But I knew from experience of caring for Henry in a way he didn’t return, with my relationship with Jake, it was a feeling I would need to get used to.
Thus, I sighed deeply as I closed the door to Lavender House behind me thinking a word these days I thought frequently and knew I would continue to think with regularity when it came to Jake Spear.
And that was…alas.
Chapter Ten
Showing Me How It’s Done
I felt something tickle my nose and, mostly asleep, I brushed it away.
It went away but came back and I felt my brows draw together as I kept my eyes closed and batted at whatever was disturbing me.
It went away again but then came back so I lifted my hand again to stop the sensation and sleepily caught the offender.
It wasn’t such as an insect.
It was a hand.
A hand!
My eyes flew open and slid sideways to see Jake was sitting on the side of my bed, leaned into me, one arm on the other side of me, hand in the bed, one hand in my face holding a lock of my hair with which he obviously had been tickling my nose.
I shot up in surprise, did this fast and thus slammed my head into Jake’s jaw. Luckily, through this, he released my hair. Unfortunately, the crack to my head (and his jaw) was hard and caused a sharp pain but it was thus and it went away almost immediately.
So I scooted so that my back was to the scrolled iron headboard and stared at Jake who had not moved except to lean back a few inches.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Is your jaw okay?”
“It’s fine, babe. Serves me right for freakin’ you out.”
I said nothing.
Then it occurred to me I was the one apologizing but he was in my bedroom for reasons unknown first thing in the morning.
Therefore, I asked, “Um…what are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer. He was busy and what he was busy with was that he seemed rather taken with examining the entirety of the vicinity of my head.
“Jake?” I called when this lasted some time, and his eyes came to mine.
“Hair looks good down, honey,” he said softly and his tone was not one I’d ever heard from him before. It was quite low and very rumbly. Indeed, it was so much of both it had a physical effect on me that was not good when Jake was sitting on the side of my bed in all of his big man beautifulness. “Real good,” he went on and that sounded like an actual growl.
Oh my.
“Well…thank you,” I whispered.
We stared at each other, me finding it difficult to breathe. I didn’t know what Jake was experiencing.
Finally, I forced myself to speak but the only thing I could get out was, “Uh…”
“Right,” he stated, his voice now sounding hoarse. He cleared his throat and went on, “Before you’re off to the Weavers, I’m takin’ you to the gym to work out.”
I blinked at him.
Then I asked, “Work out?”
“Yep,” he answered.
“I…well…” I stopped talking because I didn’t know what to say.
Jake didn’t have the same problem.
“First, we gotta get food in you so we’re gonna do that and then you’re comin’ with me to my gym to work out.”
I belatedly saw that he was wearing a pair of navy track pants with one wide white stripe down the side and a white long-sleeved shirt made of breathable material that fit snug to his shoulders, chest, arms and abdominals.
At this vision, my mouth went dry.
“You got something to wear to work out?” he asked.
Although there was much I would do with Jake Spear just to be with Jake Spear, for instance, watch football while partaking of a dip that was made from Velveeta and, say walking to the ends of the earth and jumping off hand in hand, working out was not something I wished to do with Jake or…ever.
Therefore, I latched onto the excuse given to me quickly.
“No, Jake,” I replied. “I don’t have workout clothes.”
“Then how do you keep that body?”
“Well, I walk,” I informed him and usually I did. Quite often. Most specifically after an evening meal. I hadn’t been doing that lately because I was out of my normal schedule but I did it because I enjoyed it but also because it helped me to stay active and increased my daily energy levels.
“Today, you’re gonna do more than walk,” he returned.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the attire to do this, Jake.”
He grinned, bent to the floor at the side of the bed and I heard rustling. The rustling continued as he straightened and dumped a plastic grocery bag filled with clothes on my lap.
“Amber got a wild hair last summer that she wanted to get fit. Mostly, she wanted another reason to buy clothes. So she did. Figure what’s in that bag’ll fit you and doubt any a’ that has even been worn.”
I stared down at the offending bag in my lap and this was a mistake.
It was a mistake because my hand was seized as was the bag and, not paying attention, this came as a surprise. The bag was dumped by Jake on the bed beside me and my hand was tugged by Jake, so I had no choice but to come to my feet at the side of the bed.
When I was standing, I looked up at him to see he was looking down at me and that would be down…to my nightie.
I looked down too, taking in the midnight blue silk with its simple bodice and deep hem of delicate smoke-gray lace.
“Fuckin’ hell, Slick,” Jake muttered, his voice holding a nuance of how it sounded earlier and I looked up at him to see an unusual look on his face that could be displeasure or possibly, and strangely, acute pain.
“You don’t like it?” I asked stupidly because it didn’t matter if Jake liked my nighties or not. I’d never have the opportunity to wear one for him in one of the particular ways nighties were designed.
At my words, his eyes sliced to mine and he replied, “Babe, a man tells you he doesn’t like that nightie, he’s either gay or lying.”
I had no earthly idea what to do with that other than to feel relief (and other things) that he liked my nightie.
He let my hand go and ordered, “Suit up,” as he began to walk to the door.
I searched for any excuse not to go work out with him and if not that, at least delay so I could find an excuse not to go work out with him. This was difficult seeing as I was enthralled with watching his shoulders move in that tight white shirt as he sauntered away.
I finally found an excuse and called, “I need coffee before I do anything in the morning, Jake.”
“Then it’s good there’s a cup of it on your nightstand,” he returned as he disappeared out the door.
I looked down to my nightstand and saw a cup of coffee, its color black, like I took it at The Shack.
I would need milk and sweetener.
I moved my eyes to the plastic grocery bag, finding myself oddly intrigued with the idea of discovering what kind of athletic apparel Amber had chosen.
Therefore, I decided to peruse what was in the bag before I went to prepare my coffee.
Ten minutes later, I found myself in said apparel (skintight black capri leggings with a thin piping of lavender down the side, a skintight tank top in lavender that had a built in bra and a racerback, a rather attractive zip up jacket with gathers at the bottom side seams and at the bottoms of the long sleeves as well as Vs made of netting along the shoulders and coming up from the back hem, and I’d added my walking shoes).
I also found myself carrying my coffee downstairs to prepare it.
But when I did, I did this in a travel mug.
* * * * *
“What d’you want, Slick?”