Chapter Seven #2
He invited my mom? We’d had plans, but I thought we’d just see my space and grab lunch again. Gossip. The usual stuff.
I set the bottle of wine down onto the coffee table and get onto my knees, throwing my arms around Jesse’s neck. “You really are the best. Do you know that?”
He’s never been one for compliments, so I’m not surprised when he doesn’t accept it. “You deserve this,” is all he says.
I pull back, face still damp with happy tears, before leaning in to peck his cheek. But because I have terrible depth perception, and my eyes are blurry, I misjudge the targeted spot. My lips graze the corner of his, and I suck in a breath the second I realize what I’d done.
Jesse’s body goes rigid against me, but neither one of us dares to move. I let out the smallest breath that sounds a little too much like a whimper for my liking, which makes his exhale a pained noise of his own.
It’s silent between us. So silent.
But if he listens close enough, he may be able to hear the wild drum of my heartbeat as it tries propelling out of its cage.
Slowly, I sink back onto my heels and look at him through my lashes. His eyes are dark as he stares at me, his nostrils twitching once before he almost involuntarily leans forward to close the distance between us again.
My heart lurches into my throat when I think he’s going to kiss me but stops short. His forehead rests against mine, the tips of our noses touching, and he remains there. I can feel it—the indecision in the air. The thick contemplation about whether or not to close the gap once and for all.
And dear baby Jesus do I want him to.
I want him to grab my face and pull me into him. I want him to wrap my legs around his waist and lay me down on this couch. I want to feel his lips against mine and know what he tastes like.
Maybe it’s the show’s fault for amping us up. We could be worked up from the delicious scenes between the main characters. Or maybe it’s just easier to write it off that way.
I hear him swallow, then see his eyelashes flutter closed until he huffs out a long breath.
Defeat.
Withdrawal.
He pulls away then, putting an efficient amount of space between our bodies.
“I’m glad you like it,” he rasps, clearing his throat and looking away. Then he stands, quickly making his way to the door. “I think I’m going for a run.”
My eyes widen. “It’s the middle of the night.”
All I hear is, “I’ll wear my reflective belt,” before the front door closes hard.
He never changed out of his sweatpants.
*
At some point while the masseuse works on the knotted muscles in my shoulders, I drift off to sleep. I only come to when I hear the end of my mother say, “…don’t you think?”
It’s not the first time today I’m unintentionally tuned her out. We arrived at the spa at eleven this morning, after stopping to get brunch where bottomless mimosas were offered to us. I couldn’t resist the apple cider mimosa with the cinnamon sugar rim when I saw it on their special’s menu.
Pair that with a night of tossing and turning, an MIA stepbrother, and a very skilled massage therapist’s hands, and I was falling asleep within the first hour of being here.
“Sorry,” I apologize groggily, realizing she’s probably been talking for a while now. “What did you say?”
She sighs from the table a few feet away where she’s getting a Swedish massage. “I said my friend’s son is in contracting and has been looking for new gigs now that he finished his latest project. I told her I could ask if you needed help with your store.”
I frown into the head rest. “Which friend?”
“Jennifer. Does it matter?”
The last time she wanted one of her friend’s kids to meet Jesse, he went full stalker mode. So, yes. It matters. “I don’t want a repeat of the Karley situation. She and her son were batshit crazy.”
I can hear the instant defense in Mom’s voice when she replies, “I had no idea that would happen. Nobody told me that her son was a superfan.”
The snort escapes me before I can help it. “It isn’t even that he was a superfan. He was a fan for the opposing team. He wanted to make Jesse’s life hell and play mental games with him, so he choked during his game. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a documentary about that psycho one day.”
I know Mom feels bad about that, but there is no way any of us are forgetting that in this lifetime. “I apologized for that a million times and don’t talk to Karley anymore. Plus, you know Jen’s son. You used to play in the sandbox together when we’d go over to their house.”
Wracking my brain for any recollection of that is fuzzy at best. I do vaguely remember Mom having a friend with a cool swing set in their backyard. There was also a slide, a small trampoline that we were never allowed on after another kid fell and broke his leg, and a sand box.
My brows wrinkle. “Was he the one who always used to pick his nose? Or the little boy who used to try dumping sand down my dress?”
Mom scoffs. “He only did that because he liked you and wanted your attention.”
If my eyes were open, I’d roll them. “We need to ditch that narrative. Why are we letting little kids believe people being mean to them means they like them? Hello toxic masculinity.”
She’s quiet for a second, hopefully realizing how ridiculous the notion is. “You may be right.”
We both know I am, but I won’t make her say it. “His name is Dane, right?” I ask. “Jen’s son?”
“Yes. You’re the same age and he owns his own contracting business, which I’m sure you can appreciate as an entrepreneur yourself.”
I can, although I’m not sure why she’s trying to sell me so hard on this guy. “What contracting does he do? I don’t know what you think I can hire him for, especially if he’s out of state.”
“He does a little bit of everything. Jen showed me pictures of his last few projects. He redid an entire house for a client and it’s stunning, Belle. And there were pictures of a study with built-in bookcases that made me think of you. You’ll need something sturdy for the store.”
I learned from experience that the shelves you buy at Walmart bow with too much weight over time. If my personal collection of books is too much for them, a store’s worth of inventory will be ten times worse.
“And he travels for work because he doesn’t want to cement himself to one area, which makes it perfect for him to come here!” she adds chipperly.
That does sound convenient.