Why Now? (20 page)

His eyes don’t move; the tone of his voice is dull and resigned. Slipping the box from my pocket, I set it on his coffee table.

“I’m so sorry, Heath.”

He comes unstuck when I stand, reaching up to grasp my arm. “He’ll break your heart. We both know it.”

Tugging my arm free I whisper, “Don’t.”

He doesn’t listen. “I know him. I’ve been friends with him a long time. He leaves, that’s what he does, he always leaves.”

Heath is right but he’s forgetting something. “He always comes back, too.”

Standing, blocking my way he grips my biceps. “You can live with that?”

All I can do is nod and reply, “I wouldn’t really be living without him.”

He closes his eyes but doesn’t let me go.

“Heath,” I say.

He opens his eyes and I’m struck by the pain in them.

I fall forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets go of my arms only to wrap me tightly in a hug. “I am too.”

When he lets me go, I let go of all of the possibilities that could have been us. There’s no point in dwelling on the what-ifs in life. It’s done; I’ve not only chosen Jake but I’m now fully free to pursue a future with him.

Even though Heath and I never really were, this still feels like a break up.

“Still friends?” I ask.

He lets out a bitter laugh before replying, “Give me a couple of weeks to lick my wounds but yes, always still friends.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, before slipping past him through the door.

Keeping my eyes forward, I don’t look back once as I walk to my car. Heath’s place isn’t that far from ours but I wanted a quick getaway so I drove.

As the tears fall silently down my face, I decide that was a good call. It’s not that I regret breaking the engagement with Heath, I don’t. The pain I caused him is what’s making me cry.

He is a good guy and deserves to marry someone he loves more than just as a friend. It sucks that he hasn’t found that girl but marrying me isn’t the answer. As for his mom, God, that kills. I hope she doesn’t think less of me.

That’s something I won’t be able to control, though. Even though I can’t control it, it doesn’t stop it from weighing on me.

Once I’m back to my place, I text Jake to let him know it’s done. He texts right back asking if I’m okay and if he can come over.

I’m not sure why, but I tell him no.

If Jake came over, he’d kiss me and if he kissed me, I wouldn’t think about Heath. Strange as it sounds but Heath deserves more than that. He deserves me spending one night alone with my thoughts.

It would feel like an insult to dash straight into Jake’s arms. Besides, I’ve been crying and that tends to give me a headache. Since I have to work at our other office tomorrow I’ll need to wake up earlier than usual so I should go to bed early.

My phone rings and it’s Jake calling.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Lowering myself onto my bed, I grip my phone tightly. “It was hard.”

“Please let me come over. I don’t like hearing you like this.”

My throat thickens and I croak, “I’m okay. I just need to be by myself tonight.”

“Killer, don’t you get it. I don’t want you to ever have to face anything alone again.”

“But,” I start and stop to gulp back a sob. “I deserve to be alone tonight. I don’t deserve to be happy when I made him so sad.”

“That’s bullshit and I don’t care what you say. All you’re doing is punishing yourself and I’m not okay with that. I’m coming over with Reilly. We’re leaving now.”

“Jake,” I argue but he’s already gone.

Big stubborn bossy man.

Getting up, I make my way to my bathroom to wash my face. It’s not like I wore a ton of makeup today, but since I’ve been crying it probably looks awful.

While I’m there, I take some painkillers for my headache. Then, wrapping my cardigan tightly around me, I collapse onto my bed. Too lazy to get under the covers, I pull one side of it up and over me.

The next thing I hear is my door opening. My bed is jostled, my comforter pulled away from me. Then I’m lifted in big strong arms only to be set back down on my sheet, not my comforter.

Jake clearly has magical powers to have been able to pull off that trick. He moves to the other side of the bed and climbs in. It’s then I notice the smell.

“You smell like Reilly’s body wash,” I mumble.

He tugs me into his arms, cocooning me in warmth. “I stunk, so I took a fast shower when I got here.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I argue, tilting my head back and blinking my eyes open to look at him.

He grins down at me, his elbow on the bed, his head resting on his hand. Jake Whitmore is in bed with me. Bolting upright, I press my sheet and comforter to my chest, which is pointless considering I’m fully clothed.

“You’re in my bed,” I say.

He glances from side to side as if he needed to confirm he was actually lying in my bed. “I am.”

“This is wrong,” I murmur.

He sits up and gently pushes me onto my back, his body leaning over me, his lips brushing across mine. “Let me show you how far from wrong me being in your bed is.”

He continues to kiss me and, as perfect as it is, I can’t get how awful Heath looked when I left out of my mind.

I push at his shoulders and he lifts his head. “Tonight, can you just hold me?”

His face softens, and he dips his head to press one closed mouth kiss to mine. “Yeah babe, I can do that.”

He lowers himself next to me and I snuggle up to him, his arm coming up to wrap around me. With my nose pressed to his neck, I smile to myself as the scent of lavender hits me.

His arm moves and he begins to slowly stroke his hand up and down my back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No and yes,” I breathe.

His hand pauses. “Well, which one is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it because it will make me feel guilty all over again, but I do want to talk about it because bottling things up is unhealthy,” I reply.

“Whatever you need,” he whispers, his breath brushing across the top of my head.

“I know it was the right thing, but he’s my friend and I care about him. Do you think he liked me more than I thought he did?” I ask.

He shifts onto his back and slides his fingers through my hair, picking up pieces and playing with them. It feels heavenly.

“Kacey, you’re sweet and beautiful. He’s spent the last few days thinking he was going to marry you. Heath isn’t the kind of guy to do things halfway.”

“That’s a yes then, right?” I ask.

He chuckles, turning back into me and wrapping me tightly in his arms. “That is a yes.”

“Oh,” I sigh.

“Beating yourself up isn’t going to make him feel any better.”

“I know.”

“Would it help to talk about something else?” He asks, loosening his grip around me and going back to playing with my hair.

“Maybe.”

“All I got is house stuff to talk about.”

I sit up and look down at him. All of the stress in dealing with Heath made it slip my mind that he was starting work today.

“How’d it go?”

He moves onto his back, sliding his hand under his head and looks up at me. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to how gorgeous he is.

“Great. Got the hot water heater in, most of the holes patched, and the tile in one of the bathrooms demo’d. Reilly came to help. You should have seen her when she was done, absolutely covered in dust.”

“Did you take a pic?” I ask.

“My phone doesn’t have a camera but she took one of herself with hers.”

“Can I come help tomorrow after work?” I ask.

A smile spreads over his face and he moves one of his hands and rests it on my thigh. “You want to help me fix up the house?”

I nod and open my mouth to say yes but he’s already there, hand in my hair, kissing me.

He pulls me down over him so that I’m stretched out on top of him. He’s so solid, his body heat melting into me.

Lifting my head, I stare down at him. “Was that a yes?”

He laughs and nods, shifting the hand in my hair to push more of it back and hold it away from my face. “That was definitely a yes.”

“I’m not handy,” I warn.

He continues to smile and it warms my belly to think I did that to him. “Neither is Reilly but she did alright.”

“Okay,” I murmur.

“Do you feel better?” He asks.

I nod. “A little bit.”

The worst of it is over. In time, Heath would forgive me. All I can do now is wait.

He does an ab curl, pushing up but somehow keeping me in his lap, my legs falling to either side of his hips.

His hands move to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh through the fabric of my shirt. “I can think of a lot of things I’d like to do to you right now.”

He brushes his lips over mine. “But, you missed dinner so I need to feed you.”

My stomach flips and it isn’t from hunger.

He notices my hesitation and chuckles. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”

With that, he shifts off my bed, taking me with him.

“I can walk,” I protest, not that I mind.

He’s so big and strong. It’s a giant turn on that if he wanted to he could have his way with me. Oh, how I wanted him to.

He has to shift all of my weight to one hand as he pulls the other free to open my door. The living room is dark and there’s no light coming out from under Reilly’s door.

“Reilly went to the station,” Jake explains as he carries me into the kitchen and sets me onto the counter.

“Are you going to cook for me?” I ask, surprised.

He flips on the light and I squint at him as my eyes adjust. “Nothing fancy. I’m assuming you guys have pasta.”

Pointing to the cabinet furthest from the fridge I reply, “If we do, it’s in there.”

He moves away from me. As the last of my nap fog leaves me, I watch him in my kitchen.

Will I ever get used to this? Will I ever stop thinking Jake Whitmore is in my kitchen, or my car, or my bed, or a thousand different scenarios?

Will he ever stop being the guy I put on a pedestal and loved from afar? He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stovetop.

“Want one of your beers?” He asks.

It makes me laugh. “One of my beers?”

He opens the fridge and gestures inside. On the bottom shelf are all my stouts and IPAs. In the door is a case of crap beer Reilly bought for company that was undeserving of my good beer. He has a point.

“I see what you mean,” I reply. “A Coffee Stout, please.”

Easing myself off the counter, I move next to him to take down two glasses, lifting one. “Would you like some?”

He opens the bottle, this time using an actual bottle opener, and takes the glasses from me, filling and passing it to me before filling the other.

“How did you get so into beer?” He asks before taking a drink.

Lifting my glass up towards the overhead light, I stare at the amber undertones of this stout. “It started as an attempt to reconnect with my dad after my mom died. That part didn’t work out so much, but after spending so much time researching different breweries I got hooked.”

“Your dad was into beer?” He asks, setting his glass down to add noodles to the now boiling water.

“Oh yeah,” I reply, picturing my dad with his set up in our garage. “Back in the day, he used to brew his own.”

His head turns so he can look at me. “No way.”

“Yep,” I nod. “Seems like I know more about you than you do about me.”

Taking my drink from me, he sets it on the counter next to his before brushing his lips over mine. “I look forward to learning everything I can about you.”

“Trust me. I’m not that interesting.”

He smirks down at me. “How about you let me be the judge of that.”

“It’s going to take time for this to stop feeling surreal for me,” I whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you mean that? Can you do that with your job? Don’t you have to give notice or, at least, pack your things?”

He exhales and reaches up to drag one hand over his face. “Yes, but it would be temporary, two weeks, a month tops.”

He cups my cheek. “Don’t worry, Killer. For the first time in a long time I finally know that everything is going to work out.”

“How do you know that?” I breathe.

The pot boils over with a hiss and he lets me go. Was that a sign?

He stirs the noodles and turns the burner to low before coming back to me. “It will be fine. I promise.”

Only time will tell. He lets me go so he can strain the noodles and add a jar of sauce to them. Sure, it’s just noodles and sauce, but the fact that he made them for me makes it my new favorite dish.

“It’s like a brand new house,” Rich says, after I finish showing him all of the work Jimmy, Reilly, Kacey, and I’ve done this week.

“Thanks. How soon can you list it?” I ask.

“I want to take new pictures. I can do that now and have it up on MLS by this afternoon.”

“Listing price?” I ask.

The number he says will decide whether I can list it for sale or for rent.

My eyes close at his response, relief flowing over me. “Do you really think it can sell at that price?”