Chapter Seven
Belle
When I bought Belle’s Place, there had been champagne and a lot of ugly tears.
Happy ugly tears, of course, but still tears.
I’d celebrated with Jesse, our parents, and a few friends from school who I’d kept in touch with over the years.
It’d been one of my biggest accomplishments that I wanted to celebrate rather than play off like it was nothing.
Maybe that’s why I’m so sad when the flowers from Tyson were delivered this morning after officially selling the club I’d put blood, sweat, and tears into. There was no popping bottles or loud cheers from friends or family this time. Besides the pretty bouquet from my realtor, there’s…nothing.
I should have taken up Mom’s suggestion to celebrate signing the lease on my new space, but it didn’t feel right.
It isn’t like I bought it. It’s been two weeks, and I haven’t even finished my plans for the inside.
Then there’s permits, local ordinances to follow, and a litany of inspections that I’ll have to schedule.
In hindsight, I jumped the gun on this before I should have. But what’s done is done.
I’m lounging on the living room couch with a sketchpad in my lap and the TV turned onto my current fixation when Jesse comes home.
I lost track of his whereabouts over the past few days after making the trip to Pittsburgh and back to sign off on the closing papers.
Based on the shadows under his eyes, he’s been busy while I was away.
“Hey,” he greets, rounding the couch and lifting my legs to drop down beside me. It’s become routine for us to sit like this when we hang out together now. “What are you working on?”
I turn my sketch to him. “Trying to figure out what I want the store to look like. I have a basic layout of the current space with all the measurements, so I’m figuring out the logistics now.”
Considering there’s only a few lines drawn, some eraser marks, and lead smudges, I haven’t gotten very far in the process.
His thumb absentmindedly strokes my calf, and I’m only a little self-conscious that I haven’t shaved in a few days. But he clearly doesn’t mind the stubble as his eyes go to the television screen to see what I have on.
“What are we watching?” he asks as the characters on screen go face-to-face at a hockey match.
I bite my bottom lip to hide a smile as he settles into the couch. “It’s called Heated Rivalry. It’s based on a book series.”
He makes a thoughtful noise. “I’ve heard of it from some of the guys,” he tells me, still watching. I stifle a giggle when the scene changes to something very much not on the ice rink. And Jesse doesn’t even flinch when the hot make out session happens between the characters in a hotel room.
Just when I expect him to get up and tell me he’s going to do literally anything else, he asks, “Do you want popcorn?”
I blink as he slides out from under where my legs are perched on top of his lap. “You’re going to watch this with me?”
Jesse lifts a shoulder. “Sure. Why not? It’s got hockey in it. Did you want popcorn or not?”
I grab the remote to pause the show, unintentionally stopping it on a hilariously sexy still that involves a lot of skin. “You should probably know that there’s not a ton of hockey being played in this. It’s about their relationship.”
He stares at me like he’s confused about why I’m explaining this to him. “I know, Bells. I’m not worried about it. Unless… you don’t want to watch it together?”
I snort unattractively. “You can watch it with me. But I know how some of your teammates are. Their fragile masculinity couldn’t handle watching two dudes hookup. Which is total bullshit since they’d go wild for two girls doing the same thing.”
He doesn’t argue with their ridiculous logic or try to defend them. “I think I’ll survive. So popcorn or…?”
I grin, settling back into the couch and putting my sketch pad away. It isn’t like I’m getting any work done anyway. “Yes please. And bring out a soda for us to split.”
He comes back ten minutes later in sweatpants and his old college sweatshirt, a bag of popcorn, and our favorite Mexican Coca-Cola.
He used to tell me I’d lost my mind when I wouldn’t drink any other version of the fizzy drink, until he realized the cane sugar made it ten times better than the other kind with only McDonald’s fountain coke coming close. He’s been hooked ever since.
He gets back into the same position we were in before, letting my legs rest across him with the popcorn between us. Except this time when he takes my shin in his hand, his strokes are more leisurely. Calming. Intentional. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and wants to be doing it.
And I don’t pull away.
His next question makes my heart flutter with appreciation. “Can we start from episode one that I know their backstory?”
We watch episode after episode in peaceful silence, going through half of the bag of popcorn and finishing off the soda within thirty minutes. He doesn’t look bored or uncomfortable, no matter the number of scenes between the two men that have very little clothing and a lot of slapping skin.
We binge the entire season until the early hours of the morning, knowing full well we’re both going to regret it when our alarms go off.
Eventually, he asks, “Is this why people keep asking me if I have a cottage?”
The snort that escapes me is loud, and I’m pretty sure a popcorn kernel gets lodged into my throat. My coughing fit has Jesse’s eyebrows arching in concern before the fit turns into laughing again and a curve lifts the corners of his mouth.
“You going to make it?” he asks in amusement, pausing the show for me to gather my bearings.
I clear my throat, patting my chest and trying to clear out whatever is stuck. He passes me his water bottle to help. I sip his drink before passing it back. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. Have women really been asking you if you own a cottage?”
He nods. “And men, too. There have been a lot more men coming up to me lately and trying to pass me their numbers. That’s usually when they ask about the cottage. And one person asked if I like smoothies.”
I grin. “You do like smoothies.”
He rolls his eyes. “It was obvious that more than smoothies were on the table when they offered to make me one.”
I can’t help but laugh again. This is why I love humanity. Especially bookish people. “This show is the reason hockey has gained more fans. A ton of my friends go to the boy aquarium every chance they get.”
Jesse gapes at me. “What the fuck is a boy aquarium?”
The grin on my face grows mischievously.
“I can show you.” And I do just that. We spend the next ten minutes scrolling through video after video of people filming themselves at hockey games where the players are doing stretches and warmups on the ice.
By the time he’s got the picture, his cheeks are pink.
His innocence is far too cute.
“Heated Rivalry has done for hockey what Taylor Swift has done for football, and I love that,” I tell him, setting my phone back down onto the couch. “If you were smart, you’d use the hype to invest your money in something cool. Like a cottage you can rent out via Airbnb or a smoothie shop.”
I’m not sure he knows how much he’d rake in when he chuckles at the idea. It’s his loss. Hell, maybe I can change my plans and do a smoothie shop on Main Street instead of a bookstore café.
“I can see your head spinning,” he says, “and I have a feeling I know where it’s at. But focus on the bookstore. It’s a perfect idea, Bells. You’re far more passionate about literature than you are fruit drinks.”
A very true fact. I can sell the hell out of a book series better than I can a banana and strawberry concoction. “Fine, I’ll keep my original plans. But I still think you should—”
“No,” he cuts me off dryly. “Not happening.”
I frown. “Rude.”
He lets out a soft breath that sounds more like a bemused laugh than exasperation. Then his mood shifts, as if something suddenly comes to his mind. He pats my leg, then squeezes it once.
“I forgot,” he says, sliding away from me. “I have something for you.”
My brows pinch. “For me?”
He holds up a finger and then escapes into a different room. No more than a minute later, he comes back with a piece of paper in his hand and something behind his back.
I giggle. “What are you doing?” I ask, tentatively reaching out to accept the paper he’s holding. It’s a gift certificate to a spa I’ve never heard of before.
Then he holds out the other gift. My favorite bottle of bubbly Moscato wine.
Sweet, unlike the dry, bitter kind he likes.
We’ve never been able to share a bottle because of our differing tastes, not that either of us minded.
Sure, I can polish off wine a little easier than I should, but it’s not often.
And his discipline when it comes to indulgence is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
I accept the wine and look from the certificate to him. “What is this for?”
“You sold Belle’s Place and are starting something new here,” he says casually. “That deserves to be celebrated.”
He…
I press my lips together and swallow.
Hot tears build behind my eyes before I can stop them, and I have to fight like hell to hold them back. “You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper, sounding hoarse.
Jesse sits down, tilting my chin up. I try to hide the tears, but it’s too late. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I—”
“No! No. I’m not upset. I love this. I love you for doing this for me.” I smile genuinely, even though I probably look ridiculous as the first tear slides down my cheek. He captures it with the pad of his thumb. “It’s sweet and unexpected.”
His thumb lingers on my face, the warmth of his touch soaking into my skin.
“I know you didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but none of the things you’re doing are small.
Your mom is going to pick you up tomorrow and take you both to the spa.
It’s an all-exclusive day, and it’s already paid for the two of you. ”