Home Sweet Home

by Sarah Title

  “I was going to suggest focus on getting to the airport.”

  “Crap, yes.”

  “Listen, before you go—”

  “Jake, I’m going to be late!”

  “Just quickly, I promise. I left some tools over there.”

  “What? Where? I didn’t see any.”

  “I’m sure I did.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Grace.”

  “I know, I know, I wouldn’t know them if they hit me in the head. Fine. Well, I’m leaving. Do you really need them?”

  “I really do. I’m sorry. Can you leave a key under the pot or something?”

  “Grr. Yes, fine.” Grace pulled the door closed behind her and locked it. Then she took her front door key off the key ring and placed it under the pot of herbs on the edge of the porch.

  “It’s under the basil,” she told him.

  “Thanks, babe. Have a good conference.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Don’t throw up. Knock ’em dead. You’re a genius, remember?”

  Grace smiled. Jake was too charming for his own good.

  “Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get to the airport.”

  “Right! Yes. I’ll, uh—”

  “Call me when you get there?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  “Okay.”

  “Grace.”

  “Yes?”

  “Airport.”

  “Yes! I’m going! ’Bye!” Then, before she could say anything stupid, she hung up the phone and got into the cab.

  Chapter 27

  Three days later, too much wine and not enough sleep later, Grace returned from her conference. She lowered her sunglasses as the cab pulled away. Was Willow Springs always this bright? She started to dig through her purse for the keys, but then remembered Jake and his tools. He’d better have put that key back, she thought.

  Nope. No key under the basil. So she started to dig through her purse for her cell phone, preparing to lay into Jake and then make him come over and let her into her own house, and then maybe invite him to stay.

  The man himself opened the front door.

  “You’re back,” he said. That solved two of her problems, but she was still annoyed. Then Jake smiled and the residual annoyance melted away. He looked good, in a well-worn gray T-shirt and loose, faded jeans.

  “You’re in my house,” she responded.

  “I was just, ah, finishing something up. Come on in.” He held out his hand for her suitcase, and she gladly passed it over.

  “Yes, thank you. I will come into my own house,” she said.

  “So, how are you? Are you tired? How was your talk?”

  “Jake.” She dropped her purse and looked around. Her house looked the same. Mr. Bingley meowed at her, then ignored her. Jake seemed more excited to see her than her cat was, and she had to admit, it was nice coming home to him. Even though this wasn’t his home. But he was there anyway.

  She shrugged out of her coat and he took it from her, hung it in the hall closet. He did know that this was her house, right?

  She’d been thinking about Jake more than she should have while she was gone. How she wanted to talk to him before she went to bed. How, after she finished presenting her paper, she wanted to share with him the way that opening with a joke had been a really bad idea, but eventually, people warmed to the topic. How she ran into one of her old colleagues from UC who told her that Lou was divorced now and on probation for shacking up with one of his undergrads.

  That was natural. They were friends. She should want to share with him. But this wasn’t just sharing. This was the kind of intimate, inside-joke stuff that she normally just shared with Jane because Jane knew the back story and would appreciate the nuances and absurdity. Now she had that feeling of intimacy with Jake. She felt a momentary pang of guilt that she’d replaced her sister, but that wasn’t it either. She still had Jane, but she also had Jake.

  Grace had been working very hard at keeping her friendship with Jake separate from her sexual attraction to him. But she realized that was impossible, because they weren’t separate. She was attracted to him because of their friendship. And his body. And maybe his body had come first, but now it was the whole Jake she liked, and the way the whole Jake fit with the whole Grace.

  She was in deep doo-doo, as Priya would say.

  She wanted to run away, but this was her house. She should kick Jake out, but didn’t want to do that either. She needed space and time to sort it out, to tuck these feelings away until they subsided. But she’d had that time, and all she did with it was think about Jake.

  She was so lost in her own thoughts that she barely noticed when Jake took her hand and led her upstairs. Okay, she thought. He missed me, too. But he didn’t lead her to the bedroom.

  “Close your eyes,” he said, stopping in front of the door to her office.

  She raised her eyebrows, but then he raised his back at her, and the end result of the eyebrow standoff was her standing in front of him, his hand over her closed eyes, as he opened the door.

  “Okay,” he said, moving his hand away.

  Grace gasped and took a step back, right into Jake. But then she took a step into the office, not understanding what she was seeing. When she’d left, the turret windows were still boarded up, and her books were boxed so Helen could use her bookshelves as a dresser. But now, the space was transformed. There was no other word for it.

  The walls had been freshly painted, and even her accent wall had been repaired where the water had damaged the wallpaper. The books were lined up neatly on the shelves, not at all how she would’ve done it, but they were unpacked. Her desk was back, and there was a new cushion on the chair.

  But it wasn’t the parts that had been refreshed and repaired that had her heart beating in her throat.

  Her turret, her favorite and most troublesome part of the house, was transformed. The boards were gone, and the sun shone through sheer curtains hung over new windows. The random easy chair she had stuck in there in an attempt to make it cozy was out in the larger part of the room. Instead, there was a bench that wrapped the curved edges of the wall, painted to match the trim and overflowing with colorful throw pillows. There was a soft ottoman in the center of the “C” of the bench that left just enough room for legs. Even the narrow spaces between the windows were not neglected—small bud vases were attached to the wall, with wildflowers she recognized from her yard.

  It was perfect. It was cozy and light and the ideal spot to curl up with a book or a cat or a friend.

  “Jake,” she whispered. She turned to find him waiting in the doorway, his face eager although she could tell he was trying to hide it. She knew his face so well. “You did this?”

  “Do you like it?” He took a step toward her.

  “It’s perfect. But how? Why? When?”

  He laughed and held her face and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know you were having trouble figuring out how to use the space, and that’s kind of my deal, you know?”

  She nodded and put her hands on his wrists. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his eyes.

  “And I was going to suggest it as a project we could tackle together, but then I thought I’d just surprise you. I couldn’t save the stained glass, but I tried to inject some color anyway. Do you really like it?”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I love it. It’s more than I could have imagined.” She turned to look at her cozy turret nook, but she kept an arm around his neck. She couldn’t let go of him yet. “It’s so clever. And so comfortable. And the flowers. Oh, Jake, I love it.” She turned into him, and this time she grabbed his face and kissed him.

  She let him up for air, and then let him talk. He was animated, excited to explain how he planned the surprise, how he had Missy convince Kyle to help him. He talked about measuring and installing and testing th
e softness of the pillows, and Grace was listening, but also panicking. This was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. It showed her how much Jake cared and how well he knew her. And part of her craved that, wanted to devour Jake and his generous heart, but the other part of her, the familiar part, told her to run.

  “Grace?”

  Grace let go of Jake’s hand. He shook it out, confirming that she’d been squeezing way too hard. And he had wonderful hands. Beautiful, talented hands. Hands that were gentle and firm and hard and soft, all at the same time. Perfect hands.

  She tried to be rational. She wasn’t going to die because of Jake. Her parents’ story was not her story, she knew that. But she couldn’t get the message through to her heart, or her sweaty palms, or her shaking knees.

  “I wanted to do something for you,” Jake said, taking her face in his hands again. “I love you, Grace.”

  That shouldn’t make her want to vomit, should it? But suddenly all of the crappy food she’d eaten at the conference waged warfare on her entire digestive tract and she thought if she didn’t get out of there, she was going to throw up all over this gorgeous turret that he made just for her because he loved her and she was really, really ill.

  “Grace? Grace, honey, are you okay?”

  She nodded, her lips pursed tightly together.

  “Sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  Oh, passing out. That would be better than throwing up. Her body liked that idea better.

  “Grace? Come on, now. You’re making me really nervous.”

  Nope. It wasn’t pass out or throw up that her body wanted to do. Apparently, it was burst into big ugly tears and run from the room. She ran down the hall, looking for some privacy, for somewhere to slam the door and get away from Jake and his love.

  She chose the bathroom just in case.

  The tile floor was cool under her knees and it felt good to lean her forehead on her arms against the bathtub and let the deep, shuddering breaths work themselves out.

  There was a knock on the door, then the handle rattled as the door opened. She thought she’d locked it.

  Jake stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest—one of her favorite parts of him that now she’d never see again. He looked down at her and then up at the crown molding.

  “Those aren’t happy tears, are they?” he asked quietly.

  She could feel the hurt coming off him in waves and was ashamed. She was ashamed for acting like a child and ashamed that she couldn’t love him back, this wonderful man who meant so much to her. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She tried. Sitting there on the bathroom floor, she tried to say the words he needed to hear, but every time she started to speak them, her throat closed up and she thought she’d be sick.

  “Can you at least look at me?”

  She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay on the bathroom floor forever, maybe crawl into the bathtub later, just to mix it up. But she looked up anyway.

  He crouched down so he was at her level.

  “I love you.”

  Was he trying to torture her? She clutched at her shirt. She thought she might be having a heart attack. But she kept her eyes on him, as he asked. She couldn’t love him, but she could do as he asked.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, then stood up. He ran his hands through his hair, then over his eyes. He looked tired. He looked excited before; now he looked tired.

  “This was not the reaction I was hoping for.” He rubbed absently at his chest. “I don’t know why I thought it would be different. You told me, didn’t you?” He looked down at her again and she nodded. Yes. This wasn’t her fault. She’d warned him.

  “Grace, I’m not like your parents—” Whatever he wanted to say, he stopped mid-sentence. But Grace got the point. She’d heard it before. We’re not like your parents. She hated when people said that, because underneath, there was always a “get over it already.” She was grateful when she heard it, though, because it made it easy for her to walk away.

  But this. She took a shuddering breath. This was killing her.

  “You know what? You know that. I know you know that here,” he said, tapping his head. “So I’m just going to pick up what’s left of my pride and go.”

  “Jake,” she croaked as he turned away.

  “What? Do you want more? You’re everything to me, Grace. Everything. And I thought . . . well, I was wrong. That’s fine. That’s your right. But I have to go, okay?”

  It wouldn’t be fair to make him stay. To, essentially, tell him she didn’t love him, but then tell him she needed him. That was not right, and Jake deserved to be treated right.

  So she didn’t say anything, and in a moment, he was gone.

  Jake tore down the stairs, then tore back up them to grab his tool belt from the office. He was tempted to throw something through those damn turret windows, but he’d worked too hard to destroy them just for spite.

  He felt used. He felt like a fool. Of course she didn’t love him. She’d told him she couldn’t, that she didn’t do love. He hadn’t believed her, so shame on him. Or maybe Don was right the first time. Pembroke people did not mix with townies. They were just too different. But Jake thought he had a chance, he thought he felt something between them. So how did he show it? By building something. By working with his hands, the only thing he knew how to do, to prove himself to a woman who worked with her head. He should have listened to Don. He should have listened to himself, back when he first met her.

  He just wasn’t good enough for her.

  Jake squeezed his eyes shut. That wasn’t true. He knew that wasn’t how Grace felt, but he couldn’t stop himself from going there. Besides, he thought for sure she loved him back, and he was obviously wrong about that.

  He needed to get out of there. He needed to get as far away from this house as possible. He took the stairs two at a time. He reached for the front door, but then he was face-down on the floor. He looked back. A floorboard had come up. He remembered Grace mentioning that to him, and him promising to bring a cinder block over to show her how to use water and weight to flatten it out.

  So much for that, he thought. He got up and slammed the door behind him.

  The house shook, indignant and hurt. That was certainly uncalled for. Jake, who’d always treated the house with such care, was gone. And Grace was hiding out. The house could feel her, her emotions like water pouring out of her, and Grace trying to scoop them back in with her hands. But she couldn’t hold them, and the house thought maybe soon she’d give up trying and call Jake back. But it didn’t happen. She stayed in, he stayed out, and the house settled down and admitted defeat.

  Chapter 28

  Grace’s breath stopped when she heard the front door open. He’s come back, she thought, and her heart raced at the thought.

  But the happy chatter she heard downstairs told her it was not Jake.

  “Grace?” Jane called. “Grace? Your front door was unlocked, you doofus. I hope you’re home!”

  She heard footsteps on the stairs, and smaller footsteps running downstairs. Priya was probably after Mr. Bingley.

  There was a light knock on her door. Before she had a chance to tell her sister to go away, Jane came in and turned the light on.

  Grace squealed and threw the covers over her head.

  “Grace, what are you doing? Don’t you have a party to throw or something?”

  Grace mumbled from her cocoon. She knew she should get out of bed; she should’ve gotten out of bed hours ago. The library’s Jane Austen Fundraiser Extravaganza was this evening. But it was hours away, and she needed to sulk.

  Her covers were thrown back and Jane stood over her. Grace watched her face segue from sisterly indignation to sisterly concern. “Grace, what’s happened?”

  “Nothing,” she insisted, sitting up, looking at the alarm clock. She really needed to get up. “Just being lazy.”

  “Is that why your eyes are red and swollen?”

  “Yes.
They were too lazy to make themselves presentable.”

  “Grace.”

  The problem with having a sister who was a confidante was that she always wanted to help, even if Grace didn’t want her help. Grace wanted to be sad and alone and puffy in her bed for the rest of her life.

  She shifted to make room as her sister sat on the bed. Then Jane toed her shoes off and got under the covers.

  “Tell me.”

  Grace found the edging on her duvet cover infinitely fascinating. But Jane poked her and she knew there was no getting out of it.

  “Jake loves me.”

  Jane blinked in surprise. “Handsome Jake?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Just Friends Jake?”

  “Don’t crow, Jane. You were right, okay? It was never going to work.”

  “Is that why you’re crying? Because you want to be friends with benefits and he wants more?”

  Grace shook her head. She could feel the lump in her throat coming back, and she was pretty sure her tear ducts couldn’t take another crying fit.

  “So he told you he loved you, and then . . .”

  Grace sighed. “I locked myself in the bathroom and he went away.”

  “Mature.”

  Grace threw her head into her hands. “I know! And he re-did my turret and it was perfect—it is perfect—and I said thank you and he said he did it because he loved me.”

  “I’m assuming ‘re-did my turret’ is not a euphemism.”

  Grace gave her sister a look. “No. Go look.”

  Jane got out of bed and Grace waited. Not hearing anything, she got impatient, climbed out of bed and shuffled into her office.

  “Grace . . .” Jane was breathless. “This is so you.”

  “I know.”

  “And he did this for you?”

  Grace nodded. “When I was at the conference. It was a surprise.”

  “Geez. I’ll take him if you won’t.”

  “You know, one day Dev is going to overhear you.”

  Jane shrugged. “Oh, he has. But he knows my sick sense of humor. And he knows I love him more than any man in the world. That helps.” She linked her arm through Grace’s. “So that’s it?”