Chapter 42
Jake
I wake up the next morning with a buzzing underneath my skin.
Today’s the day Scarlett comes over here for dinner.
Not because the power is out and her house is cold.
Not because she saw me struggling with Henrietta.
Not because she saw Cami crying. This time Scarlett is coming over here for one simple reason... to see me. To have dinner with me.
My coffee has grown cold because I poured it an hour ago and then proceeded to run around the house cleaning up.
I’m aware she’s seen my house before but I can’t help but wish that somewhere in the last fifteen years I’d replaced the worn out carpet on the floor.
What a weird thing to suddenly be self-conscious about but here I am.
After the house is presentable, I head outside to do the morning chores.
Like a nervous tick I glance over my shoulder every few minutes to the little cottage next door.
I want to see if my own little Disney princess will come over and charm Henrietta again.
It takes all morning to finish my chores in this distracted state.
Inside the greenhouse I water the plants and pluck some butter lettuce leaves, tomatoes, and cucumbers for the side salads for tonight’s dinner.
When lunch comes around I find I’m too nervous to want to eat much so I throw together a sandwich just to get by. I have a big dinner of steak and potatoes planned and I smile to myself at the memory of Scarlett pretending she was a vegan just to mess with me.
Time practically crawls to a stop after all the chores are done.
I find myself anxiously moving things around the house just to do something with my hands.
I go back out to the greenhouse and pick some of the flowers.
Since I don’t know what Scarlett’s favorite flower is I just snip a bloom off of every plant I have until I have a small bouquet of daisies, tulips, black eyed susans, and carnations.
I don’t grow very many flowers but a few years ago Marianne at the farmer’s market noticed that there were some requests for bouquets or even potted flowers.
I started adding in a few flowers here and there and they go over well.
Now, I’m thankful I grow flowers so that I have some color to add to the table when Scarlett gets here.
The house is ready. The ingredients for the meal are ready.
Chores are done, the only thing I have left to do is get myself ready.
Inside the bathroom I trim my beard and then sigh when I have to clean up the hair in the sink.
I stare into the mirror. Most days I don’t feel forty-five.
Hell, most days I still feel like a teenager.
Although, I don’t really remember my back hurting like this as a teenager.
I probably should have gotten a haircut before this but now I’m out of time.
It isn’t too long but I noticed earlier that sometimes it will just barely fall into my eyes.
I’ll have to do something about that so I don’t look like a total bum tonight.
Nerves build in my stomach when I look at my watch and see that there’s only another two hours before Scarlett arrives and nearly everything but myself is ready.
Once the water is a proper temperature, I step into the shower.
I can’t help but wonder if Scarlett is in the shower right now too.
Is it possible that she and I are lathering up at the same time in two different places?
Why does it feel so scandalous to think about her stepping underneath the water and letting the water sweep over her skin?
Picturing it makes me want to know more about her.
Is she the type to use scalding hot water, turning her snow white skin the color of a lobster shell by the time she gets out?
What sort of shampoo does she use? When she lathers her body with soap what does she use?
Does she use the bar of soap, one of those loofah things, or does she use her hands?
The picture of Scarlett in the shower rubbing her breasts with sudsy water makes my cock jump with desire.
How I wish I were in her shower, rubbing my hands along her silky smooth skin.
Running my fingers through her hair, lathering it with shampoo.
I wonder if she would moan if I massaged the shampoo into her scalp?
Before too long the desire is too strong to ignore and I haven’t even washed my hair yet.
A memory I’ve long since forgotten surfaces to the forefront of my mind.
It was sophomore year in college and I was getting ready for a date I was really nervous for.
My roommate, Chad, came into my room and found me damn near hyperventilating on my bed.
“Dude, you’ve got to relax, it’s just a date.
” He stood there, all tall and traditionally handsome.
He always had a girlfriend and he made it look so easy.
Now, it wasn’t like I was a complete loser with girls but he was the man.
And back then, I really liked this girl.
She was out of my league, or so I thought.
“You need to take a chamber out of the canon.” Chad’s euphemisms were never really correct but somehow ended up being close enough that you could read the context clues.
“You know, rub one out. Get yourself to relax before you go out on a date with her or else you’re going to fuck it up. ”
Those words didn’t help me not fuck it up with Natalia back in the day but I found out later that she actually wasn’t who I thought she was anyway.
The image of Scarlett in the shower comes back into focus and I decide to take old Chad’s advice one more time.
I stroke my shaft slowly letting my imagination run wild.
Scarlett walks closer to me, the warmth of the shower transforming to the warmth of her body.
Her lips caress mine and then move to my neck, my shoulders, my chest. She travels south with her kisses until she reaches the tip of my cock.
She stares up at me, as if asking if that’s what I want.
I squeeze my dick and imagine it’s her lips wrapped around it.
Sucking it, stroking it, all the right moves until I find my release and my nerves finally settle.
Thanks to all the procrastination and nerves, it’s finally time to start cooking before Scarlett arrives. I heat up the oven, preparing the potatoes by washing them, patting them dry and then drizzling them with oil and salt before wrapping them in foil and popping them in to bake.
I take the steaks out and leave them on the counter to come up to room temperature as I retrieve my cast iron skillet and a pair of tongs.
While I wait for the steaks to be ready to cook I rearrange the flowers on the table once again.
Deciding between putting them in the middle of the table where it’s more visually appealing or towards the back of the table where I can see her if she chooses to sit across from me instead of beside me.
Turns out the shower trick only gave me momentary relief because butterflies are surging in my stomach as if they are migrating and the path leads right through my belly button.
The amount of nervous energy coursing through my veins feels ridiculous and when I can’t take it anymore I reach for another release.
In the form of bourbon. I pour a healthy portion into my favorite glass, no ice, and take a long slow sip.
The burn of the liquor coats the inside of my throat all the way down to the bottom of my stomach where I realize there is no longer food.
Within a few minutes, and a few more sips, I feel that blissful feeling that allows me to pull my shoulders away from my ears and focus on getting ready for this date. Dinner. It’s just dinner.
A knock sounds at the door and I jump as if I haven’t been physically and mentally preparing for this knock all day.
I take a deep breath in and then laugh at myself.
I’m being ridiculous. We did this exact same thing a few weeks ago, I don’t know why it feels like so much pressure now that she’s here because I asked her and there’s no dire circumstances like a snow storm.
When I swing the door open all thoughts leave my brain.
Scarlett stands there in a short sleeve yellow sundress that’s dotted in white daisies.
It hits her mid-thigh and I see the potential for a tattoo peeking out near the hem of her dress.
The top of the dress is cut low, giving me a show of cleavage that I know I’m going to have to avoid staring at all night long.
Her long black hair has a slight curl to it, with half of it up into a small metal clip that looks like a butterfly.
She is the definition of springtime, which might be my favorite season now.
She’s beautiful in her natural glow but tonight she has added a touch of something to her eyes, making the green in them somehow even more alluring.
“Hey there, handsome,” she says, waking me up from my trance. She brings her hand up and slides it down the side of my face, seemingly noticing I trimmed my beard. She walks inside the door and stands inside the living room while I am slackjawed in the doorway still.
“You look stunning,” I finally find the words to say.
“What? This old thing?” She twirls further inside the living room. “Wow, it smells incredible in here.” She stops twirling and heads into the kitchen, taking the lid off the pan that is holding the steaks at the right temperature.
“Sit down and I’ll plate it,” I mean it to be a good thing to say as a host but somehow it comes out a little raspy, making it sound a little demanding.
Scarlett studies my face for a split second and I attempt to soften my features, making it a point to show her that I am not trying to be bossy.
She responds with, “Yes sir,” and a tiny salute.
I try not to notice the physical reaction my body makes to that tiny gesture.
As a distraction I point out the two containers she has in her hands.
“What do you have there?” I ask. A spark lights up her blue-green eyes and she sets them both on the island and talks a mile a minute while she unwraps them.
“Well, I started off with a delicious but simple chocolate coconut mousse. It’s rich and creamy and I love it but then I wondered if maybe you didn’t like coconut, or chocolate.
Did you know there are people who don’t like chocolate?
I can’t relate. Anyway, then I figured I’d make cinnamon pull apart monkey bread.
It’s one of my favorite things to make. I usually make a different type of glaze but I found this recipe online and I have high hopes.
” She finally stops rambling and takes a breath.
In her left hand she has a round cake tin that holds something that looks like a busted can of cinnamon rolls, drizzled with a glaze that makes my sweet tooth water.
On the right is a glass pyrex bowl with a beautifully layered pudding type dish with coconut shavings on top.
“They both look delicious but I am unfortunately allergic to coconut.” I say with a grimace.
“Great,” she says and I laugh, did she just say great?
“More for me then.” Carefully, she wraps it back up and turns towards the door, the bowl in her hands.
She opens the front door and I begin to worry that she’s going to leave.
Even though she just got here. Is my allergy to coconut a deal breaker?
I furrow my brows and open my mouth to say something when she lays the glass bowl gently on the front porch and comes back inside, closing the door behind her.
“There. All safe,” she says, rubbing her hands together as if to wipe away any residue.
“Did you just put that out on the porch? For me?” I ask.
“Yeah, you said you were allergic. And to be frank, I would make a terrible nurse. Best I can do is give a 911 call and hope for the best.” She plays it off as if she did it just for herself but really, she just wanted to protect me and I’m stricken by how that makes me feel.
I don’t know if I’ve ever had someone do that.
Actually, I once lived with a girlfriend back in California who refused to let go of her favorite coconut flavored yogurt.
Even after I had to make a trip to the emergency room because of it. Scarlett isn’t even a girlfriend. Yet.
“Well thanks, I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” I play around.
“Here you go,” I say as I hand her the plate I made for her.
The salad bowls are already on the table.
I feel a sense of giddiness and relief when Scarlett chooses the seat next to me at the table.
She dives right into the steak and makes the most delicious sound of appreciation.
“So, what are your plans here?”
“With you or the cottage?” She asks with a wink.
I laugh a little and wipe my face with my napkin to try and hide the blush that coats my cheeks. “With the cottage.”
“Well I just got my greenhouse,” she says.
“I noticed. I was going to ask if you needed help putting it up but before I could manage to ask, you already had it up like a rockstar.” She beams and it hits me that I want to be the one to make her look that way.
“It’s nothing compared to yours but I’m not planning on stocking a restaurant in the winter.
Actually, if you ever have some time I would love to pick your brain about the greenhouse.
Some logistics on watering and what might be the best way to maximise the layout.
” She takes another bite and chews while I take this in.
I’m sure that I’m the one beaming now. As fierce as Scarlett seems, I don’t think she goes around asking just anyone for advice.
The fact that she asked me, well, that feels… special.
“I’d be happy to help in any way that I can,” I say, taking another sip of the bourbon.