Page 71 of Studfinder

“It’s a work in progress here. Just like me.”

My attention draws back to him. “Aren’t we all?”

He matches my smile. “I have one more spot I want to show you.” For a second, I’m thinking he’s planning to take me upstairs. Show me his apartment. Take me to his bed. Instead, he leads me into the lobby area of the old firehouse. There, an old metal office desk sits, freshly scrubbed and painted a deep metallic gray. The wooden desktop is refinished, perhaps new, and a vase of fall flowers sits on the corner. Beside it is a skein of purple yarn and two knitting needles.

My brows pinch. “Do you knit now?”

“I was thinking the new director of Building Buddies might need an office, and as she loves to knit to help her think, well . . .”

His voice drifts as I stare at him. Then the desk. Then him again.

“What?” The word is more of a choking sound.

“I suppose you might keep your office in Montpelier, but I thought, as you were making a change, maybe you’d prefer someplace new. New-ish. And we could—”

He’s cut off from the rest of his thought as I’ve thrown myself at him, landing my lips awkwardly against his. He’s still and stiff underneath mine, and I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. I read into this gesture more than I should have. Quickly, I release him, but just as quickly, his arms fasten around me, and my body is flush with his once more. His mouth latches onto mine, and it’s the kiss I’ve been longing for since he left my bedroom.

His mouth moves against me, soft yet demanding. His hands slide up my back, and one cups the back of my neck. Jake breaks the kiss but rests his forehead against mine.

“I’m sorry I walked away.”

I want to tell him I understand. I want to assure him I accept his reasons, but I also don’t want to keep looking backward.

“As long as we’re walking forward together, that’s all that matters.” Pulling back from him, I need to see his eyes. I need to know I’m not alone in my thoughts. “Are we going forward together?”

“Does lightning strike twice?” Jake suddenly asks me, swiping my hair over my ear.

“Yes. Yes, it does. It strikes and strikes hard.”

“Hard, huh?” Jake teases, meeting my eyes again before his lips close over mine once more. His hand at my lower back presses me against him, letting me know how hard he is for me. “I’m in love with you, sweet. I love you.”

My breath hitches as I pull back from the words said against my mouth. “I love you, too, Jake.”

Our mouths come together once more, and then he leads me upstairs to show me his new apartment, the waiting bed, and how hard he is.

29

Rita

Two weeks later

Jake and I are sitting on our comfy plush peach couch. We don’t technically own the thing, but it’s our spot, and I snuggle under his arm as we sip the dark roast heaven on a lazy Sunday morning. The Busy Bean Café is . . . well, busy. Our resident writer sits at her table, typing away. A new barista has arrived. The place is abuzz with subtle activity, but Jake and I remain quiet, in our own little world on this old furniture.

He tips his head and absentmindedly presses a kiss to my temple. We treasure the weekends as Jake travels up to the Gaskin area for his latest Building Buddies project. His parole doesn’t end until November. As I’m the new director for Building Buddies and staying on as a consultant at Kaplan and Shipley, my future employment and passion goals seem set on a new path. For Jake, the plan is to hire him as a supervisor for Building Buddies. He wants to continue working as well, finding his own passion in constructing houses for those in need. He’ll also work on building up his industrial art following. The interior designer who works closest with Building Buddies has commissioned him for several more pieces on top of her first order, so Jake has plenty to get him started. He’ll take his time to revamp the old firehouse, he says. Maybe one day he’ll turn it into a bed and breakfast, but he’s in no rush to make a decision.

We had a long talk about Nolan, and I’ve had much to consider in order to come to terms with Jake’s decision. He hasn’t asked Nolan to turn himself in, and Nolan hasn’t offered. Jake doesn’t want to risk his brother going to jail. It’s still possible Nolan wouldn’t have. His current physical condition, topped with the time that’s lapsed from the crime, could have garnered him parole or probation. Still, it really wouldn’t have been different from what he was doing now—working in a restorative manner, seeking therapy, and taking steps to better himself. Topped by his physical condition, Jake believes his brother is suffering enough. I still think Nolan should come clean to free his brother’s name and maybe his own conscience, but Jake stands firm that it doesn’t matter. He’s already lost the time. He can’t get it back. We’ve decided to take to the grave what Nolan did. We are the only three people who know the truth and maybe his therapist.

Nolan continues to work for me, struggling some days in frustration while other days he’s a champ. I don’t know how the old Nolan was, but this new one seems to be digging into his assigned role, accepting his fate, and working on himself. Jake suspects his brother has a girlfriend or a woman annoying the crap out of him, but Jake hasn’t asked. Their relationship has lots of restructuring to be done before they are solid again. For now, they are each polite when they see one another and reflective when they are apart.

I lift my mug and take a sip. My gaze wanders upward to the chalkboard-black beams overhead, and I scan the various quotes and sayings. Slowly, I sit upright, staring over my head.

“What?” Jake asks, his voice concerned at my cautious movement. My eyes squint as I’ve misread the words. I read them again. Slowly, I stand on shaky legs, focusing on the recognizable scrawl.

“Rita, what is it?” Jake asks, his concerned tone turning to a knowing sound. I shift around the low table before us to read the words once more.

Suddenly, I snort, loud and obnoxious, before covering my mouth and closing my eyes. The words light up behind my lids, emblazoned for my mind. Is this happening?

Jake’s hands come to my shoulders, rubbing over them.