by Sarah Adams
“Actually, I was kind of hoping that maybe you could talk to my dad about the slumber party for me. He doesn’t think it would be safe for me to go, but since you have epilepsy and live on your own with Charlie, you could convince him that I would be fine, and he would listen to you.”
Ha! Listen to me? I think I’m the last person in the world that Jacob Broaden wants to listen to. It’s clear as day that the man is only tolerating my presence because of Daisy. He doesn’t meet my eye when he’s in the same room as me. He goes through ridiculous feats to stand as far away from me as possible and only responds to me in one-word answers.
I have no idea what I did to make this man not like me so quickly, but I wish I knew, because then I could bottle it up and spray it all over myself before I go to the grocery store. Maybe then it would keep all of those weirdos from hitting on me. Why can’t the normal ones ever hit on me? You better believe that if a man is talking to me in a grocery store, he smells like body odor and Funyuns and is advising me on which foods to buy that will “enhance my hourglass figure.” True story.
“I don’t know, Sam.” I look down at Charlie, and his eyes say it all. Bad idea. Do not engage. Set down gently and walk away. He’s so smart.
Sam, however, does the dirtiest, meanest trick in the book. She reaches out and grabs my hand with big ol’ Bambi eyes. The little terrorist. “Please, Evie. You’re my only hope. I’ve tried, but he won’t listen to me. I really want to go to this party. Everyone is going to be there, and I really miss my friends.”
So, this is what it feels like to have your heartstrings tugged like a puppet?
Charlie whispers for me to stand firm. I tell him I never stood a chance. “All right,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Really? Great!” Her eyes light up, and you’d think I just told her she could eat ice cream every single meal for the rest of her life. But then I realize how badly I’ve been played when she starts pushing me toward the kitchen where Jacob has been banging pots and pans around for the past ten minutes.
“Sam, no, not right now!” I say, digging my feet into the rug, but this little girl must be freaking Superwoman, because I’m no match for her. Suddenly, I’m being tossed into the kitchen, and I stumble forward as if I’ve just been shoved into battle.
Even better, Jacob saw the whole thing. The whole entire thing. My cheeks turn red under his blue gaze, and I consider doing a spin move around Sam and dashing out of the house. Screw the Bambi eyes; I’m not falling for her rotten tricks again.
But like every masterful con artist, she continues to hold the upper hand. “Hey, Daddy! Evie wants to ask you something!”
I thought we were friends, Sam!
His brows sink low, and he crosses his arms. I know, without a doubt, that if I were to ask him if Sam can go to a slumber party right now, he would take me by the shoulders and shove me right out of his lovely house. I’m pretty sure that he’d also tell me just where I can stick my advice.
I can’t do that to Sam. I can’t just sabotage her chances like that. So instead, I’m Katniss Everdeen. I volunteer as tribute.
“Yeahhh. Actually, I was hoping that maybe I could invite myself to stay for dinner.” And also hoping that a sinkhole could magically appear and swallow me up. “I’m…running low on food”—oh gosh, make it stop—“and since training went a little late today, I’ll miss dinner if I have to go all the way to the store.”
The only way I can describe the way Jacob looks right now is thunderous. Thor has nothing on him. “Mmhmm,” he grunts through pursed lips, and honestly, I want to grab the frying pan off the stove and bang it against his head until he learns to be nice. How dare he make me feel terrible for inviting myself! Have you no Southern manners?!
I back-pedal as fast as I can. “Nevermind!” I laugh, and it sounds shrill. “I just remembered I have a can of soup.” Lie. I have a half-eaten pouch of Sour Patch Kids and an expired jug of milk in the fridge. “You guys have a good night! See you tomorrow!”
I whirl around and make a beeline for the door, grabbing Charlie’s and Daisy’s leashes in the process. Only problem is, I went the long way—out of the kitchen and through the living room toward the front door—and just as I’m about to make it to the entryway, I run smack into a hard wall. Not actually a wall.
A Jacob wall.
He took the shorter way, apparently, and cut me off.
“Oof,” I grunt when my head comes in contact with his right pectoral muscle, and let me tell you, that man must work out every day, because I’m fairly certain I have a concussion now.
He grabs my shoulders to steady me, and when our eyes meet, he takes a wide step back. Do not touch the leper.
“Evie, stay for dinner,” says Jacob, but his tone reads: stay at your own risk.
“No, thanks. By your reaction back there, it’s apparent that my company would be nothing short of torture. So, I’ll just be on my way.” I try to go past him, but his hand catches my bicep before I can pass. His touch makes my stomach drop and my nerves sizzle like a drop of water on a frying pan.
His hold was tight at first, but when I freeze and look down at his hand wrapped completely around my arm, he loosens his grip.
Jacob lets out a long breath from his nose. “Please stay. I want you to stay.” This man is nothing short of a mystery.
I’m plucking petals off of a daisy. He loves me, he hates me, he loves me, he hates me.
Which petal will we end on?
I look up to Jacob and force a smile that I don’t at all feel. I’m ready to give him a very polite “over my dead body” when I see the smoldering look in his eyes. He’s serious. I don’t know how I know that, but somehow, I know that this man really does want me to stay for dinner.
Because I’m not generally a masochist, my feet should be carrying me as far away from this fickle mister as fast as humanly possible. But instead, my arm is burning where he’s holding it, and I begin dreaming of that porch swing again. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
He smiles. Actually smiles. There are crinkles beside his eyes, people! “Okay, good.”
We stand like that for a minute, and I’m not entirely sure what’s happening or how to breathe anymore. Charlie must sense my heightened heart rate and think that Jacob is upsetting me, because he suddenly angles his furry golden body between us and looks up at Jacob with the most human look I’ve ever seen him give. Hands off my lady.
Jacob and I both chuckle at my little chaperone, and he releases me. I miss his touch right away.
Jacob turns on his heel and disappears back into the kitchen, and I’m left wondering what in the heck just happened.
I turn around and bend down to unlatch Charlie’s and Daisy’s leashes when I catch Sam’s face across the room. She’s leaning her hip against the side of an armchair, and her arms are folded, a smug grin on her face. I furrow my brows in question, and as a response, she waggles hers.
Oh no. What have I done?
Chapter Eleven
JAKE
I’m standing across the kitchen, watching as Evie finishes painting the last fingernail on Sam’s hand. Sam is smiling from ear to ear, and she keeps looking up at Evie with a studying look as if she’s memorizing every tiny thing Evie does so that she can perfectly replicate her actions later. Sam adores Evie, that much is apparent. And honestly, I understand the sentiment.
The woman is gorgeous. Funny. Strong. Kind-hearted. She has overcome a difficult disability and not let it dictate her life. And she has the most beautiful, full pink lips I’ve ever seen. Okay, I doubt that Sam has noticed that last part, but believe me, I have.
Did I mention that Evie is painting a rainbow pattern on Sam’s nails? That probably doesn’t seem like a big thing, but for my little girl that has resisted everything happy and cheerful over the past six months, it’s huge.
I was quiet during dinner, partly because I have no idea how to interact with Evie, but also because I was enjoying hearing my daughter
talk. I didn’t realize how starved I was for the sound of her voice. It didn’t sound heavy like it has been lately. She didn’t give short, clipped answers. She told Evie things that I had no idea about (Jenna Miller already got her first kiss?! Where have I been? And isn’t eleven years old a little young for that??)
Evie should have felt bored by a young girl’s monologue on preteen romance, but she wasn’t. She was enthralled, sitting on the edge of her seat, one leg propped under her (I’m realizing Evie will never sit normal in a chair) and those emerald eyes wide with interest. I was floored when she asked Sam if there were any boys she was interested in. Even more floored when Sam said yes.
Note to self: hunt down Tate Bradley and explain to him in perfect detail what will happen to him if his lips get anywhere near my little girl.
After dinner, Evie helped me clear the dishes. When she came to stand next to me at the sink, every muscle in my body tightened with awareness of her. She feels like a magnet. I’m being pulled to this woman, and I’m helpless to stop it.
I want to stop it. I need to stop it. She’s too young for me. Too pretty. I bet she has drooling men trailing after her everywhere she goes. I don’t want to compete for a woman’s attention again. I don’t want to constantly worry if she’s cheating on me with a guy from the gym, or if she’s going to up and leave in a month when she has a doctor offer her a ticket to Hawaii.
But at the same time, I see what a good impact she’s having on Sam. She has connected with my daughter in a way that even my sisters haven’t been able to since Natalie left. I can’t overlook that. Does this mean that I’m coming around to the idea of dating again?
“Daddy, can Evie tuck me in tonight? I want to show her my room.”
I sigh and rub the back of my neck. What’s the protocol for this? Do I let Sam get attached? Do I protect her already-broken heart? I don’t know what the right answer is here.
“It’s fine with me if Evie wants to. But I don’t want to hold her up if she doesn't have time for it.” I give Evie a questioning look. I’m putting the ball in her court because I don’t know what else to do.
She smiles down at Sam. “Plenty of time. Show me that room, darlin’.”
I hug and kiss Sam goodnight and watch as the two disappear up the stairs, Charlie and Daisy following close behind.
All while I’m washing the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher, I’m aware that I should feel nervous by the amount of time they are spending together upstairs. I don’t. It feels right. Like this friendship between them was always meant to be.
As I’m loading the last bowl in the dishwasher, Evie’s white tennis shoes enter my sights. I know for a fact I’ve never been so attracted to a woman in tennis shoes before now.
“You’ve got a great kid up there,” she says, and that answers the question that’s been flying around my brain for the last half-hour.
I don’t want to push Evie away anymore. If she’s up for a friendship, so am I. But ONLY a friendship. I need to dip my toes in and see if the water’s warm before I’m ready to take a dive.
“I wish I could say I had something to do with it. But it’s all Sam. She came out that great all on her own.”
Evie smiles, and I want to let my eyes trace the outline of her mouth, but I don’t because yeah…friends. “Somehow I doubt that’s completely true. I’ve seen how you are with her.” We stare at each other for a moment, and then Evie shuffles her eyes around the room. “Well. Thanks again for dinner. Have you seen my phone? I need to call an Uber.”
She starts looking around the kitchen, and I wait until her back is turned to me to say, “It’s a nice evening. Do you want to go sit on the porch until your ride gets here?”
Evie’s body stops. Apparently, I’ve shocked her. “Do you mean you want me to wait for my Uber outside and not in your house?”
“What?” Oh, great. She thinks I’m being a jerk again. “No. I meant…do you want to sit on the porch with me? You know, talk together. With words.”
I’m ten years old, and she’s the cutest girl in class. I’m begging her to accept my Valentine heart, and she’s staring at it like it’s poison.
A grin finally cracks on her mouth, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Words? I wasn’t sure you knew how to use those. At least, not outside of insinuating I look like a man or accusing me of extortion.”
I smile and shrug. “Occasionally, I can find a few nice ones.”
“And are you going to use those nice ones if I sit on the porch with you?” I hate that she’s skeptical. I hate that she has a right to be. But I love the southern lilt to her voice.
I cross my heart. “The nicest.”
Evie brushes past me with narrowed eyes and a wary smile as if I’m some feral predator lying casually in the tall grass. She’s a doe, prancing by but cautious that I might pounce at any moment.
She doesn’t know just how much I want to, but not in the way she thinks.
When we make it out onto the porch, I gesture for her to sit down on the swing first. I think I spot the apples of her cheeks turn pink, but I can’t be entirely sure. She sits down, and now I’m certain I see a secret smile on her mouth. I briefly glance at my pants, wondering if my fly is down or something.
Still zipped.
I take care to sit as far away from her on the swing as possible, but my body still hums with awareness of her. We start swinging, and the dogs settle down on the porch by the front door. It’s a deep swing, but I’m tall enough that my feet are fully planted on the ground. Evie’s toes are barely touching, and for some reason, that makes me smile.
Seconds pass, or minutes, or hours, I don’t know. All I know is that we are both quiet and sitting stiff as boards, and I’ve never felt more awkward. I steal a glance at her and find her stealing one too. I’m not alone in this awkwardness.
“Okay. What are we doing here, Jacob?” she finally asks.
“Call me Jake. Everyone else does.”
She laughs a little laugh that sounds borderline annoyed and pulls her legs up under her to face me. She’s wearing a long burgundy skirt today that’s kind of flowy and has a slit up to her tan knee. It’s paired with a fitted white tee, but about an hour ago, she got cold and pulled a gray crewneck sweatshirt from her bag and put it on. Her hair is down and wavy like she’s been swimming in the ocean today and then let it dry in the sun. She looks effortlessly beautiful, and YES, I realize I shouldn’t be noticing any of this, but I freaking am because I have no self-control.
“Alrighty then, Jake.” She says my name almost like she’s giving me a friendly shove to the chest. “Now I really want to know what we're doing out here. What’s happening right now?”
I like that she’s direct. I don’t think that’s a normal quality in women. I wouldn’t actually know because it’s been a minute since I’ve played the field (evidence being the fact that I just used the phrase, playing the field.)
“Well, Evie, this here”—I put on the same playful, sarcastic tone she’s wearing and gesture between us—“is called friendship. It’s a concept where two people—”
This time she really does shove me in the arm, and I break off with a chuckle. “I know what friendship is! I just want to know why you are suddenly feeling buddy-buddy with me when it’s been clear up until this point that you don’t want me around.”
It’s time for me to be direct too. I purposely meet her gaze. “I’ve wanted you around.”
That statement cracks through the air like a bullet from a gun.
She wants to smile; I know it because there’s tension at the corners of her mouth, but she doesn’t. “You have a funny way of showing that.”
I sigh and face forward. “You’re right. I’ve not been the friendliest. And the truth is, it’s because ever since my wife left, I feel a little hesitant around beautiful women.”
Oh, awesome, Jake! How about you just go ahead and tell her all your deepest pain, why don’t you?! Maybe she’d like to hear about how yo
u were pantsed in the hallway in the ninth grade and it’s scarred you ever since???
“You think I’m beautiful?”
I laugh and meet her sparkling eyes, glad to know she’s not making a run for it. “Oh, come on. I know you own a mirror. You don’t have to play coy.”
“But if I play coy, I might get more compliments from you.”
My heart flips over. She wants more compliments from me? Wants me to flirt with her? I think she realizes how that sounded, because she starts squirming in her seat. She shifts forward and then bunches her long hair up on her head and wraps a hair tie around it until it’s an oversized bun that somehow makes her look even cuter. “Okay, then, friend. Tell me something about yourself I don’t know.” She’s deflecting, but I can still tell that her face is flushed.
“I started my architecture firm five years ago.”
She scrunches her nose, and shakes her head, and then turns to fully face me on the swing. As she pulls both of her legs up under her, one of her legs brushes against mine. Her back is leaning against the armrest, and I couldn’t get away from her gaze even if I wanted to.
“I don’t want to talk work. Tell me something interesting about you. Like…what color Skittle is your favorite?”
“I don’t like Skittles.”
Her mouth falls open. I am a serial killer in her eyes now. “You don’t like Skittles?!” She shakes her head. “What’s wrong with you?”
I laugh. “Many things.”
“Wait. Do you not like all candy? Are you one of those guys who only eats lean proteins and greens? I mean, it would make sense based on the way you look, but…”
My smile is wide and cocky. “The way I look?”
