smile at me like that.
“I saw a couple of re-bound canvas classics at your apartment. I knew they were yours, because there was no way they were Rosie’s with her dirty book obsession, or Addison’s with her aversion to reading classics. I remembered that day in my room, you had them all on the list to read. All of the ones you had were there, re-bound in different covers.” I shrug again. “I just thought you’d want to finish the collection. I didn’t see Age of Innocence amongst them, but I can have it swapped if you already have it.”
“It’s… it’s so beautiful, Jessie.” Her eyes have a soft sheen to them as they look up to me, wide, the blue of them dark in this corner of the apartment, like the deepest part of the ocean.
“I love it. I don’t have this one yet,” she replies. I give her a soft smile, and I can’t add anything else before she wraps herself around me tightly. I stop for a second before I close my arms around her and hold her to me. Allowing myself a moment to soak up her floral scent.
“Usually, I buy them, then re-bind them and shelve them after I have read them.” She pulls back, only enough to look up at me, her show-stopping smile in place, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around me. I soak her in, giving her my natural smile for what feels like the first time ever.
“I never pegged you for a classics reader. Or an arts-and-crafts person, either.” I chuckle.
“Of course, I am. Everyone needs hobbies, and I need something to channel all my pent-up sexual energy into.” Her smile drops as she registers the words that left her mouth, and she straightens awkwardly out of the embrace and keeping her gaze off mine as I try to ignore all the ways I’d help her burn through said sexual energy. “Besides, all the best heart-breaking and princess-worthy romance stories come from classics,” she continues, admiring the hardback, and I let her steer the conversation away from where I’d prefer to take it. “They always seem to find the perfect way to twist your heart, steal your breath, and make you believe in soulmates with just a few words.” I raise an eyebrow in disbelief at her as her gaze finds mine again, and she brings her hands to her chest–still clutching the book–to feign offense.
In the next breath, her smile spreads across her face as she turns and heads to the couch.
“ I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. That one is Charles Dickens, A —”
“ A Tale of Two Cities . I know it well.” I can’t fight the smile on my face, and I trail after her as we sit on the couch next to each other, but enough distance for her to sit sideways, facing me, folding a leg up as her gaze falls on the book in her hands, moving over the cover appreciatively.
“ Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Wuthering Heights .” She says that one in a different tone of voice, one I hadn’t heard before, and when she raises her eyes to mine, there are words within them that I can’t pick, can’t name. “ ‘I am in you, and you in me, mutual in divine love .’ William Blake.” Her smile softens as her eyes search me and it feels like I’m right back in my childhood home. The two of us, in the quiet, comfortable silence, sharing something we can’t quite work out. Like I was then, I’m trapped. I can’t tear my gaze from her, can’t drive my mind to find a distraction or think of all the reasons it’s bad to want her.
This intelligent, light, funny, and stunning woman. It feels like… like… “ ‘I am yours. Don ’ t give myself back to me, ’” I say, my voice rough from my dry throat. Her eyes bug before she blinks, and they go back to normal. Her chest rises and falls to the pace of my heartbeat.
“Rumi,” I finish. It might not be from any one classic, but it fits all the same.
She wets her lips, and I track the motion before her gaze drops briefly. Before she looks back up to me and her eyes sparkle, the ocean in the morning sun as her mischievous grin–my favorite of hers–spreads beautifully across her face. “ ‘You are, and always have been, my dream. ’” I tilt my head, not recognizing that one, and narrow my eyes at her as she smiles even larger. “ The Notebook .” I laugh, louder than it deserved, but purely because she found herself hilarious and I can’t help myself.
“Ace, that is not a classic.” I shake my head, the tension there but not as taut.
“Well, it’s a classic for me. That is where all girls first learned about love.”
“What did The Notebook teach you about love?”
“Well…” she trails off, leaning her head against the couch and looking to the ceiling for answers. “You know, really, not much.” She laughs and then looks back to me. “Maybe that it’s normal that I can’t make decisions. Except if my future husband yells at me for it, I think I’d slap him instead of cry.” She returns her gaze to the book and continues to laugh at herself.
“Maybe the lesson is not to settle for someone who will yell at your indecisiveness. Instead, find someone who knows you enough to make the decision for you. Or wait you out until you’re ready to decide,” I say simply, finding it completely unacceptable that she’d settle for a husband who would be anything but patient, loving, and obsessed with her. Indecisiveness or not. Or he could fucking grow a set and anticipate her needs. She’s Casey Baker, not a fucking Akkadian script that needs translating.
She looks at me with big blue eyes and a surprised smile, but pushes on with a big breath, falling further into the couch. “But it would be nice to find a guy who promises to build me a big house with a wrap-around porch, on a nice bit of land by a pretty lake. Now that would be a dream.”
“You want a big white house and a lake when you grow up, Case?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m poking fun. She giggles softly and almost bites her thumbnail, and I watch as she stops and stares a moment at the ring I gave her. A content smile warms her face as she slowly twists it and then replaces her hand in her lap. “I always imagined I’d move somewhere more remote, away from the crazy city, have land, space, and maybe a lake. Then I could raise my hoard of kids in the safety and tranquility of open air and spacious land. My little section of peace in this world.” She’s wistful as she says it, all the while looking out the window behind me, to the city.
“Sounds like a fantasy,” I say softly. She has plans and a whole life to make them happen.
She smiles and nods, her attention back to the book. “I really do love this gift. Thank you, Jessie.” I nod and pull my lips into a tight smile, trying to find anything to keep her here. Something to keep her talking to me, despite me trying to ignore my attraction and desire for her. It’s impossible not to notice how thoroughly she clears the sting of loneliness. Looking at me with those big blue eyes and heart-breaking smile. I want her to fill this space, every space, and never leave.
“So, walk me through the rest of this recipe. Mom’s going to ask me about it, and I need to not sound incompetent.” Her laugh fills the room as she throws her head back on the couch, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from seeing how perfect she looks here. In my space.