Chapter Twenty-One
Jesse
Winter quickly bleeds into late spring, bringing warmer weather, greener grass, and a closer end to a less than stellar season.
And after getting our asses handed to us by the Golden Knights in Vegas, and then our faces rubbed into it by the Bruins in our home territory, it’s left me more than ready for a break.
The commentators during our last game even winced at how badly we lost to Boston’s team. I wish I could say we tried our best to get one up on them, but we didn’t. We sucked. Bad.
Normally, I’d be in a shit mood knowing that there’s no way we’re advancing.
When I know I’m playing my last game, I work my ass off to make it the best one so we can go out on a good note.
But, truthfully, I’m tired. My body is tired.
I’m looking forward to time off where I don’t have to ice my body every single day or get regular massages because my muscles are too tight.
The only good thing that came from our last home game was the hug Belle gave me when I was freshly showered and walking out of the locker room.
Our parents couldn’t make it because they had friends in town who weren’t big sports fans, but I spotted Belle staring with just as much anxiety as I felt the entire game.
She didn’t bother with an apology, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
I didn’t, of course. There were cameras and spectators who didn’t need to be in our business. Not yet.
I knock on the locked door of the soon-to-be bookstore café when I see the lights on, searching the space for Belle.
She’s been spending more time here over the past week after getting the proper permits she needs to begin construction.
I see her pop out from the kitchen area, and smile when I see the paint smeared across the overalls she’s wearing.
“Hey,” she greets, opening the door for me and gesturing me inside.
I’m hit with the strong scent of paint as I set the to-go bag down with our lunch. “You need to air this out or you’ll get high,” I tell her with a frown. I examine the wall she’s been busy with.
Two out of the four are made of white brick, the other two are drywall. She’s painting those a pale yellow—polka dot yellow, according to the paint splotch she showed me when she was trying to make a color choice.
Belle grins at me. Somehow, she’d gotten paint on her cheek. “Maybe I want to. It makes this more exciting.”
I snort. “Sure. You’ve got…” I gesture toward her cheek, then shake my head. Licking my finger, I wipe at the smear with the pad of my thumb but it’s already dry. “How did you get covered in paint?”
It looks like she showered in it.
Belle bites her bottom lip in hesitation, which tells me I’m not going to like the answer. “I may have dumped what was in the tray after almost falling off the ladder.” She bats those eyelashes at me like I’m not supposed to be upset. “But I didn’t fall! Just the paint did.”
As if that makes it better.
I turn and study what she’s gotten done. Only the top half of the walls need to be finished. They’re taped off and the trim is ready to be painted, so I roll my sleeves up and walk over to the ladder still positioned by the window.
“What are you doing?” she asks, following me. “Jesse, you don’t need to help. You’ve got to be exhausted. Your schedule this week has been crazy and don’t think I missed how stiff you were this morning.”
I shoot her a sly grin. “I was very stiff this morning.”
Morning wood is always daily battle, but it’s gotten worse since I’ve been waking up next to Belle in the mornings. She hasn’t stayed in her room since the day I took her to bed, and as much I love her mom, I’m not looking forward to her staying over and breaking our new sleeping arrangements.
Belle rolls her eyes at the implication. “And if memory serves, I helped you out with that.”
That she did. With her hand, then her mouth. I wanted to return the favor, but her mother called as I kissed the hem of her panties. As much as I wanted her to ignore it, I knew she’d been wanting to talk to her and arrange plans for her arrival tomorrow.
I try not thinking about how her mouth felt on me or I’d be walking around with a giant boner. Not that it would matter since Belle covered the windows for privacy. It wouldn’t be hard to put her on the counter and—
Shit. I’m thinking about more than just her going down on me now. I really need to rein those thoughts in, or I’ll be uncomfortable the rest of the day.
“I’ll finish the first coat of paint. You eat. I have a feeling all you’ve had since I left this morning was coffee.”
She scoffs. “That’s not true. I also had a chocolate croissant.”
I pause going up the ladder and eye her. “You aren’t helping your case any.”
She shrugs. “It’s still calories.”
“It’s nothing but sugar, but fine.”
Belle only smiles at me as I get to work painting the areas she couldn’t reach easily. It doesn’t take me long, and it makes me feel better knowing she’s eating.
“You really shouldn’t be climbing when you’re alone,” I tell her, moving the ladder over to the final patch of wall. “If you fall there won’t be anybody to call for help.”
I hear her sigh from behind me like the notion of her getting hurt is preposterous.
But we both know she struggles to walk around in sneakers without tripping on shit, so climbing ladders and falling is a likely possibility.
“I was fine. No harm, no foul. Plus, you would have realized something was up if I didn’t text you back.
And you obviously came here. You would have found me. ”
“What if I hadn’t though?” I press, trying to get to see my point. “I’d feel awful if something happened to you and I wasn’t here, Bells.”
She’s quiet for a long stretch of time, so I look over my shoulder at her.
Her sandwich is half gone and she’s staring at it with a guilty expression on her face.
I recognize the pinched look because she’s given it to me before when she feels guilty over something.
Like missing a game or not getting me something at the store.
“Dane would have found me,” she says so quietly it’s almost like she hopes I don’t hear.
Ah. That’s the reason for the look.
“Dane,” I repeat slowly.
She nods once. “He’s coming over to show me the wood he ordered for the shelves. I think he’s starting them next week.”
I don’t feel nearly as jealous hearing his name as I did before, even if I don’t love him being around Belle knowing he’s interested. But I trust her. I do. And I’m not going to turn into an asshole just because she’s hiring a dude who wants to date her.
“If I’d known, I would have gotten an extra sandwich,” is my reply. It doesn’t sound half bad either. Not as tight or irritable as when he’s been brought up before.
Belle sees right through it, laughing. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
All right, I wouldn’t have. I don’t confirm that out loud. Instead, I finish painting and then carefully climb down when I’m done to examine my work. It only took me thirty-five minutes to do the top of the wall and the edge work.
I roll my shoulders and walk over to her, stealing a piece of pickle that fell out of her sandwich. “How is it?”
“The wall looks good.”
I smile. “Good. Although, I meant the sandwich. I know you prefer Italians, but I remember how much you liked the turkey you got when we went to that deli in the city.”
“Oh.” She smiles and nods. “The sandwich is delicious. What did you get?”
She peaks into the bag as I pull out chicken chipotle wrap that she got me into. Then she rolls her eyes when I pull out a salad instead of a bag of chips like I got her because I know she wouldn’t have wanted the vegetable side option.
“I’ll split it with you,” I tell her, watching as she eyes the wrap I unravel from the paper.
Her eyes narrow. “The salad or the wrap?”
“We both know I’m not talking about the salad,” I muse, taking off the lid and putting a light coating of Italian dressing on the lettuce mix. “Getting you to eat greens is about as painful as getting a child to eat them.”
She looks offended for only a brief moment before shrugging because she knows I’m right. “I will allow that, even if your experience with kids is minimal to none.”
“I work with youth camps all the time,” I remind her, deadpan.
Belle leans back in her chair. “Sure, but something tells me you’re not there to give nutritional advice to them unless part of your motivational speeches is ‘eat lean protein and leafy greens to grow big and strong like me’.
You don’t know if they eat their vegetables or not, so your point is moot. ”
Okay, she has a point. But it’s safe to say at least one or two of them hate vegetables as much as the thirty-four-year-old in front of me. “So is that a no to sharing my salad?”
She tosses a napkin at me, giggling when it smacks me in the face and falls into said salad.
We sit and talk about her plans for the bookstore while I eat, explaining the next steps are, and what the menu she’s been working on is.
I know for a fact our kitchen is full of baked goods that we’ll never eat in time before they go bad.
Belle started putting baskets together for our neighbors just to get rid of everything.
Our closest elderly neighbor, Brenda, was more than happy to accept the homemade bagels and cinnamon buns and said she wouldn’t say no to more.
When we’re done, we check the walls to make sure the paint is dry before working together to add a second coat.
We listen to music, and I don’t complain once when I realize the entire playlist contains her three favorite pop artists.
I even find myself humming along to a Sabrina Carpenter song that I’ve heard her play on repeat before.