“Very good.” Babushka clapped her hands.
Harry entered the rec room in a tuxedo, a bouquet of roses in his hands. “Nadzieja, my dear.”
Alarm bells started dinging in Heather’s head over “Mack the Knife” playing through the speakers.
“You are early,” Babushka admonished Harry. “Ve agreed you get the second half of the evening.” She reached for the bouquet.
He held it back. “These are for Carol, my first date.”
Oh geez. Heather held on to Jase’s arm, in case he decided to go rogue on one of Babushka’s dates.
“You both have two dates tonight?” Jase held up two fingers in illustration.
“Morty first. Then Harry after eight,” Babushka said as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
“Nadzieja had plans until eight, and I didn’t want to miss out on the fun.” Harry bounced on the balls of his feet. “But tomorrow she’s all mine.”
Babushka blushed.
Heather had spent a lot of time with Babushka—in the shop, up at the casino, taking her to appointments. But she’d never, not once, seen the woman blush.
And there had been plenty of opportunity for blushing.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Harry rubbed his hands together, smoothed his comb-over, and hurried to the woman Heather could only assume was Carol.
“Tomorrow vill be vonderful. Jason, you and Heather will be there, yes?” Babushka asked.
What was tomorrow? All Heather had on her schedule was work, laundry, and starting the search for Candy’s replacement. She couldn’t fault her sister for wanting to follow her dreams. Hell, that’s what Heather had done herself. She just wished the timing was a bit better. That things were more established at the shop.
“Nadzieja, come have punch.” Morty held up a cup of the punch. Babushka bustled to him before Jase could answer about tomorrow.
“What’s tomorrow?” Heather asked him.
“Family shit. Trust me, you don’t want to be there.” He adjusted his hand at her waist. He also didn’t meet her eyes.
The little hairs on her arms stood on end. “What kind of family shit?” And why was Babushka inviting her when Jase clearly didn’t want her there?
“The kind you don’t want to get in the middle of.” He kissed her forehead. “Promise.”
Her stomach felt uneasy, and not from the spiked punch in the limo. Like she’d pulled the big wheel on The Price is Right and she was shouting, Big money! Big money! But she knew, deep down, she was only going to win a quarter and there was no hope of a showcase showdown.
“Is this because your mother hates me?” she asked, cautious.
“My mother doesn’t hate you.” He said it, but he didn’t sound convincing. “C’mon, let’s go dance.” He did his chin-jerk thing toward the dance floor. “Eli and Doris look all alone out there.”
“Jase.” Heather released his arm.
He stopped.
“I want to make things right with your mom and dad,” she continued.
It meant a lot to her that his family was on board with them as a couple. Given her past track record, she wanted a guy who was all in with her. He knew this.
He sighed. “My parents will come around. But for now, I think it’s best if we avoid family gatherings. Until things blow over.”
She let out a breath. They were seeing each other. They were seeing each other exclusively. They were seeing each other with the hope of more…weren’t they? Or was she making what they were doing into more? Like she had always done before?
He wanted to keep her separate from his family, keep that part of him away from her.
Her history had proven she wasn’t exactly the best at getting a read on men. But she was certain she and Jase were more than just a passing fling.
“Dance with me?” Jase asked, holding his hand out to her. She nodded. She took his hand, and they’d made it to the edge of the dance floor when the music changed from big band to the golden oldies. “Great Balls of Fire” filled the air. Jase spun her in a circle, catching her against his chest and tracing his hand over her waist just a tad too low for public consumption.
A buzz of awareness sizzled through her. Jase did a spin/turn combo move, pulling Heather along with him, ending with her back against his chest and giving her a view of Harry and Carol getting their groove on.
Harry was really into his moves. Heather’s stomach dropped. Holy shit, if he kept that up, he’d break his hip.
They didn’t need an ambulance extraction that night.
Apparently, Morty wasn’t one to be upstaged, and given that he owned a gentlemen’s club, he also had some moves. Moves that involved an abundance of pelvis action.
Heather looked to Jase. “Are they—?”
“You know, just when I think my life can’t get any weirder, Babushka’s two boyfriends have a dance off.” He shook his head.
Morty did a slow air hump.
“That’s my cue to leave.” Jase evacuated to the cookie table where Brek and Dean had already taken up residence.
Heather should’ve followed, but her eyes were glued to Morty’s attempts at sultry. She was worried Harry might bust a hip, but really, it was Morty who was using every bit of his body. All he needed was a pole to grind on.
Velma and Claire hurried toward Heather.
“You got a limo.” Velma grasped Heather’s arm.
Claire took the other arm. “And things look to be going really well with Jase.”
Really well, unless his family got involved. And his family always seemed to get involved. Heather swallowed the lump in her throat. “Things are okay.”
“Uh-oh.” Velma pulled her away from the Harry and Morty dance contest. Claire followed.
“What happened?” Claire pulled out a chair at a nearby table for Heather.
Heather sat. “Honestly? Nothing. But Babushka mentioned a family thing tomorrow that I was supposed to know about, but Jase said it’d be better if I didn’t go.”
“Is this because his mother knows you make penis cookies?” Claire leaned her elbows on the table.
“I don’t really know.” Heather slumped in her chair. “I feel like he’s blocking me out of part of his life. And that’s fine. I mean, it’s fine, right?”
She’d ruined many relationships by pushing too hard, too fast, but Velma and Claire did not look like it was fine.
“It’s just that I really like him. And I think…” He’s the one.
“Think what?” Velma asked.
She couldn’t say it out loud. Not when he was in the midst of building walls around certain parts of his life. And, yes, she knew his family drove him nuts. She also wasn’t so dense as to think that they weren’t the most important thing to him. When they called, he came. When Babushka needed anything, he was there. They were everything to him. But he’d also made this prom night special for her. He’d put a load of effort into it. And she was overthinking things. Per the usual.
“Think what?” Velma asked again.
“You know how I meet a guy, and then I start thinking that things are getting serious. I start to fall for him.” She waved her hand like they should know exactly where she was going with this.
“And?” Claire asked.
“And then I find out that it’s one-sided and it’s really only me who’s taking things seriously, and they’re really only into fun Heather, not forever Heather?”
“She’s scared.” Claire gripped Heather’s hands. “Don’t be scared of it.”
“I’m at the starting-to-fall-for-him stage,” Heather said. There it was, all out in the open.
“Have you seen how he looks at you?” Velma asked.
“What do you mean?”
Claire scooted closer. “That boy looks at you like you’re everything. Dean said that he didn’t even have that look around his ex.”
“Brek said he thinks you’re good for Jase.” Velma tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And Brek doesn’t say much abou
t anything when it comes to his buddies, but he likes that you two are together.”
“Since Jase’s been back, he’s been in a weird bubble. He’s fun, but he doesn’t let anyone get too close,” Claire continued. “That’s what Dean says.”
“He’s letting you get close.” Velma looked over to the refreshments table where the boys huddled.
He was letting her get close. Heather had to let go of the past and all the things that had happened with her other relationships. Jase wasn’t pulling away, they were just forging ahead in a new way. If he needed to go slower, she could do that.
“So I’ll let whatever this is pass.” Heather reaffirmed it to herself with a glance to where Jase was still hanging out by the cookie table. He caught her stare and winked.
Her insides warmed.
“It’ll pass. His family will come around.” Velma stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress.
“’Cause you’re you. They’ll see how good you are for each other.” Claire stood, too. “C’mon, I think Harry and Morty are through. Let’s get back out there.”
Claire grabbed Heather’s hand, tugging her along to the dance floor and the elderly mosh pit to jam to some Don McLean. Heather raised her arms, shaking her booty along with Velma and Claire. Like they were teenagers again.
A sizzle went through the air behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know Jase was there. Her stomach dipped, like it did whenever he was there. She spun to him. He’d ditched the tuxedo jacket and had rolled up his sleeves. The thing about Jase was that, when he committed to dancing, he was all in. The moves that would make most people cringe and worry they’d screw up, he pulled off without hesitation. She’d give it to him, his dancing rivaled Harry’s and Morty’s. He didn’t even need to air hump to make it happen.
Yeah, the Dvornakov prom package was pretty awesome.
26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Heather was still riding high on the fumes from her prom night with Jase—even though they’d had three other nights since. Three nights wrapped up in each other. He’d done his family thing, said it was fine, dodged any questions. So she didn’t ask. Didn’t push.
Now it was a new work week. A week where she had to start her search for Candy’s replacement. She pushed another tray of cockies into the oven.
“Heather?” Jase asked from the door to her kitchen.
“Hey, what’re you doing here?” she asked.
“I have something for you.” He strode toward her, brushed his hand to her jaw, lifting her lips to his. The sensitive skin of her lips met his. The kiss deepened. Well, that was a nice way to say good morning. Not that they hadn’t already said good morning once that day. The world around them bopped along, but they were holding on to each other. Mouth, tongue, and everything all wrapped up together.
His hand found hers, and he slid something into it. Cool metal. She broke the kiss, looking at the key fob he’d placed in her hand.
“Your van’s done.” He traced circles on her neck. “It’s parked out front.”
“Serious?” Heather asked. She hugged him.
“Serious.” He kissed her forehead.
“Candy, I’m checking out the new van,” she hollered on her way out the front door.
She skidded to a halt. Her breath caught.
It was perfect. Brand new, bright pink, with the cookie perched on top. “I love it.”
Jase pulled her to his side. “Thanks for not sending my grandmother to the pokey.”
Speaking of his grandmother, Babushka shuffled up the sidewalk toward them. “I am not speaking to you.” She glared at Heather. Glared at the van. Nodded at Jase.
“Sorry?” Heather asked.
Jase tensed. Dropped his arm.
“I am not speaking to you,” Babushka said in a louder voice.
Heather stepped toward Babushka. “What did I do this time?” she asked carefully.
Babushka planted her hands on her hips. “You can’t even make time for an old woman’s birthday party.”
“Shit,” Jase said.
What on earth was Babushka talking about? “Okay, I’m missing something.”
Heather glanced to Jase. He’d gone pale.
“My birthday party. You vere not there,” Babushka huffed. “Jason said you vere too busy to come.”
He said what?
“I missed your birthday party?” Heather asked. She looked to Jase. “You told her what?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. The family shit Jase was talking about was Babushka’s birthday party?
Heather’s heart did a dive to her stomach. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
Jase still didn’t meet her gaze.
“You said you invited her,” Babushka huffed.
“No, what I said was she had other plans. I also encouraged you not to make her feel bad about it.”
Heather ground her back teeth together. “I didn’t have other plans, Jase.”
“Everyone else was there.” Babushka waved her hand. “All my friends.” She paused. “Except the girl who is like my own daughter.”
“Laying it on a little thick there.” Jase ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “Heather, I was protecting you from all the family drama.”
The numb realization that he’d lied to keep her away from his family settled over her. He’d given her a fantastic prom. An amazing weekend. And he’d still tucked part of himself aside.
She couldn’t do this. Not again. Not jump into the deep end and discover she was the only one actually in the water.
Her lips parted. Her fingers went cold.
The anger didn’t come. The fast breaths. The threat of tears. She was just numb. No feeling. Because she was certain that once she started to feel it was going to hurt.
A lot.
“I think I need a walk.” She pushed past him.
“Heather,” he called.
She just shook her head and kept walking. He didn’t follow. She hit the corner of the block. Her breaths came in sharp exhales.
She was Heather Reese. A sexy florist couldn’t ruin her morning. A hunky guy couldn’t ruin her day. And another bad decision couldn’t ruin her life.
Was that what this was with him? A bad decision?
She lapped the city block once, twice, three times.
Her focus had slipped. That’s all. Steely resolve held her up as she came around the corner to her street. She paused at the window to the jewelry store. She’d lost her focus. She’d spent how many months looking for that talisman of a promise ring to herself? Since she’d been with Jase, she’d slipped.
She pushed open the door to the jewelry shop.
“Heather, how is the cookie business?” Chandra asked, her tone off.
Of course it was, she was friends with Jase’s mother. Jase’s mother, who hated her.
That didn’t matter now. “I came back for that ring.” She paused. Fingertips to forehead, she pulled herself together. “Except I left my purse at the shop. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t wait for Chandra’s response. She just hurried back to the sidewalk, heading toward her storefront. The bleat of a smoke alarm echoed down the street. Candy stood near the open door of her shop, ushering customers outside.
Heather’s feet wouldn’t move.
No. Shit. She’d forgotten the cookies.
She sprinted to the building. The soles of her shoes slapped the sidewalk like punctuation to a poorly written business plan. Nothing was on fire, she was just burning the shit out of some cockies. She passed Babushka by her van and skidded through the door, the scent of burnt sugar scorching her nostrils. A thick arm wrapped around her belly, pulling her back outside. She’d know that scent anywhere—cinnamon, cloves, and freshly cut flowers.
“The cookies.” Her breasts heaved against the muscled forearm acting as a vise. “The cookies, Jase.”
“Fire department is on their way.” His tone was off. Clipped. Like he was giving orders.
Gah, no.<
br />
“That’s what’s burning.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “There’s not a fire. It’s the cookies.”
He held tighter. Something was wrong with him, something had changed.
She pushed harder against his arm, but he clearly wasn’t going anywhere. He shifted her, lifting her just an inch off the ground as he backed away from everything that mattered to her.
“Let go, Jase,” she said over the rushing in her ears. “I have to get in there.”
The fire alarm taunted her. Your cookies are burning. Your cookies are burning.
He held her tighter. “You’re not going in.”
“It’s just the cookies.” She fought against his grip.
He stepped backward, farther from the shop.
“Negative.” His tone was all military. She’d never heard him like this, never experienced who he’d once been.
She forced her body to go from limp to dead weight.
“Nice try,” he mumbled close to her ear.
The place wasn’t on fire. The stupid, stupid, stupid cockies were burning. Though if she didn’t get inside soon there would be a fire.
“Where’s your grandmother?” Heather asked. She knew Babushka was behind her, but maybe the distraction would make him release his grip.
“Son of a bitch,” he clipped.
It worked. He let her go, setting her to the concrete.
Her feet hit the ground and she did a Risky Business slide through the door, bolting to the kitchen. Smoke flowed from the seam of the oven door. She hit the switch to turn on the stove hood, the vacuum instantly sucking the thin gray air up through the vent and outside.
Her lungs itched with a compressed cough she refused to let out. Shoving her hands in industrial oven mitts, she squinted against her watering tear ducts to pull open the oven. Head turned to the side, she snatched a pan of black cookie bricks and tossed the whole thing in the sink.
She reached for the faucet, but a very male hand covered her oven mitt and turned the knob. Jase.
Not just Jase. Ticked-off Jase, with a murderous expression traced on his face and stone eyes holding no emotion.
She went back for the second tray of scorched cookies and tossed them into the sink, too, the cold water turning the black chunks to burnt mush.
Blow Me Away: A Mile High Matched Novel, Book 2 Page 20