Chapter 12
ELLIE
The trouble with being an anxious overthinker was the lack of sleep.
Forcing sleep never helped, so usually I would get up and potter around, maybe do one of my puzzles, but it was different with Jake across the hall.
Instead, I read a few chapters from one of the regency romance novels I’d borrowed from the library, then switched to the YouTube app, losing myself to the mindlessness of video after video until my phone vibrated with a text.
Jake
You awake?
My pulse spiked picturing Jake stretched out in bed, his handsome face brightened by the glow of his phone screen in the dark.
Texting me.
Ellie
Sorry. Did I wake you?
Jake
No. I went to the bathroom & saw the light under your door. I can’t sleep. You?
Ellie
Same. I tried reading, now I’m watching YouTube on my phone.
Jake
Don’t tell me it’s that Dr. Pimple Popper shit, Ellie. Please.
I chuckled quietly, remembering the look of horror and disgust when he’d discovered me watching them last week.
Ellie
OK, I won’t tell you.
Jake
Ellie
LOL you’ve never even watched it.
Jake
Don’t have to. Picturing it is enough. Why do you watch it?
Ellie
It’s calming. I don’t know why. I think it’s the distraction of it all.
Jake
Are anxious about something? You can always talk to me. Surely I’m better than Dr. Pimple Popper.
Ellie
Hmm. I don’t know. It’s too close to call.
Jake
Hurt. Devastated. Hurt.
Ellie
LOL. I’m always anxious. I’d be talking to you 15 hours a day.
Jake
I don’t mind. I like talking to you & I know you like talking to me too.
Ellie
How do you know that?
Jake
Because I’m very easy to talk to. It’s one of my best features.
Ellie
One of?
Jake
Yep. I’m also very handsome & charming. Tall too.
Did I lose you? Did you fall asleep? You know I’m only joking, right? My therapist said it’s a defence mechanism, although I’m still not sure what I’m defending.
That was a joke too BTW.
Ellie
Sorry. I was thinking. I wish I had your confidence.
Also I didn’t realise you saw a therapist. Did you find it helpful? If you don’t mind me asking.
Jake
You can ask me anything. And you don’t need my confidence. You’ll carve out your own in time.
I don’t go to therapy as regularly as I probably should. Maybe once a year? But I always like talking about myself so it’s a pretty good time.
Ellie
You don’t have to make a joke out of it. Not with me.
Jake
You’re right & I appreciate that. Have you ever thought about therapy for your anxiety?
Ellie
I did have some Cognitive Behavioural Therapy after my mum died, but they only gave me a few sessions on the NHS and then it stopped. I couldn’t afford to go private. It didn’t help anyway. I don’t think it was for me. I never felt any better.
Jake
I can’t speak for anyone but me, but these things take time. Sometimes years. It’s like fitness, I think? You have to be consistent with it. Maybe one day you’ll be in the position to try again.
Ellie
Maybe.
Jake
Do you fancy watching that new serial killer documentary on Netflix?
I clasped my phone to my chest for a second. Yet again Jake seemed to know I’d reached my limit and changed the subject without me needing to. That kind of innate understanding had never happened to me before, and I couldn’t stop the dance inside me, or the flood of heat to my skin.
Ellie
Serial killer???
Jake
It’s like my Dr. Pimple Popper. It calms me.
Ellie
Should I be worried? Never mind. I’m on my way.
Fresh from my shower the next day, I walked into the living room to find Jake crouched on the floor whispering to Noah.
It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Most days they were lost in their own world, much to my delight, but it was odd the way their conversation stopped the moment I appeared.
“Why do you both look like you’re up to no good?” I teased. “What mischief are you making?”
Jake cast me a cheeky, knowing grin as he straightened to his full height. My stomach filled with butterflies—from the lightness of that grin or the overwhelming height of him, I wasn’t entirely sure.
“You’ll see.”
Noah, clearly hiding something behind his back, peered at the man beside him, bounced a little, and said, “Now?”
“Now.”
Okay. This was weird. “What is—”
“Happy Valanteen’s Day!”
“Valentine’s,” Jake corrected through a laugh as Noah held up a single red rose.
“Oh! Oh my gosh.”
“I made you a card,” he shouted, the excitement almost too much for him to bear as he offered me the crumpled card. “That’s you and that’s me, and that’s my heart!”
Instead of two stick people holding hands—one drawn with a triangle to represent my dress—we were holding a heart between us, my smile so big it was wider than my entire head.
“That is beautiful! I love it so much.”
Noah’s beam of pride had me seconds away from morphing into a teary mess. He’d given me plenty of artwork before, but nothing like this, and definitely not on Valentine’s Day. Usually, it passed like any other.
“Who’s this?” I pointed at what looked like the bottom half of a stick person, except the line went all the way to the top of the page.
“That’s Jake.”
“Wow. Where’s his head?”
“It didn’t fit ‘cause he’s so tall.”
Jake and I both chuckled.
“Well, I love this a lot.”
Inside, Jake had written the inscription—Happy Valentine’s Day, Mummy! I love you—but Noah had signed his name across the page in big, spacey letters. We’d practiced writing his name a handful of times, but Jake must’ve helped him there too.
My heart was fit to burst.
“I think this is my favourite thing ever, and I’m going to put it pride of place on the fridge. What do you think?”
“Yeah, right there!”
“I love my rose too. Thank you so much.” I brushed the petals across my nose, then squeezed my son tight, smothering him with kisses until he giggled. “Why don’t you put your shoes on while I put it in water, okay? I want to keep it for as long as possible.”
“Okay. But don’t worry ‘cause Jake said that we squish it in a big book and keep it forever and ever!”
Overwhelmed, I peered up at the man in question. He’d thought of everything.
“He’s right. That’s a great idea.”
“I have them sometimes,” Jake joked.
Noah skipped off into the hallway, stealing all the noise from the room.
“Thank you for this,” I said softly, holding up the card and rose. “Noah didn’t do that by himself.”
“I might’ve supervised,” he admitted with a flippant one-shouldered shrug.
I didn’t like how quickly he dismissed the enormity of the gesture.
“You did more than that and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. It was the sweetest, loveliest surprise.”
“It was nothing, Ellie.”
“It’s not nothing to me. You didn’t have to do anything, yet you made the effort to do this for me, and I could tell Noah loved it.
You know, I… I was worried at first, about you being here.
Not that I didn’t think you could do this, just that you’d never done this before.
But every day you remind me that my son is in good hands so… thank you.”
Jake blinked a couple of times, as if shellshocked by the praise.
His nod was awkward too, which wasn’t like him.
Jake didn’t live anywhere near the vicinity of awkwardness usually, and I wondered if perhaps I’d gone a bit overboard, said too much.
But for once I didn’t care. It was important he knew.
“Well,” he said finally. “That means a lot to me too.”
“I don’t—I’m not a hug sort of person, but could I hug you?”
Jake’s head tilted, his smile all soft as he opened up his arms. “Get over here.”
I was hesitant drifting closer, even though he’d consented, but Jake didn’t force it, somehow understanding how awkward this was for me to initiate physical contact—initiate anything really.
When I tightened my arms around his waist and breathed in the scent of him, it only confirmed how sad it was to miss out on such a feeling—and for what? Shyness? Nerves?
Ridiculous.
He returned the hug with gusto, bending his knees to better match our heights, and banding his big arms around my waist until I was wrapped in all things Jake.
Those butterflies returned with fluttering vengeance at the feel of him, solid and real, and maybe I wasn’t a hug sort of person from just anybody, but hugs from Jake was another story entirely.
I could definitely get used to this.
Both a little startled by the newness of all this physical contact, we stared at each other when we pulled away, long enough for the air to shift into something less friendly, something more… electric.
I wasn’t imagining it, not with the way Jake’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he inhaled a deep breath.
“Anyway, uh, I better go,” I rushed out, unsure what to do except put some distance between us. “Enjoy your free time today.”
Jake nodded, cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. You sure you don’t need me?”
“No, no, it’s all good. You chill out, or do whatever it is you like to do when you’re not running around after a four-year old.”
He frowned at that. “I can’t remember.”
“Take the day to find out,” I offered, then darted from the room.
Ellie
Did you buy Noah a kid’s tool set?
Jake
FINALLY. I ordered that 2 weeks ago.
He kept trying to use my hammer after I fixed the shelf in the bathroom. I thought a play set was a safer bet.
Ellie
Thank you, that’s so sweet but…YOU own a hammer???
Jake
I sense surprise or maybe sarcasm in your tone, Miss Brooks. You don’t think I could own a hammer?
Ellie
Hmm. I don’t know. I don’t get those handyman vibes from you.
Jake
Whatever do you mean? My ass looks great in jeans & I’ve got banging and screwing down to a fine art.
Ellie
I’m surprised you didn’t say something about drilling too.
Jake
Maybe later.
“Noah, breakfast is ready!”
I set the plate on the dining table, along with a glass of milk, confused by the silence and distinct lack of feet—big and small—rushing into the room.
Despite not being biologically related, Noah and Jake were similar in so many ways. Whenever food was served, they both came running.