Chapter 24 Winnie
WINNIE
Instead of getting up early like usual, I lay in bed until I hear the front door slam and Jonah’s truck turn on. And even then, I’m cautious as I peek around the corner and check that he isn’t in the living room or kitchen. I let out a sigh of relief.
After what happened last night, I’m dreading seeing my husband.
I’m not sure what got into me, but when I heard him moaning from the room next to mine, I didn’t want to stop.
Instead, knowing he was there, stroking himself right along with me, made me feel even more turned on and in need of release.
I swear I even heard him tell me to soak his sheets or something, which made me blush but also made me moan.
It’s been a long time since I did something as intimate as that with a man.
I dated and slept with guys in college, but in the years since, I’ve rarely gone out with anyone.
My parents—especially my father—wanted to approve each of the men I dated.
Needless to say, we have very different ideas of what a suitable man looks like.
They tried to set me up a handful of times with their friends’ sons, but I always sabotaged the dates.
One time, I pretended to get sick in the bathroom after eating some bad shrimp.
Another, I farted so loudly in the guy’s truck that he never called me again.
That one was Candice’s idea. And when I actually found a man I wanted to date, they made me break up with him.
I met Tom through Carly’s husband a year ago, and he was cute, funny and most importantly, kind.
But we only made it a month before my parents deemed him “unacceptable,” and told me to break up with him
In any case, none of the sex I had in college or with Tom was as electric as what I shared with Jonah last night. He didn’t even touch me—he wasn’t even in the same room as me—and I still came harder than I ever have.
Fuck. Me.
In the kitchen, I find a full pot of hot coffee and the red mug I’ve been using next to it.
Jonah has left a bottle of hazelnut creamer in the fridge as well, even though I know he doesn’t drink it.
He must have seen me sadly looking at the skim milk he has.
There’s also a packet of oatmeal and a banana out on the counter.
My heart flutters.
“It’s just a banana,” I mutter out loud.
He’s just making sure I know where everything is. I’ve only been here for a few days and I don’t know where the oatmeal is kept. That’s it. Nothing more.
But still, I can’t help the feeling of warmth spreading through me. And his gesture is enough to make me feel like what happened between us last night is okay.
Jonah happens to get home that night just as the steak I’m cooking starts to smoke like crazy. And I mean, really, really smoke. Because I forgot about it for a few minutes while I was scrolling through Beau’s instructions for mashed potatoes.
The smoke alarm starts to blare as Jonah walks into the kitchen. I look at him, and then look at the steak again, and just start flapping my hands at the stove, trying to get the smoke to go down. When that doesn’t do jack shit, I run to the kitchen window and throw it open.
“Winnie?” Jonah yells over the alarm.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you should turn the stove off.”
“Oh my God! Right!” I turn the burner off and move the pan over, wincing a bit because the handle of the cast iron is pretty hot. “Ouch.”
Jonah grabs a broom from the corner by the fridge, and uses the handle to press the off button on the alarm. He sets the broom down, walks to the sink and gets a glass of cold water.
“Here,” he says, setting it down next to the stove. “For your hand.”
“Oh it’s nothing. It’s not really burned.”
“Do it anyways,” he grumbles.
“Fine.” I stick my hand into the water and try not to sulk. “I need to finish dinner, though.”
“I can finish it.” Using a pot holder, he puts the cast iron back onto the burner, and turns the heat on. He flips the steak and I see that it’s pretty blackened.
“I hope it still tastes okay.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I still need to boil the potatoes. I hope that doesn’t take too long.” I turn on the back burner with the potatoes on it.
“Uh, Winnie?” Jonah asks.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever cooked before?”
I fiddle with the dishtowel in my hands nervously. “Well, I know how to make avocado toast. And smoothies. Lots and lots of smoothies at the Grant house. Plus rice cakes.”
“Rice cakes. Right. But not steak?”
“No. But my dad used to grill it, and it never took that long, so I figured it would be a good meal for me to try and make. For you.”
“For me?”
I nod. “You left me breakfast this morning. And you uh, well you married me. And you let me move into your house so that we could make it look real. Dinner was meant to be a thank you, but…” I trail off and glance around the kitchen.
It’s a disaster. The water for the potatoes is only just starting to boil, meanwhile the steak is done.
The asparagus I sautéed is burnt, and there are potato peels all over the counter and floor.
Jonah doesn’t say anything. He goes over to the pantry and returns with a loaf of crusty bread, and then he gets a pack of salad mix and a bottle of steak sauce from the fridge. He slices the steak and then plates it along with some of the juices, and the salad and bread on the side.
“We’ll have the potatoes tomorrow, because they’ll need a good ten minutes of boiling before we can mash them,” he says by way of explanation.
We sit down at the small wood plank dining table, which looks like a smaller version of the one that he made with his dad. The steak looks completely brown on the inside, but the juices look okay. Maybe I didn’t ruin things completely.
I take a bite, and even though my inexperienced palette can tell it’s far from perfect, flavor still explodes in my mouth and floods my senses. “Oh my God,” I say after chewing. “I know I overcooked this but I haven’t had steak in so long, and it’s so good.”
“Did your parents control what you ate or something?” Jonah’s voice contains a dark note to it, like the mere idea of this pisses him off.
I set my utensils down, suddenly not wanting to eat another bite. I’ve been doing really well eating whatever I want, but as soon as I think about my mom and what she might think of my meals, I get anxious.
“Yeah,” I admit. “They did. Mostly my mom.” I look down at the table and trace the wood grains with my finger tip, rather than meet Jonah’s eyes.
“Well, fuck that,” he says resolutely. “But we don’t have to talk about it anymore. Eat whatever the hell you want.”
“Thanks.” I pick my fork up again and take another bite, my anxiety lessened. It’s nice that Jonah doesn’t expect an explanation or ask too many questions. I guess he could tell that talking about it made me anxious.
“How’s your mom doing?” I ask, wanting to make sure that he’s okay as well.
“She’s good. She has a scan and a checkup soon.”
I know that this must be making him nervous—that he must be dreading the results. I don’t want Jonah to feel like I’m pushing him to talk, so I just say, “I can go with you, if you want me to. For support.”
He considers my offer for a moment, his empty fork hanging in the air. He’s clearly unsure of how to respond.
But then he says, “I’ll think about it.”
We don’t say anything else for the rest of the meal, but I find myself smiling softly at him. And he actually smiles back.