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“When we split a slice of tiramisu on our first date?”
I laugh, but it comes out as a blubbering snort. “Since then.”
“Do you feel better?”
I wipe my cheeks, grateful the tears dried up, and nod. My makeup probably frightens him. “Is that what the big fight is?”
“Not sure. I made up the term because it sounded important.”
I caress his cheek, and Jake twists to kiss my palm. His blond hair is a mess, but it always is. His blue eyes shine, and I wonder if he’s holding back his own tears.
“What do we do next?”
“That depends on whether you’re still angry.”
I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. All the thrumming under my skin is gone, along with the horrible barrage of emotions. “I’m not angry. I am still an emotional mess.”
“That’s progress. The next time your instinct to withdrawkicks in, come to me first. I can take whatever it is, except not being here with you.”
“I will. I’ll come to you.”
“Then the answer to your earlier question is I make you some dinner, assuming you have food in your kitchen, and then take you to bed.” He goes to the kitchen and returns seconds later. “There’s no food in your kitchen.”
I think hard. “There’s instant oatmeal.”
“It’s a good thing I enjoy oatmeal,” Jake says. It’s easy, closer to his usual good humor, with no mocking or cockiness. “Let’s hope it’s brown sugar and cinnamon.”
We eat, and Jake grabs me before I finish washing our dishes.
“I’m heavy.”
“Believe me, you’re not.” He sets me down in the bedroom. “Where do you keep your pajamas? Those cute tank top ones with the pink bunny on it.”
Did he notice? I point at a dresser drawer.
I change while he strips to his boxer briefs before we climb into bed.
We lay together in silence, both of us wrung out.
I drift into a dreamless sleep with his warm body wrapped around mine.
25-Sarah
“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s late,” Jake says. I shove the hand on my shoulder, but it doesn’t work. “We’re meeting my family later today.”
My eyes bolt open. “I’m awake.”
“I thought that would work.”
“What time is it?” I ask and rub my gritty eyes. The dresser mirror shows it didn’t help my looks. Thin, dark stains cover my cheeks. My hair resembles a giant knot. “I’m hideous.”
“You’re stunning,” Jake says with a sweet smile, displaying none of his usual cockiness. “No one is supposed to look their best in the morning. My mouth is dry. How are you feeling?”
He’s still gorgeous.
I’m surprisingly rested despite everything. Our night ended earlier than usual, with neither of us in the mood to go out or do anything else but sleep.
“If meeting your family wasn’t a joke, I’m anxious. If it was, then I’m annoyed.”
