11. Jasmine
11
JASMINE
B etween the hip-high snowbanks and the grayish-brown slush, the dead of winter can make even Canadian cottage country look dull. Though Nick’s hometown manages to keep some of its shine with century-old facades on the storefronts down the main street and hand-painted signs even on the nationwide chain restaurant.
He drives slower than the speed limit, but I doubt it’s for my benefit. He’s gotten surlier since we got off the highway, and fidgety. He keeps scrubbing at his chest. Either he’s anxious or his T-shirt—which I discovered is a Taylor Swift Reputation tour tee when I stole furtive glances at him through the windows when we stopped to get gas—is itchy.
When we stop at a light, I pull out my phone.
Me: Arriving in Muskoka.
Jade: fire
Me: What are you doing?
Jade: I’ll tell you what I’m not doing…
Jade: I’m not avoiding conversation with my fake boyfriend.
Me: I’m just checking in!
Jade: I’ll be fine.
Me: 3
Jade: do me a favor ok?
Me: Ok…
She’ll either ask me to buy her something like I’m our dad bringing gifts for his new family after a business trip, or she’ll tell me to do something physically impossible. Like “unclench.”
Jade: since Nick is technically your boyfriend for the next however many days can you PLEASE at the very least let that man dick you down??????
I make a strangled sound and half-drop, half-toss my phone back into the open bag.
“What’s wrong?” Nick doesn’t look at me, but there’s genuine concern in his voice.
Mentally, I shake myself. I breathe deeply, willing the heat in my cheeks to dissipate. I need to get back in the right mindset and that does not include Nick’s dick. We’ve tried that already. It ended poorly.
Except now I can’t get the image of him kneeling at my feet and gripping himself through his boxer briefs telling me he’s hard for me out of my head.
“Jazz. Are you experiencing a medical emergency?”
“No.” The single word escapes me far too quickly. My pulse beats at my throat so hard that I’m sure if Nick didn’t have to focus on the road, he’d see. I’m hot. And honestly, a little dizzy. And oh my god I’m wet. The thought of Nick touching himself has made me wet. This has never happened before. I didn’t think it was even possible to be this aroused by a thought, a memory.
“Jasmine?” The car slows, and a click-click-click sound pulls me back to the present. Nick is side-eyeing me, his hand still on the indicator as if he’s actually preparing to pull over.
Pull. Yourself. Together.
If I could slap myself in the face without making him consider a forty-eight-hour hold, I would.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. I’ve never sounded less like myself. “Can you remind me again of your siblings’ names?” I flip open the binder again and click my pen, the tip hovering over blank lined paper.
We turn off the main road and wind through residential streets. Some houses still have their Christmas lights up and almost every driveway has a hockey net against the garage.
“Alex is married to Robert,” he says. “Miranda to Jake. Claire is married to Philip. Charlie is marrying Rashida next summer.”
“And this is in birth order?”
“Yeah.” By his tone, it’s obvious he’s smirking. I’ve learned that much about him already. Still, I peek over at him to confirm what I already knew: for some reason, that question amuses him.
“And Charlie is younger than you, right?”
Nodding, he fiddles with the knob on the radio.
“Their children’s names?” I ask, my pen poised over the paper again.
The houses are fewer and farther between now, set back from the road with miniature streetlamps flanking the long driveways. Nick turns onto a gravel road reduced to single track with car-high snowbanks on each side. Between the trees, I catch glimpses of a lake, the snow cover blindingly bright then disappearing in irregular intervals.
“The only kid you need to know about is Tilly.” For the first time in at least an hour, he sounds relaxed. It’s oddly comforting, but I’ll take that to the grave.
“Is Tilly the only one?”
“Tilly is the only one that matters,” he says definitively, one hand on the steering wheel.
“Are you saying that Tilly is?—”
“My favorite? Absolutely, I am.” He grins over at me. “Listen, I love all my nieces and nephews. Every one of them is wonderful and sweet. But Tilly—Alex’s daughter—she loves me, and I love her. She’s my goddaughter. She made me an uncle. It’s nothing personal.” He shrugs, his cheeks turning pink maybe from his enthusiasm, or maybe because he’s embarrassed by that enthusiasm.
Jade and I have half-siblings we’ve only stalked on social media, but even if I did know them, I don’t think there’s anyone in this world I could love more than I love her.
“I get it.”
“I used to sing Beatles songs to her when she was a baby. She’d fall asleep to ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.’”
My heart squeezes, making it momentarily hard to breathe. That’s cute. And a bit homicidal.
His levity slowly fades, his expression dulling. I grasp for something I can say to bring his good mood back. We can’t both be freaking out at the same time and right now I have reserved all of the freaking out energy for myself. Because, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is about this man that turns me on so fucking much.
It keeps coming back to one explanation: the matchmaker, and her miracle algorithm, was right.
“We’re here,” he says, like a doctor might say time of death .
My butt, which has fallen asleep, is relieved. Otherwise, this announcement ratchets up my nerves even more.
“Here” is a long, winding driveway lined with more of those miniature lampposts that disappears behind a hillock and a copse of ice-covered trees. The snow is even deeper here, but the paved driveway is professionally cleared by Jim’s Snow Removal at the turn off. Finally, as we crest the hill and slowly navigate through the pines, Nick’s parents’ house comes into view.
When he mentioned he’d grown up in Muskoka, I was expecting a suburban home. When he said he grew up playing hockey, I assumed he meant at a public arena. And the pool he mentioned? Perhaps a local community center. Ana?s and Butch have a cottage that’s about an hour from here. It’s nicer than any home I’ve ever lived in, with an attached garage, shiny wood paneling, and a fire pit on the waterfront. Some of the neighbors have pools despite the lake access.
But even those cottages are nothing like this.
The three-story home is lined with windows with clear views all the way through to the lake on the other side. A two-car garage stands open with luxury vehicles in the bays and I’ll eat my secondhand booties if there isn’t a boathouse on the water. Nick’s family’s home has a bigger footprint than most McMansions.
I look from Nick to the house and back. “Are you related to any NHL players?”
A laugh bursts from him, but he quickly schools his expression, like he’s surprised it got the better of him. “No, but I drove the Zamboni in tenth and eleventh grade.”
“It seems like a beautiful place to grow up.”
Nick’s smile dims, turns wistful. He squeezes the steering wheel. “It could be,” he says quietly.
The argumentative side of me that only seems to come out around Nick wants to point out that growing up with NHL players and Hollywood actors as his seasonal neighbors could not possibly be as terrible as he’s implying, but “money doesn’t buy happiness” is a cliché for a reason.
“Shall we?” he asks, his voice like a sigh.
I flip the visor down and pull out my travel makeup bag. Using the visor’s mirror, I touch up my lips and smooth down my hair. “You said the candle for the hostess gift, right?”
He’s already gotten out of the car, his legs and torso all I can see. As he stretches, the black elastic waistband of his CK underwear peeks out from his jeans.
I can’t help but peruse the peek of soft skin of his stomach and follow the dark hair that disappears beneath his clothes.
“Hey.” He leans back into the car. “My eyes are up here, Jazz.”
“I…no….” I splutter, my cheeks heating. I do not care about Nick’s underwear. Of all the underwear in the world, his is the least concerning to my life. Fake girlfriends don’t imagine what’s beneath their fake boyfriend’s undergarments. They don’t wonder what his skin might taste like. Whether he’d laugh if she trailed her tongue along the path his hair takes.
He chuckles. Ass.
“Yeah. The candle.”
The hostess gift. Right. Okay. Closing my eyes, I take in a long, centering breath, getting my mind and body under control.
He gives me more time to gather myself, or maybe he’s trying to tease me, as he stretches again. I pull out the tart and pull the plastic wrap off for maximum effect at presentation. Thankfully, it traveled well. It only takes a moment to settle the candle into the brown paper gift bag I brought for the occasion and tie a twine bow. I really did overpack, though I’ll never admit that to Nick, so I shove everything I don’t need into the footwell. I’ll come back for the rest later.
Every other vehicle in the circular driveway shines. They’re all SUVs, making Nick’s dingy boat of a Buick look ancient by comparison, but the velvety soft upholstery in Nick’s car, the tinny, faraway quality to the voices that came from the radio when he checked the weather, the smell, like Nick and leather cleaner, all of it combines to make me irrationally protective of his self-proclaimed shitbox. I wipe at a spot of dirt on the door handle as if the car is somehow sentient and concerned with its appearance as much as I would be.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” he says quickly, his voice a little too loud in the quiet afternoon.
“For what?”
He grabs our bags from the trunk and closes the lid with a thud. “I was short with you,” he says, his dark eyes apologetic. “Terse. I don’t know. I’m just nervous, and I took it out on you.”
Heart thumping against my breastbone, I examine the perfect feathering on my tart. It’s in the top three of the best baked goods I’ve ever made. I’ve always preferred fabrics to food when it comes to creating. Probably because fabric lasts, while even the most beautiful tarts have to be consumed eventually.
“What are you thinking?” he asks in almost a whisper. He isn’t wearing his coat and goose bumps cover his bare arms, while his knuckles, nose, and ears are pink.
“That I wish I didn’t have to eat this tart,” I say. “And you don’t have to apologize.” No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get him out of my system. Maybe I should just let myself be consumed.
Or as Jade puts it, get dicked down.
He steps closer, his lips twisting. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Nicky, put on a coat,” a woman calls from behind us.
Nicky? I mouth, elation instantly coursing through me.
Fuck off , he mouths back, then he lifts his chin and, over my shoulder, he calls, “Hey, Ma.”
Ma. His mother. This is it. It’s happening. There’s no turning back now. I plaster a smile on my face, then spin to greet her.
Wrapped in an overly large Mr. Rogers-style cardigan and men’s work boots, Mrs. Scott clomps across the driveway. “Let me see you,” she says, her voice high and excited. “I can’t believe he’s kept you from us.”
“Hello, Mrs. Scott.” It takes effort to keep my voice steady. “Thank you so much for inviting me to your home. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
My hostess gifts aren’t just good manners, they serve as a barrier between me and strangers looking for hugs and handshakes. Except apparently, they don’t deter Mrs. Scott.
“Call me Mindy.” She cups my face in her hands, undaunted by the tart and bag between us or the blush heating my skin. “Look at you. Nicky, look at her, isn’t she beautiful?”
She stares pointedly over my shoulder until Nick sighs and says, infinitely softer than I thought possible, “She’s beautiful.”
My heart pangs at the words, but I swallow back the reaction. What else would he say in response to that question?
Nick doesn’t resemble his mother much, his hair dark to her silver and his dark eyes in contrast to her blue, but they share the same mischievous tilt to their smiles.
Already, Mindy has complimented me more than Ana?s did during my entire relationship with her son, and I’ve only just met this woman.
“Thank you.” I shove the tart pan between us. “I made you a Bakewell tart and here’s a small gift. To say thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re thanking me?” She peeks into the bag. “This is the first time Nick has brought one of his girlfriends home. I should be thanking you .”
Nick puts his arm around my shoulder, gently pulling me out of his mother’s orbit.
“Slander. You met Allison.”
She frowns. “Who’s Allison?”
“We dated in middle school. She came over to take photos before the seventh-grade dance.”
Mindy throws her head back, grabbing my forearm like she needs me to help hold her up, and roars with laughter like Nick is the funniest person she’s ever met.
Maybe it’s a mom thing.
She lets go of me to squeeze her son. He’s a head taller than her, so when he hugs her back, he tucks her under his chin and kisses the top of her head. Whatever trauma haunts him when he’s here can’t possibly have been caused by this woman. She’s lovely.
“Technically”—Nick winks at me over her head—“we never broke up.”
Mindy pulls away with a teasing huff, then, squeezing my hand, leads me toward the open front door.
“So, I’m the other woman? Thanks a lot.”
Beside me, Mindy laughs again until she’s almost breathless. “You’ll give us Scotts a run for our money. I can just feel it.” She wraps an arm around my hip and pulls me into her. “Welcome to the family, Jasmine.”
Her smile makes warmth bloom in my chest, but on the heels of that sensation, a wave of nausea hits me. If I were a better person, one who wasn’t spiteful and petty, who needed to lie to her bosses to feel better about herself, I’d run right out of this town. All this time, I’ve been obsessing over how to pull off this deception. Not once have I given any thought to the feelings of the people we’re lying to. Nick’s mother is kinder than my own. I want her to keep holding my face, telling me I’m beautiful.
The second I step through this door, there’s no going back. We’re not playing a silly game, faking it. We’re lying.
If I weren’t such a selfish person, I’d make Nick take me home, but Mindy’s warm presence alone will keep me here this whole weekend. Maybe even longer.
While I’ve always lamented our small family, Jade revels in it. She says she likes having me all to herself. As Nick closes the door behind us, I see her point.
There are too many people in this house. Children scream with glee, their shrieks melding together, making it impossible to discern how many there are, just that there are more children than seems safe for an enclosed space. Deep male laughter comes from the open living room, where a group of men stand near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the snow-covered lake, holding steaming mugs or pint glasses. Tweed tartan blankets are folded over the back of the dark leather couches, and the whole space is bathed in a warm glow from the afternoon sun.
“Uncle Nicky!” one of the children screams, running on stubby kid legs toward him, arms flailing.
He drops to his knees, holding his arms open. “Hey, Tills.”
Several women gathered around one elderly lady who is stationed on a kitchen stool turn to us and gaze adoringly as uncle and nibling reunite. He squeezes her tight, digging his stubbly chin into her neck, tickling her until she squeals. Mindy watches them with all the joy and pride of a mother and grandmother who lives for her family.
Then she turns that smile on me and winks like we’re in on a secret.
Oh, no.
“Nick loves kids,” Mindy says.
I nod woodenly. It’s bad enough sidestepping awkward conversations with in-laws about family planning, but it’s downright confusing to be hit with a pang of true regret at disappointing one’s fake boyfriend’s mom. Not only do I not want kids; I’m not really dating the man.
“Look what Jasmine brought,” Mindy says, genuine enthusiasm shining through. She presents the tart and the candle and me to the group. The women all smile, except for the small white-haired family matriarch. She tilts her head, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and peers at me. They all turn to her like they’re awaiting her judgment.
She scowls.
My stomach sinks. That can’t be good.
I don’t really know how to connect with grandmas. Mine’s interests revolved around Filet-O-Fish and menthol cigarettes, so we were doomed from the start.
Eager for backup, I turn to Nick, but he’s focused on Tilly, who glares when she notices me. Great. Clearly, Nick isn’t the only Scott family member who plays favorites.
“Go on,” he says gruffly, giving her a gentle tap on her butt.
Tilly continues her intimidation techniques with intense eye contact and doesn’t relent until a smaller child with light brown skin and big curls like Tilly bodychecks her to the floor. With a huff, Tilly scrambles up, then runs after the diapered kid, both screaming.
When I turn back to Nick’s relatives, they’re still watching me. The intensity of the attention makes me think Mindy might be the only person in the family who likes me so far.
“Hi. I’m Jasmine,” I squeak.
“I’m Nick,” he says, mimicking the nervous, high tone in my voice.
I elbow him before I think better of it, but I find myself shifting closer to him nonetheless. He’s a flotation device in a sea full of sharks and I don’t know yet whether they’re the people-eating kind.
He makes an oof sound in response to my well-placed elbow to his side, and that seems to break their scrutiny.
“Hi, Nico.” A woman with dark, wavy hair like his wraps him in a hug. She turns to me, graceful and warm, looking like she’s stepped straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad in dark, straight leg blue jeans and a cream cable-knit sweater.
The entire family has leaned heavily into the preppy country-club look. Even the kids are in polos and the baby version of chinos; there’s a baby in a cable-knit bear onesie that I know for a fact costs a cool two hundo.
In contrast, Nick is dressed in a well-loved T-shirt that fits perfectly across his shoulders and strains against his biceps, and his fast fashion denim looks soft enough for me to rub my face against. Not that I ever would, of course.
The woman turns to me. “I’m Claire. A sister.”
Without my hostess gifts, I have nothing to protect myself from another inevitable hug, though if Claire is anything like her mother, the gifts wouldn’t have stopped her.
“Welcome to the family, Jasmine,” she whispers into our hug.
I don’t choke on my tongue, but only barely.
“Claire, take it easy,” Nick hisses.
“We’re just excited,” she says teasingly as she pulls back, clutching my upper arms. “He’s so secretive. My parents had to travel to Toronto to meet his last girlfriend.”
Clearly, everyone in Nick’s family is obsessed with his dating life. If I was his real girlfriend, I’d be worried. As his tenuous…friend? I’m still a little concerned. Either Nick has serious commitment issues, or he was born into a family of traditionalist busybodies.
Before I can come up with a response for Claire, we’re ushered further into the home, which smells of newly cut wood, sharp and sweet. Despite his claim that he favors Tilly, Nick takes several babies from their parents’ arms and picks toddlers off the floor as they meander past, planting smacking kisses on their cheeks and sneaking beard tickles into their necks.
In the span of a few minutes, I am hugged by another sister, a sister-in-law, an auntie or two, and offered warm or alcoholic beverages, then warm and alcoholic beverages. Before I can choose from the long list rattled off for me, Nick presses a mug of hot lemon water into my hand.
My heart squeezes with gratitude.
“Good?” he asks, quietly, ducking in close.
“Do I look as overwhelmed as I feel?”
He tips his head, brow furrowing, and studies me. “You look like you did the first time you walked into Moonbar.”
“That good?”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, stretching and rolling his shoulders.
“I can drive a bit on the way home,” I offer, pointing to his shoulders. I hate driving, but I could handle it for a few hours if that’s what he needs. “You look a little sore.”
A girlfriend would massage them for him, but I don’t know whether he’d want me to. Seeming to read my hesitation, he wipes the grimace from his face. “Nah. Just not used to sitting for so long.”
“That’s one good thing about your job. At least it keeps you moving,” says an older man with silver hair and a strong jaw. It’s obvious he’s Nick’s father, because he is Nick, only well aged. If Nick wore slacks and cardigans over Oxford shirts. But his father’s jaw is tight, the lines around his mouth dragging his lips down. Where Nick is teasing, forever young, this man looks like he’s made of plywood.
“You did it, Dad. You found the one good thing about my job,” Nick says, his tone dry as a desert. “This is Jasmine, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” I hold out my hand.
He looks me up and down before taking it. He doesn’t leer so much as catalog, assess. This guy definitely judges books by their covers.
The first time Mitchell introduced me to Ana?s and Butch, Ana?s gave me this same thorough review. I hate myself a little for how eager I am to be considered good enough. Clearly, I haven’t grown much since that last introduction.
Nick is stiff, his posture rigid as his father shakes my hand, his grip firm.
“The elusive Jasmine,” Mr. Scott says, his chin lifted. “It’s nice to finally meet you. What do you do?”
This feels like a test. “I work for an interior design firm,” I say, though the statement sounds more like a question, as if I don’t actually know where I work. “Haüs Interiors?”
His face lights up. “I’ve heard of them. They do good work.”
A breath of relief escapes me. “Right.” Finally, a chance to put The Binder to good use. “I’m sure there’s some professional overlap between interior design and office furniture supply.”
Mr. Scott’s smile grows. “I’ve met Butch once or twice when I was in the city for meetings. Maybe you can get Nicholas a job at Haüs since he refuses to come sell for me.”
Nick leans forward, his chest a furious presence behind me, his body heat soaking into me. As I shift out of his way, I catch a glimpse of his expression. It’s tighter, angrier, than any look I’ve ever seen from him, his eyes narrowed and his mouth a thin, sharp line. He looks like he’s about to say something he’s going to regret.
“Listen, old man.”
Part of me wants to hiss drag him, Nick , but I grab his arm and hope to god the pressure I place on his forearm, my nails digging into the delicate skin of his wrist, conveys something along the lines of I don’t like my dad either, but this is not the time, Nicholas.
“Old man?” Mr. Scott spits.
Before he can muster a response, Mindy is there, slinking beneath her husband’s arm, wrapping both of hers around his waist. Her presence softens him, turning him from hard-ass businessman moonlighting as a father to slightly squishy grandpa in a cardigan.
“You know, Jasmine.” Her eye contact borders on maniacal. She’s clearly had experience distracting these two from tense moments.
The rest of Nick’s family continues on around us. This must be normal for them, their father and their second-youngest brother butting heads. Rather than come to Nick’s defense, they let it happen. At the very least, Jade has always had my back when I needed it.
“Nick never told us how you two met.”
“How we met?” Panic builds in my chest, making it hard to breathe, because all my brain can come up with now is the silly, convoluted truth. If I ask them to please hold while I run out to the car, they’ll find that suspicious. I can’t help my frown, until the memory comes to me. In The Binder, Section 2.3: Backstory: Met at grocery store.
Except Nick hated that and we never came up with an alternative.
It’s been an interminably long amount of time now since Mindy asked. At least it feels that way, but if I open my mouth, it won’t form the right words. With my luck, I’ll blurt out, It’s all a lie. Forgive me, Mindy!
“I never told you because you’d never believe it,” Nick says.
He mimics his parents’ pose, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze that probably looks gentle but feels a lot like calm the fuck down, Jasmine, Jesus.
“We met at the grocery store.”
As I look up at him, I don’t have to feign the adoration on my face.
He’s using The Binder. Instantly, the pressure in my chest loosens, and air fills my burning lungs.
“We were both reaching for the last bag of flour.”
Mindy laughs, but James scowls. “What were you going to do with flour?”
Nick’s grip tightens on me. I squeeze back.
“Just had a hankering for cake, Dad.”
“He let me have the bag,” I say to Mindy.
“And now she makes me cake.” He kisses my temple. It’s the briefest touch, the kind of cursory kiss a person would give someone they know they’ll kiss again and again and again for a long time. But it makes my heart pound for no reason at all.
“I’ll go grab the bags,” he says, leaving me to smile and nod at Mindy as she runs through an itinerary of the weekend: a dinner tonight, the party tomorrow, lamenting the fact that we likely won’t be able to get out on the lake for a skate. “But you’ll just have to come back before the ice thaws,” she says excitedly.
Nick returns with all of the bags. He smells like the cold and his face is flushed from exertion,
“I put you in your old room, sweetie,” Mindy says, giving James a pat on his stomach before hurrying after a grandchild running by with a—thankfully clean—diaper on their head.
His dad is called away by one of Nick’s brothers, Robert, I think.
“You?” I ask, my heart pounding for an entirely new reason. “You as in you, right? You will be in your room and I will be…elsewhere?”
“Both of us,” he says, one corner of his lips quirking up.
I follow him as he hefts the bags toward a mudroom off the kitchen rather than the staircase that bisects the main room.
“But we can’t sleep together,” I hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs in this way he has, like he’s beleaguered by my annoying questions.
My fingers twitch in response, that’s how badly I want to strangle him.
“I thought you’d assume that two adults pretending…” He stops at the foot of the stairs in the mudroom. “Two adults who are dating would be sleeping together.” With that, he turns and stomps up the stairs.
Of course, the possibility crossed my mind, but it wasn’t such a big deal before. Now, after that moment in my kitchen, the idea of being alone with him, behind a closed door, under the same bed linens, horizontal ? I don’t trust myself.
This is all Jade’s fault. She planted the seed and now it’s all I can think about.
Getting dicked down by Nick Scott.