Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jeff
As I pull the hybrid into the long oak-lined driveway, the sun peeking through the orange leaves overhead illuminating the black shuttered windows of Devon’s mother’s house, my entire chest has turned inside out.
The raw ache of homesickness has me feeling so heavy that when we stop in front of the two-car driveway, I sit there in the driver’s seat staring at the mums lining the pathway.
Meredith and Kevin get out and close me inside the car to process.
I love this time of year at home. Brisk days, outdoor fires with Sammy roasting mallows, trail rides beneath the changing leaves.
I was hesitant to come—not because of this hollowed out pain in my heart—but because I never got the official invitation from Devon.
Her mother insisted that Meredith bring me along, so I’d agreed, looking forward to a home-cooked meal and a peek into Devon’s past. But now I realize I should have followed my instincts, stayed behind in the city and rested.
Avoided the magnet that is Devon and the reminder that my real life is halfway across the country.
Kevin and Meredith disappear inside the house and Devon steps out onto the covered front porch.
Giant pumpkins and gourds are scattered on a haybale beside her feet and she sidesteps them as she approaches the car.
Her hair is pulled back to the side, her dark, loose curls cascading down one shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest as she lifts a brow at me and bends to look into the window.
I lower the glass between us and hold her gaze.
“You thinking of coming in?” she asks.
“Nah. I told them I’d drive them for half the price of an Uber.”
She smiles and a soft breeze whips a piece of her hair loose from her ponytail. The red leaves of a Japanese Maple rustle behind her. She shivers.
“Let’s go, weirdo. I’m cold. And since you managed to weasel your way into an invite from the hostess, you better be ready for an inquisition,” she says, patting the roof of the car twice.
I put the glass back up and smile up at her before cutting the engine and reaching for the pink bakery box I brought. The box is out of my hands before I’m even fully out of the car.
“You brought Maggie’s! Oh sweet joy. I’m gonna lick all of these,” she says, rocking onto her toes while she peeks under the lid of the box.
“They are for your mother,” I lie. I know how much she loves these cupcakes, so I took the trip across town to get them. Just so I could see her bounce around like a kid. It was worth it.
“Right,” Devon murmurs as she leads me into the house. “I’ll take them to her.” She stops, glances over her shoulder at me, then bounds up the steps with the box, leaving me staring after her like she’s lost her mind.
“You must be Jeff!”
Devon’s mother is an exact replica of her eldest daughter. I step forward and offer my hand.
“I am. And I hate to show up empty handed, but your daughter just took off with our dessert to hide them god-knows-where,” I tell her.
She laughs, Devon’s laugh, and I’m smiling like an idiot at the sound.
“Oh look at that dimple! I’m Kathy Gallagher. It’s so lovely to finally meet you.” She wipes her hands on the towel over her shoulder then takes my hand in both of hers. Gives me a wink and pulls me in closer. “My daughter talks a lot about you.”
Does she now? I shake my head.
“I bet. We had a rocky start,” I explain.
But she waves that off.
“Everything with my daughter is rocky. She’s all sharp edges on the outside, and gooey kindness on the—”
“Mommmmmm,” Devon’s head appears over the staircase banister behind us. “Please do not add to my reasons to avoid this man. I just started to tolerate him when he showed up with cupcakes.”
Kathy winks at me again and takes my arm, leading me through the hall lined with family photos in a variety of locales and school pictures of Tara and Devon. I try to control my smile when I see a framed 13-year-old Devon with bangs sprayed high and Halloween color rubber bands around her braces.
“Like you looked any better at 13,” I hear her murmur from behind me. I toss her a grin over my shoulder.
“I’m sure my mom would be happy to send you a picture if you asked,” I tell her as we step into the kitchen.
Meredith is filling wine glasses at the corner of the expansive butcher block counter and Kevin is setting the table.
The entire back of the kitchen is a wall of glass, the woods behind standing guard over the patch of green where the infamous chickens are waddling around the yard like they own the place.
I haven’t felt this at home since I left Chicago in June.
Something wet and cold hits my palm and I look down to find the fattest, golden dog I’ve ever seen nudging his nose into my hand.
“Et tu, Brutus?” Devon says rolling her eyes. “First my friends, now my mom and her dog. What’s next, Jeff?”
“Your virginity,” Meredith says across the kitchen. Devon’s mom laughs. Kevin clears his throat.
“Oh honey, that ship sailed a long, long—”
“Mom!”
This is going to be a good night. A very good night.
Devon must sense my delight because she narrows her eyes at me as she steps around the counter.
“How can I help, Mrs. Gallagher?” I ask while she drops chicken into the sizzling oil in the frying pan. The smell of fresh garlic and olive oil sweeps around the space.
“Call me Kathy, and you can help by drinking some of this wine Meredith and Kevin bring too much of every time they come.”
I nod. That I can do. I take the glass Meredith is holding out in my direction and pull up a stool beside Kevin at the counter to watch Devon and her mother as they move around the kitchen, cooking together like they’ve worked with a professional choreographer.
They are so in sync that when Devon looks up from chopping to meet my gaze, her mother removes the knife from between her fingers and bumps her hip against her daughter’s to get her to move.
“Go introduce Jeff to the chickens,” she says. “They’re starting to come up on the deck anyway.”
Devon takes a deep breath and a large sip of her wine.
“Come on, Jeff. Let’s meet the chickens. Wouldn’t want to offend them with our fowl manners.” She giggles at herself and inclines her head for me to follow.
I stand, ignore Meredith’s waggling brows, and follow Devon out the sliding doors onto the dark wood of the back deck. I close the door behind me and turn to find Devon slipping on a pair of gloves that look like they were made for falconry.
“Are those made of chainmail?” I tease.
“Go ahead and joke. Bernice—that fat bully over there—“ she points to a chicken that defies the laws of nature, “she’s been known to take the fingers of the trusting.”
I laugh and hold out my hands.
“Shouldn’t I get the gloves? I’m a surgeon,” I remind her.
She scoffs. “How chivalrous of you! There’s a pair in the shed over here.” She starts toward the corner of the yard and I follow her, nearly tripping over another chicken as it comes right for my ankles.
“Careful, J.J. These chickens are overfed and aggressive. Wouldn’t want you rupturing an Achilles. Especially with only hack job doctors around to help,” she tells me as she swings open the door of the shed and steps inside.
I step inside behind her, watch in the dark space as she lifts onto her toes and searches the shelves for the gloves. Her shirt lifts as she reaches, revealing an inch of the soft skin around her waistband.
“Where the hell—? I really don’t want to be responsible for the destruction of your priceless, delicate phalanges—”
She turns and bumps into me. Her breathing immediately goes ragged, her amber eyes catching the only light that sneaks through a crack in the roof.
“This is a one person shed,” she whispers, staring up at me. Her hair has come loose in the search for the gloves. I reach out and push it away from her face, let my fingers linger beneath her ear.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask.
She pushes her lips together. Shakes her head slowly, her eyes still on me.
“Do you want to talk about what’s happening here?” I dip my head lower so that I’m speaking into the space above her shoulder.
She shakes her head again. Then tilts her neck a little to the side, an invitation.
I don’t hesitate to take it. I let my lips brush against her skin and the sound she makes—like I’ve just touched her everywhere—makes my entire body throb.
I kiss up to her ear, put my hands on her hips, pull her into me so she can feel how much I want her.
She whispers my name and my fingers dig into the skin above her jeans—
“Devonnnn!” Her mom’s voice breaks the spell like a hot pan dipped in cold water and Devon jumps away from me, knocking a rake off the wall so its handle hits me on the side of the head with a hollow knock. She laughs and covers her mouth as it clatters to the ground.
“Shit,” she says, between her hysterical giggles. She pops her head out of the shed. “Yes?”
“What are you doing in there? We need more basil for the sauce. Where’s Jeff?”
I move toward the open door and she kicks me in the shin with her good heel.
“I don’t know, mother. Maybe Bernice ate him. I’ll get the basil,” she says, leaning out of the shed with one hand on the door. I rub at my shin and resist the urge to pinch her ass, knowing she’d kill me.
“Bernice wouldn’t do that. Would you, Bernie girl?”
“Jesus, Mom. Go inside,” Devon orders.
I touch the knot forming on my head. I feel like we are thirteen, and as Devon turns on me, I half expect to see the braces from the picture in the hallway.
“Stay here,” she hisses. Her cheeks are flushed the most appealing shade of pink. “I don’t—I can’t be near you.”
“You want me to stay in the shed all night?” I ask, trying not to laugh at how frazzled she is. “You know you are of age to be kissing men in the shed.”
“Ew. Just stay there. Count to sixty,” she says, trying to shut the door as she steps out into the yard.
“Am I in timeout?”
“Yes,” she says simply.
She shuts the shed door with a clang and leaves me in the dark. With a chuckle, I start the count loudly so she can hear, then try not to feel too proud when I hear her giggling outside.