by K Larsen
“No, no. It’s ok. Thanks though,” I answer.
“Mom made chili though…it’s soooooooooo good,” Claire declares. Delaney lets a real laugh loose. She’s got a great laugh, the kind that makes you want to join in just to experience the happiness. “Says the kid who complains the whole time she eats it,” she says and shoots a look at her daughter and Claire shrugs her response.
“If you don't want to stay I could wrap some up for you,” she offers. “I always make too much for just the two of us.”
My brain says “go home, Jake” but my gut says stay.
“Well?” she pushes.
“I can stay if it’s really okay with you.” Gut wins.
“It’s fine. I just need to finish the cornbread.” She smiles.
I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the island as I watch her move effortlessly around getting the cornbread mixed and into the oven. She’s at ease in her kitchen. There’s a small radio playing the oldies station softly and for a moment I get lost in the sway of her hips as she moves around. She’s stunning.
“Claire, why don't you set the table,” she calls out to the living room. Claire comes bounding in complaining about having to do everything herself.
“Just take these and set the table,” Delaney says sternly. Another silent exchange passes between them through eye contact only. “Fine,” Claire pouts and stomps off with our bowls and silverware.
“Sorry about that,” Delaney apologizes.
“Why?”
“Because she shouldn't behave that way in front of guests,” she says.
“It’s okay. She’s cute,” I say.
“Ha! She is…some days,” she says and winks at me. She winked at me. Maybe she doesn’t hate me after all.
We sit down to dinner ten minutes later. As we start eating, Delaney asks Claire how her weekend was and what she did and then moves on to me, asking how my day was. It felt strangely intimate sitting at the table with the two of them talking about our days over dinner. And dinner, wow. The chili was amazing. I actually groaned when I swallowed my first bite. I don't often cook for myself anymore and frozen food isn't the same as a home-cooked meal, but I didn't share this with Delaney. I don’t need to hang all my dirty single-life laundry out there.
“That was great.” I pat my belly when I finish the last bite.
“Told you!” Claire says as she collects our bowls from the table and carries them to the kitchen.
“Wow, she clears the table?” I ask in astonishment.
“Yeah, she’s a good kid,” she beams.
“I’d say so. How old is she?” I question.
“Seven.”
“Must have been tough,” I say, thinking about how hard it would be to raise a kid alone and be so young.
“What?” she prompts.
“Having her so young,” I state. She stares at me then wrinkles her nose. Adorable.
“I wasn't that young. Twenty-six isn't old but it’s not young either for babies,” she explains.
“Wait, how old are you?” I ask, stunned. I thought she was thirty, tops. She laughs at me.
“Twenty plus,” she jokes.
“Twenty plus what?” I ask.
“Wouldn't you like to know?” she laughs and waggles her brows at me, making me smirk.
“Clever, Delaney, very clever,” I chuckle.
“Please stop calling me that. It’s just Laney. Only my parents use Delaney.”
“Okay. So? Are you going to tell me?” I ask.
“And risk you thinking I’m not some spring chicken?! No way! How old are you?” she tries to distract me.
“Thirty-six,” I say. Her eyes go wide and her mouth opens then snaps closed.
“What?” I ask, curious now at what she’s thinking.
“I just…I don’t know, that sounds old, but you don't look old,” she blurts. My lips twitch and I feel my laughter bubbling to the surface. I try and stifle it but it comes out loud.
“So then, you aren't thirty-six, I take it,” I tease.
“No, I’m younger than you...but not by much, really,” she gives in.
“You really aren't going to tell me, are you?” I ask in mock astonishment.
There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. “No, I don't think I will. Although it shouldn't be hard to calculate, knowing Claire’s age,” she chuckles.
Jesus, Jake, you really are an idiot. Of course she told you how old she was when she had her…and how old Claire is now. My idiocy must have shown on my face because Laney burst out laughing. Quickly I do the math in my head.
“Thirty-three!” I say triumphantly.
She shrugs her shoulders, winks, and says, “I’ll never tell.”
Delaney
I finally got Claire to bed and had a few hours to myself to relax. Dinner had been nice, well, more than nice, actually. Our conversation had been easy and pleasant. We’d all laughed over our meal and enjoyed dinner. He had stayed and washed the bowls even though I insisted he not. I stood next to him the whole time explaining that I have a perfectly fine dishwasher. He flashed his dimples at me and told me if he didn't wash, then I wouldn't dry, and if that happened we wouldn't have any reason to touch. I’m sure I turned fifty shades of red at his brazen compliment. When he finally left I felt kind of let down that the evening was over. I was just about to start a movie when Mom popped over.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Hey.” She plops down on the couch next to me. “What’s new?”
“Nothing really. I was just going to watch a movie, what about you?” I tell her.
“I was just putzing around, Dex is visiting Uncle Mark for a few days,” she says.
“Jeez, how’d I miss that?” I ask her.
“He only left this morning, you were probably still asleep,” she jabs.
“Har har, Mum, I do not feel bad for sleeping in when I can.”
“I’m just teasing you,” she explains, although I already knew it.
“Was Jake here late today?” She raises an eyebrow at me.
“Kinda, he finished up at five but I had him stay for dinner.”
She eyes me with interest but still a little warily. “Oh? He’s awfully handsome, don't you think?” she probes. I throw my palm up to stop her.
“I’d have to be blind not to notice he’s handsome, but it was just a friendly dinner,” I declare.
“Uh huh.” She has a smug smile plastered on her face which I ignore.
“So…movie?” I ask her.
“Sure, why not?”
I pick up the remote, press Play, and Mom and I snuggle into the couch in comfortable silence together. It’s nice to have a mom you can just hang with sometimes.
Monday and Tuesday fly by. Claire had started camp and I locked myself in my bedroom while she was there both days to work on my book, which I had been seriously neglecting. By the time four-thirty rolled around, my neck was killing me from hovering over the laptop for hours. I have a bad habit of forgetting to move when I’m writing. I sit and clickity-clack the keyboard, zoning out for hours without remembering to eat, pee, or stand up and stretch. I keep music playing loudly to drown out any distractions and just write. By Wednesday early afternoon I’d finished the bones of the story and could take a breather for the afternoon before revisiting it and turning it into an actual novel.
I walked to the kitchen around one to make some lunch. I was starving from only consuming coffee and dinner the last few days. “Fancy meeting you here,” Jake says as he appears from the bathroom. I jump and squeal like a hog from being startled.
“Jesus, you gave me a heart attack!” I complain.
He throws his hands up in defense. “No harm intended.” He smiles. “Where have you been this week?” he asks.
“Holed up in my room, working. It’s...ah…too distracting with you guys working upstairs to sit at the desk,” I tell him.
“What exactly do you do?” he asks.
I dread this question because for some r
eason I feel like being a writer, especially writing mostly romance novels, is not an acceptable career.
“Ah, I’m a writer.” It comes out tentatively even though I want to be proud of it. He raises an eyebrow at me and grins.
“Like books?” he pushes.
“Yeah. I write novels,” I tell him.
“Anything I’ve read?” Oh boy. Here we go. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck.
“Probably not, no. I write more chick lit stuff.”
“Chick lit?” he parrots.
“Yeah, like chick flicks, but books,” I shrug at him.
“Ahhh, I get it. Tell me the name of one, I’ll read it.” He seems genuinely interested but I am not having him read a book meant for a woman with sex scenes that I’ve written. I can feel my nose crinkle at the idea. “You wouldn't like them. You don't have to read any,” I say, trying to put him off.
“Oh come on... I’d like to.” He refuses to give up.
“No, um, I write, you know, romance stuff.”
“Romance stuff...” He waggles his eyebrows at me. It’s cute and hilarious and I really want to laugh at him but I don't.
“Yeah, so, you don't have to read any,” I repeat.
“I’ll just look you up when I get home if you won't tell me,” he teases. I groan and feel like throwing up at the prospect of him reading a love story complete with sex that I’ve thought up and written.
“It’s just, you know, awkward,” I explain.
“Why write if you don't want anyone to read it?” he asks.
“I want people to read them,” I say defensively, “just not you. It would be embarrassing if you read one.”
He grunts, shoots me a look, and then understanding dawns on his face.
“Ohhhhhh,” he jests. “You write what you really want in a man into your books don't you? What you really want a man to do to you. Like your own personal fantasy right?” He looks at me curiously.
“Oh my god, Jake, we are NOT having this conversation. Please.” I can feel myself getting overly worked up about this, partly because his guess is a little true.
Without warning, his arm shoots out and wraps around my waist, pulling me into him hard and knocking the breath out of me. He brings his face to mine, leaving us mouth to mouth.
“Like this, Laney? Would this be a scene in your book?” he whispers and I swear the air around us thickens. He’s going to kiss me. He. Is. Going. To. Kiss. ME! My heart rate spikes and my breath is caught in my throat. His eyes are staring right into mine and my god...is he actually going to kiss me?! The arm at my waist tightens slightly as his other hand wraps around the back of my neck. I can actually feel the red in my cheeks now and I’m pretty sure my panties just exploded. Before I have time to answer, he lets go and I stumble two steps backwards, never taking my eyes off his. He cocks his head to the side and chuckles at me. I’m slightly disappointed--I think I would have let him kiss me if he had. No. I’m really disappointed and I need to change my underwear pronto.
“Not funny,” I declare once my breath comes back.
“Oh come on, Laney, lighten up,” he returns with a perfect, dimpled smile. Easy for him to say.
Jake
I had the most ridiculous urge to kiss her. I was just joking around when I pulled her close but when she stared up at me with those big brown eyes I forgot what I was doing. Her body felt good pressed into mine and she smelled like peppermint. I had an overwhelming craving to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. I needed to taste her, to feel those plump lips on mine. Her breath came out in short pants and it drove me wild. Before I did something stupid I’d gotten control of myself and let her go.
“I am light,” she retorts.
“Huh?” What were we talking about?
“You said lighten up. I am,” she pouts.
“Oh. Right.” Jesus, Jake, pull it together. Her cheeks are still flushed and she was breathing heavy still. Her eyes are still locked on mine.
“Uhh, okay, so…anyways. I was...” she turns and looks around the kitchen, “...going to make lunch. Do you want me to make you and Bob something too?”
Damn, she’s flustered, I think I will read one of her books just to see what’s got her so riled up.
“Bob’s not here today, but I’ll have lunch with you, sure.”
“Oh, okay. Well is chicken salad all right with you?” she asks.
“Love it. Call me down whenever you’re ready,” I tell her.
I head back upstairs and carefully adjust myself. My jeans are uncomfortably tight from our embrace. What was I thinking? I take a few measurements for the windows and start to frame out their locations. I wonder if she’s seeing anyone; I haven't seen anyone come by but that doesn't mean much. But if I were her man, I wouldn't let more than a day go by without stopping over to see her.
A few minutes later I hear a door slam shut and voices in the kitchen right before Laney calls up to me for lunch.
“So, Jake,” Amelia starts, “how’s the project going up there?” She nods her head upward towards the second floor before taking a bite of her sandwich.
“Good. We’re right on schedule,” I inform her.
“Tomorrow we’re going out, why don't you be Laney’s date?” she says nonchalantly. Laney gasps and her eyes go wide staring at her sister.
“Uhhh…” I stutter. I think I’ve forgotten how to speak.
“Oh my god, Ame, what the fuck!” Laney crows at her.
“What? What?! Come on, it’s one date,” Amelia retorts.
“You don't have to answer, Jake,” Laney says, still looking shocked at her sister’s antics.
“Yes you do...” Ame pushes.
“No he doesn't!” she yells at her sister.
“Ladies!” I interrupt their stare-down. “I’d love to.”
“Really?” Amelia squeaks at the same time Laney says, “What?!”
I look at Laney and shrug. “What? I would.”
She looks down at her sandwich. “Fine,” she says quietly.
“So what are we doing tomorrow?” I ask.
“I have passes for Seacoast Fun Park and I really want to try that zip line thingy!” Amelia’s face is beaming with satisfaction.
“That sounds fun. Where should we meet?”
“Oh, just pick up Laney and then she will tell you how to get to my house, we can all go from there,” Amelia dictates.
“You really don't have to do this,” Laney interjects.
“Oh come on, I don't bite…much. It’ll be fun,” I say. This gets me the tiniest smile from her.
Thursday at three I pack up shop and head downstairs to find Laney sitting at her desk in the living room furiously clacking away on her laptop.
“Hey,” I say. She turns to face me. “Oh hey, is it four already?”
“No, I want to shower before we leave, is it okay if I shower here?” I ask.
She looks at me sideways for a moment.
“Sure, go right ahead.”
“Thanks.”
I grab the bag I packed this morning with a change of clothes in it and head to the bathroom. I quickly shower and change into a clean shirt and jeans. I’ve been looking forward to tonight. I’ve heard Laney and her sister bantering back and forth and they’re hilarious. I’m hoping that Laney will ease up around me tonight and just be herself. Last night I downloaded one her books to my Kindle and started reading it. Besides her being right about the chick stuff, it’s good. Witty, so far well-written, and she definitely writes some hot make-out scenes. Judging by her reaction to me calling her out on writing her own desires into her stories, it’s obvious she wants a man who’ll take control in the bedroom but there’s a serious die-hard romantic living in her, too. Since starting the book I’ve had a hard time thinking about anything outside of giving Laney what she secretly wants.
I exit the bathroom when I’m finished getting ready and find her sitting in the exact same position at her desk still clacking away.
“I�
��m ready when you are,” I call. She leans back and stretches her neck side to side before standing up. I have the overwhelming desire to rub the knots out of her neck for her.
“Okay. I um, just need to change real quickly,” she says and brushes past me to her room.
I take the time to really look around her place. She’s got pictures, well-done pictures, of her and Claire hung all over the place, but besides that and the usual furnishings, she’s pretty minimalistic. There’s no clutter or overstuffed shelves anywhere and she only has the necessary pieces of furniture. It’s open and airy and homey. Peaceful feeling.
“Let’s go,” she calls from the entryway. I turn to face her and my breath catches. She’s got her hair swept back from her face in a braid that hangs over one shoulder and her lips are shiny with gloss highlighting their perfect plumpness, but besides that she appears make-up free. She’s changed into jeans, flats, and a plain white V-neck t-shirt, but she looks perfect. The shirt clings to her flawlessly. The jeans accentuate her round ass. I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning like a teenager.
When I get her door for her she smiles coyly and thanks me. I round the truck, get in, and we head to her sister’s.
“You’re quiet,” I say, drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Oh sorry, I was just thinking about how hellacious tonight will be.”
“What? Why?” I ask.
“Amelia has made it her job to get me laid,” she says plainly as if it’s nothing. My hand slips on the steering wheel, jarring us left, at her words.
“TMI?” She laughs. I clear my throat and shake my head.
“Just ahh, not what I was expecting you to say.”
We pull into Amelia’s driveway and Laney instructs me to wait while she runs in to get Amelia and her husband Mike. When they come out, Mike sits up front with me and the girls climb into the back.
