Chapter 32
Scarlett
Did Jake almost kiss me? A second time? I have to be imagining this.
I mean, apart from his face inching closer to mine and his gaze falling to my lips, there hasn’t really been any other signs of interest. I mean sure, we’ve had some fun these past two days, and we’ve done a little bit of flirting here and there but surely, he isn’t trying to make a move. Right?
We make our way back to the house, Cami apologizing profusely for suggesting we take a new path, but I can’t stop smiling.
Yes, my body is in a fair amount of pain.
Both from the muscles it takes to walk up that hill repeatedly in a ton of winter gear, and from the impact of our crash landing.
But I can’t remember the last time I did something so exhilarating. Probably not since I was a kid.
After high school I went straight into college, as most kids do, but I was so tenacious and excited for the career world that I dove head first into professionalism.
Sure, I have fun with my girls from time to time, but the past few years especially, I have constantly been on high alert for the next big story.
I had conditioned myself to always be ready for disaster.
Always be ready to drop everything and be on the move.
Do you know how hard it is to stay present in the moment when you are always prepared to leave?
To constantly anticipate that phone call that might change everything, or the text that drops a pin and very little information on what you’ll find when you get there.
It feels like the last ten years I’ve been in a heightened state of chaos.
But today? Today, I got to have fun. Unbridled, don’t know where my phone even is, fun.
And because of that, I need to make sure that nothing happens between me and Jake.
I can’t risk giving up the smallest glimpse of what life can really be like without being on edge 24/7.
All for a hookup? For some potential of really great sex?
And what if it isn’t great? What if, it’s mediocre sex at best and I come out looking like an asshole if it doesn’t work out.
Then what? Do I move? Do I stay and just deal with the awkwardness of living next door to the guy that I fucked once, was left unsatisfied and then had to ghost from one door down?
Well, that escalated fast. I have to quit getting ahead of myself.
Once we’re inside the house we all strip off the excess layers we had on to protect us from the cold outside and hang them to dry. Jake marches over to the fireplace which has been left unattended for a few hours and brings it back to life.
“It got chilly in here while we were out. Sorry girls, I should have come in and stoked it earlier.” He rubs his hands together and places them in front of the open wood burning stove where the fire has officially roared back to life.
Sorry girls. Something about those two little words strikes me.
And it doesn’t make me feel any better that while he went and stoked the fire, I went into the kitchen and started chopping onions and peeling potatoes for soup.
There was no conversation about it, no questions asked or expectations laid out.
We both just walked into the house and knew what needed to be done and started doing it.
Is this what it’s like to have a partner in life?
“Thanks for getting started on the soup,” Jake says as he comes into the kitchen with me. He retrieves a pot from the cabinet and starts to heat up a touch of olive oil in order to saute the onions I’ve already chopped.
“Yeah, no problem,” I say but it’s hard to talk with how dry my throat feels all of a sudden.
“I think we still have some bread left too.” We?
Why did I say we? I mean I guess I did make the bread yesterday for all of us, so technically we do still have bread left but it felt like so much more than that.
It felt like a relationship we, not just a general we.
“Uh, I may have eaten that last night,” his face is sheepish when he says it.
“But I left one piece for you if you want it.” He left a piece.
For me. He thought of me late last night while he was eating a midnight snack.
And thought enough about me to save me a piece.
Oh my God, I’m being an idiot. He probably only thought about how I made the bread and that he should probably save me a piece.
He thought about me out of guilt, not care. He doesn’t care for me.
I hear Cami come out of her bedroom, wearing a pair of fleece black sweatpants and a fuzzy red sweatshirt, her hair up in a bun and her face giving a grimace. “I ate that this morning.”
For some reason this makes me laugh and feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I love being able to provide something here in this home that’s taken me in instead of letting me freeze to death over at my place.
“No problem, I’ll throw together some biscuits,” I say and Cami loses the grimace and pumps her arm in a yes motion. She pops back into her room and disappears while we make food just like a typical teenager.
“You know, I can make a lot of things. I’m decent with food, I’ve gotten the hang of soaps and lotions and candles, but baking is not something I’ve ever been great at.”
“I could teach you,” I offer. “It took me a while too. Some things are easier than others. For instance, sourdough takes a lot of patience.” I shrug my shoulders.
“That is not something I have a ton of,” Jake says as he scrapes the potatoes into the pot and adds chicken broth that he apparently canned last summer.
“I think you’re selling yourself short,” I say as I go in search of baking powder.
Looking through his spice cabinet I find just about everything but baking powder.
There’s steak seasoning and woodfired garlic.
A caramelized onion salt, and a smokey bourbon seasoning and I think to myself that this spice cabinet couldn’t be more manly if it tried.
After practically emptying the entire cabinet I don’t see what I need.
“What are you looking for?” Jake asks and it amazes me that he doesn’t think he has patience because here I am, in his territory emptying every single thing out of a cabinet instead of just asking where something is. His face is a combination of amusement and confusion.
“I’m trying to find the baking powder,” I say shyly, as I attempt to put back the spices and seasonings as I found them.
“Well, that’s in the fridge, of course.” Jake says, the confusion taking over his face completely now. I bite my cheek because the look on his face is adorable.
“In the fridge?” I ask, mirroring his confusion.
“Yeah, isn’t that where everybody puts it?”
“Well, most people put baking soda in the fridge to absorb weird smells and keep it fresh but powder should be in a cabinet or pantry.”
“Huh,” is all he says. I open up the fridge and he’s right. Right there inside the door is a round container with baking powder. When I open it, the powder proves to be completely glued together in one big blob.
“No big deal,” I say, “We can use baking soda instead.” I remember seeing that in the spice cabinet earlier and left it in plain sight just in case he didn’t have powder. “But, if you get these two mixed up a lot then I think we solved your issue with baking,” I tease.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He still looks puzzled and again I feel the need to hide back a smile at how adorable it is. He’s easy to tease and I don’t know what it says about me that I like that.