CHAPTER EIGHT #2
I grieved that loss, too. But I eventually realized that to them, it wasn’t friendship.
It was orientation. They’d gotten to know me as someone who might become a permanent part of their lives.
Maybe, if Calvin and I had gotten married, true friendship would’ve eventually evolved over time.
But ultimately, they weren’t interested in a meaningful relationship with me, Evie.
They were interested in Evie, their potential sister-in-law.
And my own sisters’ spouses? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve met them.
“Jake, what would you have done if I hadn’t come to Somerset House? You said in the note you left with Cherry and Quinn that you’d get the hint.”
He knuckles his chin. “I guess I’d have found a different coffee shop for the month.”
I look at him sideways. “Be serious.”
“Scout’s honor. If the vibes were off for you, would you really want to bump into me regularly after sending a clear signal—twice—that you weren’t interested?”
“I guess not.”
He trails the edge of his thumb along my thigh, just above my knee. “I really hoped you’d come, though.” Then he meets my eyes. “And you did.”
“You can’t possibly be real. You’re too perfect.”
“No, no. I’m a terrible cook—”
“Oh god, Jake. That’s not a real fault. It’s like when people say their biggest fault is that they care too much, or they’re a perfectionist.”
“It’s true, though,” he says. “I’m a serious problem in the kitchen. I don’t have the patience for recipes, and I don’t have that creative knack for figuring out what ingredients go nicely together. One of the reasons I exercise so much is because of how much takeout I eat.”
“I have another confession. I hate to exercise. I know I’ll regret it someday, but working out is so boring.”
“I’d argue that you just haven’t found a satisfying way to get your heart rate up.”
“Oh?” A flush of warmth unspools deep inside me. “Tell me more. What do you recommend?”
“Well, do you want to prioritize strength or stamina?” Jake keeps his expression neutral, but I can see the moment his pupils expand in his irises like spilled ink.
“Stamina is necessary for strength, wouldn’t you agree?” I sip my mulled wine, blinking over the rim of the mug. As I lower it, I slowly brush the inner edge of my bottom lip with the tip of my tongue. “Doesn’t matter how hard you can go if you can’t keep it up.”
Bullseye. Jake responds with a forceful little exhale through his nose.
He swallows hard. His voice drops into a deep rumble register I haven’t heard until now.
“I’ll think on it and come up with a personalized cardio plan for you, how does that sound?
I have to warn you, though. I take a very hands-on approach to mentorship. ”
Wind skips off the surface of the Thames, blowing across my neck, down my sweater.
I set my mug aside, shivering hard. Jake leans away to grab the other blanket without letting our collective heat escape from the one on our laps.
He lifts it by the corners to unfurl it in front of us, then he whips it over and back like a cloak, tucking it around our shoulders.
He turns to me and clasps my palms together, then he cups his own hands around them.
His eyes are locked on mine when he brings them to his mouth, gently blowing through the small space between his thumbs, warming us both with his breath.
He kisses the tender sensitive spot on the back of my hand between the first knuckles of my thumb and forefinger.
At first, it’s a fleeting brush of his lips, but then he breathes deep, taking in the scent of my skin.
I feel the subtle press of teeth—a sensual contrast to the tenderness he’s showing the rest of me. A delicious little hint of more.
“Better?” His body is so close, I feel the vibration of his voice in my lungs like it’s my own breath.
“Mm.” I wonder if he can hear the way my heart gallops against my ribs.
A pale white speck drifts down from the sky, slow-motion swirling, swaying.
It comes to rest on Jake’s shoulder. It melts as soon as it lands, and I wonder if I imagined it.
But more arrive quickly in its wake, so dense it looks like static against the black of night.
The flakes are cold against my cheeks, and I can smell the mineral purity of snow.
I feel Jake’s eyes on me. He uses a fingertip to lift a thin lock of hair from my lashes. As if he’s read my mind, he says, “It’s real,” and down to the center of my bones, I know Jake Frost is going to kiss me as soon as I look away from the sky.
I’m torn between wanting it now and wanting to savor the anticipation. I’ll never experience this again. It’s the deep breath before a once-in-a-lifetime dive.
“Look at me.” Jake’s warm baritone lands in the deepest, hungriest places inside me.
I swallow hard. Lower my chin. And I face him.
He comes in easy, cuffing his hands around the sides of my neck. He nudges the pads of his thumbs against my chin to tip my head back, pausing to meet my eyes. I taste him in the air the moment before he presses his gorgeous lips to mine.
At first, it’s gentle. A tentative exploration of this new Evie and Jake we’ve just become. His tongue lightly traces the inner seam of my top lip, and I meet him with mine.
We kiss in a shared dialect. He opens for me and I open for him, echoing the glide of his jaw and the hot, slow slip of his tongue against mine.
Our mouths have an agenda of their own. One of his hands thrusts into my hair, the other glances up my leg, fingertips digging into the curve of my ass to half-lift, half-drag me into his lap.
He’s hard and ablaze with urgent heat against the tender underside of my thigh.
Most people realize when they’re experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Logically, your brain knows it’s special, and temporary, and it should be savored.
When I kiss Jake, I feel it. I’m also painfully aware that this isn’t going to be enough.
It feels like the first hit of an addiction I’m going to have to deal with for the rest of my life.
* * *
As we disembark, the captain says to us, “Congratulations, sir. Madame.”
Jake nods to the man with a quiet “Thank you” as he runs his fingers through his hair. He’s delightfully mussed. When I look at him in question, he says, “Ah … I might have bent the truth a bit to be able to get a booking for us at the last minute.”
“Tell me.”
His laugh is a gentle, comfortable sound. “I told them I was planning to propose to you.”
God, I’m in so much trouble. It’s not real, obviously, but the words land with a heavy thud in my hungry little heart even as my mind registers the absurdity of it. “Clever.”
As we walk down the pier, Jake reaches for my hand. He drifts the pads of his fingers over the sensitive tips of my own before locking his palm against mine.
Later, when Jake kisses me goodnight outside Paperwhite, he says, “Five o’clock tomorrow, I’ll pick you up here. This one won’t be about Christmas, though. This one will be about us.”
I hover by the door to watch him go. He pauses just before the bend in the street, glancing back before he disappears.
There’s something here between us, but whatever it is feels nervous and small.
Like if I look right at it, I’ll scare it off.
But it is real. And I have a feeling that before this month is over, it will have grown big enough to hurt when it’s time for me to go.