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I tilt my head to look at him. “Is that right?”
His eyes meet mine, his gaze intense and full of promise. “Absolutely. I intend to make the most of every moment.”
A low pulse begins throbbing between my legs. “I like the sound of that.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I melt into his embrace. After that, we fall into a comfortable rhythm with me laying out plates and cutlery and Jake cooking.
He keeps me entertained by describing some of Amber's escapades.
We enjoy our breakfast, chatting and teasing each other between bites. Jake reaches across the table to take my hand. He strokes my knuckles with his thumb, a wistful smile on his face.
Our conversation flows easily like we've known each other for years rather than months. With Jake, I've never felt the need to pretend or put up walls.
The easy domesticity is so natural—a glimpse into a potential future.
I'm laughing at one of Jake's corny jokes as I clear the breakfast dishes from the table. Jake's washing the pans and plates, a dishcloth slung over his shoulder.
The moment fills me with a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Mid-laugh, a sharp knock pierces the comfortable bubble. I glance at Jake, who's elbow-deep in sudsy water.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask, setting the stack of plates on the counter.
Jake's brow furrows in confusion as he shakes his head. “No, not that I know of.”
Another knock, more insistent this time, echoes through the house.
“I'll get it,” I offer, wiping my hands on a dishtowel. “It's probably just a delivery or a neighbor.”
As I make my way to the front door, I smooth down Jake's shirt, suddenly conscious of my bare legs.
I peek through the peephole at the tall, slender woman with long, blonde hair and a stylish sundress. She looks to be in her early thirties.
I open the door, a polite smile on my face. “Can I help you?”
Her eyes widen as she takes in my appearance, her gaze flickering from my tousled hair to my oversized shirt. A knowing smirk plays at the corner of her lips.
Her smile is tight as her gaze sweeps over me, assessing and calculating.
“Well, well, well. Aren't you cozy? For a second there, I thought I had the wrong house.” Her clipped tone drips with condescension. “I'm looking for Jake Thompson.”
My stomach twists. Why is this gorgeous woman looking for Jake?
A pang of jealousy lances through me.
The doubt from earlier resurfaces, and I wonder about the nature of their relationship.
“You're in the right place,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Um, yes, he's in the kitchen. Can I tell him who's here?”
“Natalie,” she says, her voice smooth as silk. “Jake's wife.”
I hesitate, my hand still on the door. My stomach drops, and I feel like I've been punched in the gut.
Seeing Jake's ex on his doorstep is like a violation of the safe bubble we've been building.
“Ex-wife,” I correct her, trying to regain my composure. “Jake mentioned you were getting divorced.”
Natalie raises a flawlessly groomed eyebrow.
