Tears well up, and he rushes me, wrapping me up. “I’m sorry. This was stupid. Never mind. You don’t have to do it.”
I pull back, “No, no, please. It’s not that, Jace. You’re so sweet, and this is wonderful. I love it.” I say, stopping myself. I almost said I love him, and that cannot happen.
He studies my face, “Really?”
I nod emphatically.
“Awesome. Don’t go away, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says, before kissing me on the forehead and disappearing to the kitchen. I force the tears back down. I can’t tell him why. It would ruin everything and I’m not ready to watch him walk away.
He returns, pushing a three-tiered metal cart I’ve never seen before, stopping it next to the table. He picks up three bottles of soda; cola, lemon-lime, and orange, and sits them on the table. “Which one would you like this evening?” he asks. Before I can answer he says, “Oh wait. I forgot one, hold on.”
He runs to the kitchen and comes back carrying a pitcher and a small dish. He sits the dish down and it has packets of sugar and sugar alternatives. “Unsweetened iced tea? I know you like it sweet, but you always get it unsweetened and do it yourself.”
“I do, you’re right. The tea, please. Thank you so much, Jace,” I laugh. The tea may not be sweet, but he most certainly is.
He pours the tea into my wine glass, then hands me a long-handled tea spoon to stir. I select a packet and mix it in, while he lights the candles. Pulling a tiny dish off the cart, he sets it on top of my plate. “You’re appetizer, Madame.” I look down, and burst out laughing. In the dish are my evening pills. It’s hilarious and adorable.
“Okay, so not much of an appetizer, but a very important part of your meal,” he grins. “Unfortunately, you have to take them before we can move on.”
I take them, noticing that it definitely isn’t store bought tea, as I had assumed. It’s homemade. Exactly the way I like it, and the way I used to make it myself. Which is strange, because I would mix two different brands of tea bags, and there is no way he could know that.
He pours himself a glass of tea, which he doesn’t put any sweetener in, then turns to me, “Okay, so… you came down a little bit earlier than I planned, so I have to ask you to turn around or close your eyes or something. Please?”
I turn away from the table and cover my eyes, without hesitation. I’d do anything he asked. I hear him moving things, lots of things. “Okay, you can turn around now.”
I turn back to the table and there are plates all the way down the center, from end to end, each one covered with a paper plate. “Sorry about the presentation, but your dinner is served,” he says. He takes off the first paper plate, “Crinkle cut french fries,” then the next one, “Steak fries,” he keeps going, “Shoestring fries, hand-cut fries, sweet-potato fries, zucchini fries.”
“Oh my God, Jace, what did you do?” I ask dumbly.
“I made your favorite things, but I’m not finished,” he says. “I ran out of paper plates, so you have to turn around again.”
I turn around, laughing, “I can’t believe you did this.”
“You can turn around now,” he says. He takes lids off again, naming each one as he does. “Chicken fries, mozzarella sticks, baked macaroni and cheese, and Maryland Blue Crab cakes.”
I gasp. I haven’t had Maryland Blue Crab cakes since I left Maryland. “Oh my God, how did you do this? You can’t even find these here!”
He takes his seat across from me, picking up a set of tongs, “I actually special ordered these for you a couple of weeks ago. I won’t lie, they were frozen, but they are the real thing. They won’t be exactly the same, but hopefully they’re close enough.”
“They’re perfect. It’s all perfect. It’s amazing. It’s so perfect,” I know I’m saying the same thing, but it’s the only thing I can think of.
“What do you want to start with?” he asks. He loads my plate with a crab cake, two kinds of french fries, zucchini fries, and baked macaroni cheese. Then his own plate with a crab cake, sweet potato fries, baked macaroni and cheese, chicken fries, and mozzarella sticks. I pick up my fork and he yells, “Wait!”
I freeze, my fork poised above the crab cake, my mouth watering. He jumps up, racing to the kitchen. He comes back with a little dish and sets it in front of me, “My mom said if I was going to make you crab cakes I had to give you the right tartar sauce, and the only way to do that here was to make it myself. I hope I got it right.” He looks so vulnerable, so unsure, that I want to lean right over the table and kiss him.
I scoop some on top of my crab cake, cutting into it with my fork. I’m self-conscious as I put it in my mouth, and he looks terrified. I bite down, and my eyes close. It’s like biting into my childhood, the good parts, if that can even be a thing. “It’s amazing. It is one hundred percent perfect, Jace. Thank you so much. I really can’t believe you did this, but I can’t thank you enough.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Tiny. Your smile is all the thanks I’ll ever need,” he says.
I take another bite of crab cake, using the candy bar commercial approach myself, because I can’t trust myself to speak. He makes it too easy to delude myself into believing I mean more to him than I do when he talks like that.
We eat in companionable silence, enjoying our food too much to talk. I try not to look at him, the way he looks in candlelight far too distracting for me to deal with. Then I remember something he said, “You told your mom you were making me crab cakes?”
He looks up, surprised, “Yeah. Should I not have?”
“Won’t she think it’s weird? You spending even more money on me? Oh, wait. They don’t know, huh?”
He chews very carefully, as though searching for bones in his mozzarella stick.
“My parents and I are very close. We always have been and Chance is too. They are the people I call for business advice, financial advice, and if I just want someone to talk to. You might not remember them, you only met them briefly before you collapsed, and then they went home before you got out of the hospital.’
“I remember your mom, she was very kind to me,” I say, an image of a tall, thin, classy blond lady with light blue eyes, a southern accent, and a very warm and loving hug in my mind.
“You do? I wouldn’t have expected that. Anyway, they know about me paying your bills, about me staying here with you, about your hospital stays, and are completely supportive. Every time I talk to them, they ask if I need help with anything and if there’s anything they can do for you. My mom has asked about you every day. She felt a kind of… attachment to you when you knocked on the door and she found you there. I know that sounds weird, but she does that.”
“They don’t think I’m a gold-digger or something? I would think that.”
He laughs. And then he laughs some more. Tears form in the corners of his eyes, and I just stare at him. “I’m serious. It’s a reasonable question.”
“You must not really remember my mom. If she thought that, she would come up here and remove you from this house herself,” he says, gasping for air. “My mother is of the opinion that it’s just money. I can make more. I don’t need to have all that I have. Now, that doesn’t mean that she would allow me to gamble it away, or throw it away at night clubs, or whatever, without knocking me in the head, but, honestly, if I hadn’t done it – she would have.”
I can’t imagine that to be true, but I don’t want to argue with him, so I move on. “Why did you tell her about the crab cakes?” I ask.
“Well, actually I called Alex to ask her how to make tea the way you used to. I remembered you telling a nurse about it, and I was hoping she would know. She did, but she asked why, and I told her I was making all these fries and mac and cheese, and then my mom was yelling in the background, ‘The crab cakes, Jace. Make the crab cakes’ which was a good thing, because I forgot about them.”
I’m stunned. I don’t even remember telling a nurse about the tea. “How did she know about the crab cakes at
all?”
“Because when I wanted to buy them for you, I called her to find the right ones. She loves them too, and always complains when they’re not authentic, so I knew she could tell me which ones to get. I’m ruining this, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not ruining anything, I just don’t want anyone to think I’m using you, because I’m not. Or I didn’t intend to anyway. I didn’t know I was.” I eat a few more fries and see that my plate is almost cleared. I don’t know how he makes me forget I’m eating, but he does.
“No one thinks that, Bayleigh. Everyone who matters knows very well how badly I wanted to do this for you.”
“I think it. I think it feels like I’m using you. Like I’m taking you away from living your life, and I can’t give anything back. I want to, but I don’t have anything to give.” I look down, away from his confusion and the questions in his lake blue eyes.
“Bayleigh, I am living my life. How would you be taking me away from it?”
“Because you’re always with me. When’s the last time you even had a date?” I ask. I immediately regret it, realizing that I don’t want the answer.
He laughs, “Don’t you remember that long conversation we had? I don’t date women. I sleep with women. At least, that’s what I’ve always done. As far as the last time I had a date? That would be tonight, Sweetheart,” he says.
I laugh, appreciating his attempt, “But you ‘don’t date women’.”
He smiles and shakes his head, “Nope. I don’t date ‘women’. You’re not ‘women’, you’re Bayleigh.”
I very nearly choke on my perfectly made tea. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t make me think about a future that doesn’t exist, Jace. It’s cruel.”
“What part of the future doesn’t exist? Is there something I should know?” he asks, eyes wide.
Yes. You should know that I love you and I know that it’s never going to work out. I’m barely holding on, barely breathing. You take away all my air. Instead, I take a deep breath, saying, “No. I just can’t… I can’t think that way, Jace. I’m just trying to survive today. And tomorrow I’ll work on surviving that,” I say, trying to make him understand, but unable to tell him all of it.
He reaches across the table, taking my hand, and resting it inside of his, between sweet potato fries and zucchini fries, “That’s okay. I understand,” he says. He rubs his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand, sending shivers through me. “You said you don’t have anything to give back, that you want to, but you have nothing to give, right?”
Oh no, he’s going to ask for sex. And I’m going to say yes, because I want to so bad, and then it’s over. All of this is over. “Yes,” I answer, letting the word hang in the air, terrified of what comes next.
CHAPTER 12
“You have plenty to give Bayleigh,” he says, his thumb making lazy circles on my hand.
“Really? Like what?” I ask, knowing the answer that’s coming. I don’t know how to make it stop. I’m not ready for this, I know after this he’s gone, and I’ll be alone again. Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.
“You make me laugh, you make me smile, you make me happy. You remind me of things I’ve forgotten. You inspire me. I’ve never made this many kinds of fries in my life,” he laughs, and I laugh with him. It’s not fair.
“Bayleigh, I told you before, and I’ll keep telling you, as many times as you need to hear it. I want to be here, I need to be here. I love kissing you, and I loved watching you that night, but that’s not why I’m here. If you just want to lay on the couch and watch a movie, take a nap, read a book, whatever – I just want to be near you. That’s all. If you want me to leave, say so, I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable, but if you’ll let me – I want to be here. For you. I’m not here because I’m expecting something from you, or because I’m waiting for an opportunity to jump you. I’m here for you, because I couldn’t walk away if I tried, even if I wanted to. But I don’t want to, Tiny, not even a little bit.”
He stands up, walking around the table, pulling me up and into his arms. I’m confused, and then I realize I’m crying. “Aw, please don’t do that, Baby. I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to be near you. I won’t lie, I don’t know what this is or where it’s going, but damn, Bayleigh, I’d really like to find out. Let me survive today with you, and tomorrow too. The day after that, I’ll be here too, if you’ll let me.”
“But I don’t understand why. I can’t even go out in public without you having to coddle me like a sick puppy. I have all these health issues, no money, no job, nothing. Why? It doesn’t make sense,” I sob.
“Because… because I can’t breathe when I don’t know for sure that you’re okay. Because you’re not nothing, you’re funny and smart. You’re feisty as hell, the toughest woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know how you survived what you’ve been through, but I’m so glad you did. You get stronger, healthier, every single day. And maybe you can’t see that, maybe it’s like what you said before, because you’re in it, it feels like it’s never going to end, but it will end, Baby. It will get better. You went to a diner and a pharmacy today. You didn’t have an anxiety attack at either place — “
“Because you walked me through it. I couldn’t have done it by myself.”
“Not today, no, but you couldn’t have done it even with me there a week ago. You are getting better”— he lifts my chin, so I have to look into his eyes — “but, even if you weren’t, even if it all falls apart and you can’t leave the house without freaking out, I will still want to be here.”
“How can you stand it? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I cry all the time, I lose control and I can’t breathe. Doesn’t it drive you crazy? Don’t you wonder what the hell is wrong with me? Don’t you get tired of it? I get so tired of it. Don’t you get tired of it?”
“No. Like you said, you can’t control it. And like I said, you’re getting better every day. One day, I’m going to take you out to a fancy dinner, and then I’m going to take you out dancing, and we’re going to have a great time. Then, when I bring you home, happy, tipsy, and bubbling over, I’m going to remind you how far you’ve come and you’ll remember this. I promise.”
He’s so convincing. I want to believe him. He wipes away my tears, his sad smile squeezing my heart until I can’t breathe.
“I am not going to get tired of you, Bayleigh. I may not have any experience with relationships, I may not have any experience with this situation, but I have a lifetime of experience in knowing myself. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t believe me yet, and that’s okay, but you will. If you let me stay, you will.”
I can’t argue with that, and I don’t think anyone could. I know they couldn’t if they were looking in to his eyes the way I am. If they could feel his arms around them.
“You don’t have to make any long-term decisions. Just say I can stay.”
I look up, trying hard to say the words, but the knot in my throat won’t let me speak.
His eyes are filled with torment, and I want to scream that he can stay, to erase the pain from his eyes, but I can’t. He runs his fingers through his hair, and steps away half a step. His eyes well up and he swallows hard, clearing his throat. “Do you want me to leave, Bayleigh?”
I shake my head, hard. I try to say ‘no’, and it hurts so much. I shake my head again, reaching out to pull him in, “No, please don’t leave me,” my voice breaks on a sob, the knot in my throat exploding.
He’s wrapped around me before the sob ends, “Thank you. Thank you, Bayleigh. It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll never leave, unless you want me to.” I shake my head again. He kisses my forehead, my cheek. “You scared me. I thought you didn’t want me. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
He was scared? The whole world has turned over on its head. I’m never going to find my footing again.
He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around
his waist. He carries me to the couch, and sits down, me in his lap. He squeezes me tight, locking me in. I feel like I should pull away, I don’t want to put his legs asleep again, but I can’t make myself move.
After a few minutes I calm down, no longer crying, no longer panicked. He lets me go, and I sit back, looking down at him. “I thought I was going to have another attack.”
“I thought so too, that’s why I picked you up. I wish I had done it sooner last time. I think it helps when I hold you tight. I know it helps me, to feel you breathing even when I know you feel like you aren’t,” he says. It makes sense. I hadn’t realized that, but I’m glad that he did.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that. You shouldn’t be sorry for something you can’t control. I should have realized you couldn’t talk. I made it worse. I’m the one that’s sorry.”
“I just want you to know, I won’t hold you to it. You don’t have to stay forever. If it gets to be too much, I don’t want you to stay because you feel obligated. I don’t ever want that, Jace — “
“That’s not what I’m — “
“Let me finish. I know that’s not what you’re saying and it’s not how you feel right now. But, if that was ever to change, I want you to go. I can’t be an obligation. I’m still not sure that you’re not confusing misplaced responsibility with something else”— I put my hand up to stop him before he can argue — “I’m not sure, but I’m willing to ride it out and see. I just need you to promise me that you will never stay out of obligation. Please.” Everything about me, my voice, my words, my gestures, is pleading. I’ve never begged for something so hard in my life.
“If that’s what you need, you’ve got it. I will never stay with you out of obligation. No matter what, if my feelings change I will let you know. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Faith (Stregth Series Book 2) Page 13
