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He cares how I feel. The journalist who’s ruining his life.
I sigh. “I’m good.” I look back toward the house. “Just hungry. And tired.” Which is true. My appetite has mostly returned, and all I had was a salad and a few bites of roast.
He releases my arm, and his hand redirects, sliding between my shoulder blades and he turns me in the direction of the house. Something about the touch, the familiarity and ease in which he does it, like we’ve been together a while, before, makes my breath hitch. “Then let’s get you something to eat.” He says it tenderly. Apologetic. Because he couldn’t sniff out the other thing that made me upset.
He thinks feeding me will fix it.
I’m not entirely sure he’s wrong.
When the moment passes, he leans into my ear, bringing with him the scent of evergreen and beer and whiskey. “And I want to change my answer again.”
I’m afraid to ask.
“Yellow,” he says.
Yellow?
“Like the pollen on your ass.”
I shove him away with a grin, check the seat of my white pants. Yep. All over it.
He laughs, the airiness returning. “Definitely yellow.”
“You’re insufferable,” I tease.
We need to get this man some water.
By the timewe make it back it’s almost so dark we need a flashlight, but thankfully, the lights on the back of the house are guiding us. The closer we get, movement beneath them catches my eye, and a female voice echoes off the white wooden siding.
Ruby.
She’s pacing and talking to someone on the phone, her Louboutins clacking against brick. “Then substitute with the potatoes. It’s not fucking rocket science.” Her icy breath plumes into the air behind her like a maniacal steam engine.
Jake groans under his breath.
When she pauses at the corner of the house, Jake drapes his arm over my shoulder and pulls me close. I reel at the sudden closeness, at being tucked under him, the sides of our bodies melding, but when Ruby turns on her heels and heads our way, I know why he did it.
He whispers into my ear. “Act like you love me, muffin.” Then adds, “Like I’m the Jon Snow to your dragon queen.”
I bark out a laugh. Feel myself relax into him. I won’t lie…I like the warmth. I was starting to shiver. I just try not to think about how close his mouth is now. How all I would have to do is slightly turn my body to be completely flush with his. “You haven’t seen Game of Thrones, have you?”
Ruby interrupts us. “And I swear, if your cooks are late again, no tip this time. 7 A.M. Sharp. And by sharp, I mean six forty-five. We have a lot to prepare.”
Yeesh.
“No,” Jake says. “Why, was that wrong?”
So wrong.“Just…you need to watch it.”
To be fair, our story has a pretty good shot at ending the same way, the only exception being I’m the one holding the dagger. Especially if he keeps calling me muffin.
We ascend the back-patio stairs and make our way into the kitchen. If Ruby sees us as she pauses and pivots again, she doesn’t acknowledge. She’s too busy giving the catering people a hard time. If she keeps it up, they’ll be spitting in our food.
The kitchen is dark and lifeless now, and Jake flips a switch to turn on the track lighting above the granite-topped island. Or is it quartz? That’s a Stephen question. “What do you want?” he asks, opening the fridge. Glass clinks as he moves things around. He pulls out another beer and pops the top.
I plant myself onto a barstool at the island. “Grilled cheese?”
I crave them when I’ve been in the cold.
