One Song Away

by Molli Moran

  I hope he wants to keep me, too.

  Opening the door, I let him inside. He’s wearing nice clothes for brunch with his family, so I’m glad I dressed somewhere between formal and “I’m spending today on the couch.” I haven’t seen his parents since I moved back, and even though they’re the least judgmental people I know, I still want to make a good impression.

  “Morning!” I sing the word at Jake, rushing to turn off my TV.

  “Mornin’.” He grunts the word. He has one hand behind his back, and he extends it now. “I brought you something.”

  I can barely take my eyes off the beautiful bouquet of flowers—the second in recent days—long enough to stammer a “thank you” and then I’m off, rushing around to find a vase and fill it with water. The flowers are gorgeous. I fuss with them once I have them arranged on my coffee table. Jake takes off his sunglasses slowly, but I don’t really think about it until I finally stop what I’m doing.

  My jaw drops before I can school my reaction. “Oh my gosh! What happened?”

  He doesn’t look at me as he rubs his jaw. “I, uh, had a bit too much to drink last night.”

  “And?” I fold my arms across my chest, waiting.

  “Got in a bar fight.” He mumbles the words without looking at me, but I can still hear him plainly.

  His eye is hideous. All mottled and bruised, mostly closed. I can tell it hurts, because he’s very rigid. Good. He deserves to hurt, the dumbass. Of course, I won’t say anything like that to him because chances are he already feels like shit in more ways than one. I can think it, though.

  “Coop.” I shake my head. “Are you okay other than the shiner?”

  “My pride hurts worse than anything.” He gives me a lopsided smile, but then grimaces.

  Sighing, I stride over to him. I put a hand on the side of his face, walking my fingers toward the injured area. I stop before I touch his black eye, because I know the area is probably tender.

  “Why did you get in the fight?”

  Jake’s shoulders bunch up. “Someone was talkin’ shit about Logan and Aunt Caroline.” His brows draw together. “I knew I had to do something, but my plan didn’t exactly include a fight. I took it as long as I could. Sat there and got drunk. Stewed. Finally just went and started shit with the guy. I got a few good hits in, then he clocked me. Nolan had to drag me outta there.” The words ooze out, his drawl more prominent.

  “So I can’t even be mad at you,” I say. And I can’t. I hate that he got into a fight, and I hate that he got hurt, but he was essentially defending his aunt and cousin. Logan never knew who his dad was, and he takes a lot of flak for it. Caroline Cavanaugh is one of the sweetest women I’ve ever known. She and Mama are good friends. Caroline may have made mistakes in her life, but Logan wasn’t one of them.

  I know Jake has always thought of Logan as more of a brother than a cousin. I’ve always admired him because of his devotion to his family. He took Logan under his wing when Logan was just a kid, and the Coopers helped Caroline as much as she would let them, from what I understand. Jake hates to hear anyone talking badly about her or about Logan.

  Jake winces. “I should have handled it better.”

  “Probably.” I inflict as much seriousness as I can in my tone, but I can’t hold a stern expression. “Jake, am I going to have to stay with you twenty-four-seven?”

  He meets my gaze. “I think so.” He laces his fingers through mine. “Would you? If I asked you?”

  We’re connected at two points—his hand in mine, and mine on his face. My heartbeat kicks up at his words, and I feel vulnerable. Ever since the family bonfire a few days ago, I’ve felt our connection intensify, but I haven’t been certain if it’s just me. We’ve talked at work and hung out after, but we haven’t been on any dates. I haven’t had any opportunities to test my theory: that our fake relationship is turning into a real one.

  I look at him through my lashes. “Would you want me to stay?” I’m giving him the easiest opportunity in the world to turn this however he wants to. If he gives me a flirtatious or teasing answer, I’ll know he’s just playing his role a little too well. If he gives me an earnest answer…I’ll fall for him all over again.

  A smile touches his mouth and he squeezes my hand. “Of course. You’re my girl.” He says it like it’s the simplest, truest answer he knows.

  Leaning into him, I kiss his cheek. I don’t dare more than this, not with my heart beating fast as a propeller, not with my palms sweating, not with my heart as light as air. I let my lips linger on his skin, brushing against the beginning of stubble. There’s no mistaking his words, no denying their meaning. There’s no reason for him to pretend here, when we’re alone. Eliminating the impossible from the situation leaves…the possible.

  Is it so crazy to think he might finally want me, too? For so long I lost sight of everything else because I was fixed on this one thing: on Jake loving me. Why couldn’t he love me, now that I’ve grown and changed, and am learning how to love myself no matter what others think? Why is it impossible for me to think he could look beyond my piercings and see the heart that has always beat for him?

  Or am I reaching? Am I reading into sweet moments and looking for more? We’ve always shared the sort of intense bond that’s flaring between us again, and it was never more than friendship before…

  I’m just about to pull away when he turns his head slightly. His mouth grazes mine, and his arm curls around my waist. We’re very close. Close enough to see his good eye and the unmistakable gleam of desire there. I’ve noticed his reactions to me changing, but he hasn’t looked at me quite like this before. Before now, he’s always shuttered his gaze, made a joke, or seemed to somehow temper himself. This time he doesn’t. There’s something raw and sensual in his eyes, and it goes to my head like a strong drink.

  “Jake,” I say, already a little breathless. “What about brunch?”

  He tangles a hand in my hair, and crowds me. “Fuck brunch.”

  I worked for hours taming and curling my hair, but right now I don’t care. All I want is Jake. So I let him tilt my head back so his kiss lands on my collarbone. I let him fasten his mouth there, and I let myself enjoy the pull of his lips on my skin. The pressure he creates spirals inward, then down. By the time he maneuvers us so my back is against the wall, my hands are fisted in his shirt. When he turns his attention to my pulse point, I actually go weak-kneed.

  Jake puts his hands on my hips and his mouth at my ear. “You drive me crazy, Claire. The sounds you make. The way you touch me.”

  A shudder ripples through me. In answer, I slide my hands under his shirt. I feel his muscles flexing, and I have to bite my lip to keep from taking this too far. What we’re doing feels wonderful, but I’m not ready for more. I’m not afraid of him taking it too far, because Jake wouldn’t do that, but I still need to say something.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for…” I bit my lip and then force myself to say it. “I’m not sure I’m ready for sex, Coop.” I’m enjoying the hell out of this moment, but whatever is happening here, I don’t want to move too fast and end up with regrets. The bonfire felt like a turning point, but I need to be sure we’re real before we go too far.

  He pulls just far enough away so I can see his eyes and nods, letting me know he’s received the message. And then he kisses me. Finally.

  Jake Cooper’s kisses should be illegal. Might be, in other parts of the world, considering he traveled everywhere while he was gone. Between the strong grip he has on me, and the way he alternates between gently drawing my upper lip between his teeth and doing things with his tongue I didn’t know were possible, I’m panting. Jake gently turns my head so he can kiss my neck. He kisses his way to my earlobe, pulling it into his mouth, and sucking lightly.

  His hand drops to my breast. I feel his touch through my dress. I crave it. And that scares me. I search his eyes, but all I see is the same want I feel. There’s nothing more in the world I’d rather do than lead him to my cou
ch or down the hall to my bedroom, but that would definitely be too far, too fast. We may both be feeling something real, but there’s no reason to rush into sex. Exploration is good, though.

  He slides his hand into my jeans. I don’t try to stop him. When he touches me through my panties, I arch my hips against his hand. Jake hisses a breath, and at the same time, starts to tug at the waistband of my panties. I don’t stop him. I want him to touch me. I think I need him to touch me.

  Then his phone rings. Swearing loudly, he rests his forehead against mine. I straighten my clothes as he answers, apologizing and telling his mom we’ll be there shortly. When he ends the call, he glances at me, a rueful smile on his lips.

  “I guess we should go.”

  I sigh, but slip my hand into his. “Lead the way.”

  ___ ___ ___

  “So, Sophie-Claire,” Mrs. Cooper says, pushing a perfectly coiffed strand of hair behind her ear, “how are you enjoying working at Freshly Ground?”

  I pat my mouth with my napkin before I answer. The Coopers are laid back, but their home is still the nicest place I’ve ever been. They have a large, very nice home. I wouldn’t call it a mansion, but it’s definitely not shabby. Growing up, I thought it was a museum, because it always lacked the slightly messy, lived-in look I always associated with my home.

  “I was pleasantly surprised,” I say. “I had worked in food service before, but never at a coffeehouse. It was a learning experience, and I burned myself a few times, but all in all, Freshly Ground is a great place to work.” I smile at her, and then wink at Jake. “Your son is a wonderful boss to everyone. He’s always doing little things to inspire us and show us he really values his employees.”

  It’s true. In Nashville, everywhere I worked had a fairly high turnover. Employees felt like they were part of a machine. Jake just has the magic touch, though. He’s a natural leader and he brings that to Freshly Ground. He never calls anyone out in public, and no one has quit since I started. Most everyone who works there comes to work happy, and even though we all have our differences, we work well as a team. It’s awesome to be part of it.

  “I’m so glad to hear it.”

  Jake smiles at me, but focuses on his plate. He’s so different from earlier, when he was basically making me melt. I’ve never seen him almost bashful before. He’s been quiet through the meal. It’s just his parents, Logan, and us. If Jake has been reticent, Logan has been the opposite. He hasn’t stopped talking—about school, about baseball and how the high school team is doing, about the car he’s saving to buy. I know his aunt and uncle would buy him whatever he wanted today, but it makes me smile to hear him talk about earning his wheels. Logan’s a good kid. He talks a big game, but he has a huge heart. I know Jake did the right thing defending him.

  Mrs. Cooper stands and collects everyone’s plates. I rise before she can wave me away and go behind her, gathering what she can’t get, and following her into the kitchen. She has help come in once a week and do a thorough cleaning of the house, but she does the day-to-day duties herself in between her work with various local charities. She was a medical assistant for years, but Jake told me that she retired early since his father is getting ready to run for mayor. They’re throwing a big gala soon to announce his candidacy and gain support.

  “Thank you, Sophie.” She opens the dishwasher, then takes the rest of the dishes from me and starts rinsing them. I join her and reach into the side of the sink filled with soapy water. “You didn’t have to help, but I appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I can do, Mrs. Cooper.” I smile at her then turn back to my work, loading a few plates. “You invited me to your home, made this awesome meal, so I should help. My mom raised me to pitch in.”

  “Call me Shannon, please.” She takes a delicious looking chocolate cake from the fridge. “No more Mr. and Mrs. Cooper. You’ve known us too long for formality.” She sets the cake down and puts her hands on her hips. “Besides, anyone who makes my son as happy as you do gets to use my first name.”

  I duck my head at the compliment, and finish loading the dishwasher. If she’s noticed it, that’s just more proof to add to my slowly growing hypothesis that it isn’t just me feeling this attraction, but this hope is so new, I want to protect it.

  “He makes me very happy, too,” I say honestly. “We’re still new, I know, but…”

  “Trust me. The two of you were a long time coming.” She transfers the cake to a serving dish and nods toward a small stack of dessert plates. “And I hope you’ll be in our lives for an even longer time yet to come. Now, come help me serve these hungry men some cake.”

  Holding my hope close to my heart, I grab the plates and some fresh napkins, and follow Jake’s mother back to the dining room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When our waiter sets our pitcher of margaritas on the table, Sloane and I reach for it at the same time. Reluctantly, I let go and nod at her. “You’ve had a long week. You go first. I think you need this more than I do right now.”

  She eyes the container. “Can I just shotgun it? Someone give me a knife.”

  Brenna laughs so hard that she almost chokes on her water. “I think that might attract unwanted attention.”

  “Yeah, but it would be funny as hell to watch her try,” Mina says. She swirls a chip through salsa, then pops it into her mouth. “Have you had the week from hell?”

  Sloane takes a long drink, then wipes her mouth. She’s frowning when she lowers her glass. “Work blues. Not track coaching. If I could just coach, I’d be the happiest bitch alive.” She snorts. “Plus, just general blahs. Sometimes it’s hard as hell being out in this town.”

  I finally pour myself a drink. “Are people giving you shit?”

  She shakes her head, but her expression says something else. “Not really. Most days I love living here and would never leave. Every once in awhile I’ll get just a sense…” She trails off, her dark eyes fleeing mine. “A sense I’m not wanted here.”

  “Bullshit.” Mina points at Sloane. “You, Ms. Delgado, are very much wanted here.” She gestures around the table. “Look at all of us. We’re here because we want to be. We adore you.”

  “It’s true.” Brenna smiles brightly. “We really do.”

  Sloane crosses her arms over her chest. I know she’s uncomfortable with affection at times. I could kick the ever-loving hell out of the girl who broke her heart when we were teens. Luckily she left town a year or so ago. I know Sloane carries that weight around, and I know the other girl’s presence here made the hurt even worse. Sloane would never say so, but I can tell. We ran into her once on a night out when I was visiting. Sloane didn’t say much then, but she was eerily quiet the rest of the night. I know she feels freer now, but I hate that she doubts herself for even a second.

  I scoot my chair closer to hers. “Hey, Sloane.” I wait patiently until she looks at me. “Yeah you, with the beautiful curls, and the smarts, and the sense of humor. You are fantastic.” I grab her hand before she can pull away from me. “You are. Anyone who doesn’t want to be around you is missing out on knowing one of the most awesome girls ever.”

  Her eyes are shining. “Thanks, Soph.”

  Mina clears her throat. “It isn’t just her, Sloane. Personally I don’t think who you take to bed is anyone’s goddamn business but your own.” Her eyes are shining a bit, too, and her expression is fierce. “Anyone who makes it theirs can back the fuck off of you. We’ve got your back and we’ll rally around you anytime someone wants to start something.”

  “Yep.” Nodding, Brenna reaches across the table to put her hand on top of mine. Mina does the same. Brenna’s brown eyes are full of warmth. “I learned a long time ago that family isn’t always blood related to you. I know we haven’t known one another long, but y’all are my family. I’ll always protect each of you. Mina is right. Who cares who you love, as long as you love someone who is good for you?”

  “All right, girls.” I gesture at them, and then push back my
chair. “Stand up.” I want to change the mood, because while I feel exactly the same way as they do, I don’t want any of us dwelling on anything too serious today. Today is a girls’ lunch. Today is a guy-free, stress-free, drama-free zone.

  They all look blankly at me.

  “Stand up, ladies! Group hug. Now.”

  Each of them stands, and we bring it in for a hug. Someone’s arm ends up against my boobs, and I hear someone else sniffle, but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure people are staring, but I really don’t care. I’m with my friends. My family. Let the rest of the world stare. These girls have my back, and I have theirs. Always.

  Maybe this is what being an adult is all about. Maybe it isn’t some movie-script-perfect highlight reel. Maybe it doesn’t mean everything has to fall into place all at once, without any complications. Maybe it’s just these little snapshots—like being happy with yourself, realizing you are worthy of being loved, something as simple as having enough money left after paying your bills to enjoy drinks with your girlfriends. Maybe everyone expecting anything else is chasing the wrong things.

  We settle back into our chairs, and the topic stays light. We chat about a new outfit Brenna bought, about the fight that broke out last weekend at Freshly Ground, and Sloane tells us a runner she coaches got a full scholarship to a great college. We all dig into our food, and as the level of liquid in the margarita pitcher goes down, our volume rises.

  “Wait, wait.” Brenna suddenly reaches across the table, grabbing my arm. Her eyes are super bright and she’s very giggly. “Did Jake ask you?”

  “Ask me…?”

  “To do the showcase thingy!” She flaps her arms and it’s so adorable that I can’t even speak for a few seconds.

  “What showcase?” She’s laughing too hard to answer me. “Bren?” I turn my gaze to Mina. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Jake’s organizing a singer-songwriter night soon and he told us he wants you to headline it.”