Undone

by Kelly Rimmer

  Jess gnaws her lip. I tilt my head at her, surveying the concern in her expression. Concern for me. She might not even realize it herself, but she still cares deeply for me. That realization encourages me to open up a little more.

  “I almost called you that day,” I admit. She raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Why? That’s a shit thing to have to deal with and I’m notoriously insensitive.”

  I laugh weakly.

  “That’s why, Jess. Because everyone else would have given me platitudes, told me it was natural to be upset . . . But they wouldn’t have understood or really cared. You and I had broken up, I was pissed at you and we weren’t even speaking. But despite all of that, I knew you’d give a shit. And I also knew you’d give me the perfect blend of a reality check and sympathy.”

  “I would have answered if you called,” she says, after a pause.

  I glance at her.

  “I know you would have.”

  “I really didn’t realize you were so angry after we broke up. I felt like we were both sad about it, but I honestly thought we both understood it was for the best.”

  “I wasn’t angry at first. We wanted different things, it almost made sense that we’d part. But you know I was never thrilled about the secrecy, and after we went our separate ways and I started to think about that some more, that’s when I started to get angry.”

  “On Friday you accused me of hiding what was going on between us because I had secret plans the whole time to treat you like shit. That wasn’t the case at all. I really did just get caught up because of how intense things were between us.”

  The thing is, I actually believe that now. Maybe I’m even counting on it, given I’m hoping she gets caught up all over again in the next few weeks. Without the heartbreak part, this time around, of course.

  “I feel like sometimes I build walls in my life,” she says softly. “I wall off Mitch from my other friends. I walled off my relationship with you from everyone. I wall off work from Mitch. I even wall off my thoughts about Tristan from my day-to-day life sometimes. It’s probably an old coping mechanism, but it’s not always a healthy one.”

  “You realized all of that this weekend?”

  “It’s not easy to talk about Tristan. But I do kind of wish Abby and Isabel knew, and especially now that Abby is a mom, I don’t know how to talk about him.”

  “If and when you’re ready, Jess, you just tell them. And if I can help you in any way when that time comes, you know where I am.”

  Jess is comfortable with me. She might not know how to share her burdens, but she trusts me not to add to them. She’s spoken so freely about Tristan tonight that I could almost forget we’re talking about a secret she’s buried for half of her lifetime.

  The connection we share is deep and enduring—despite the way we bicker sometimes, despite the breakup and the years of silence between us. It’s still real, it’s still here, and I’m suddenly very glad that I didn’t get on that plane last night.

  “Thanks, Jake,” Jess says softly.

  “Anytime,” I murmur, and I mean it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jess

  I ALMOST FALL asleep on the sofa after Jake and I eat his ridiculously delicious chicken, and he kisses me gently on the forehead, then begs off to go home and catch up on sleep too. I’m surprised he didn’t stay over—but I am exhausted, so I don’t complain too much. I figure he’ll stay over tomorrow night instead. We still have eleven days together. We’ll make up for lost time soon enough.

  When I step out of my building at 7:45 a.m. Tuesday morning, I half expect Jake to be waiting there with coffee, and I’m pained to realize I’m actually a little disappointed when he isn’t. But then at 9:00 a.m., Gina lets herself into my office and sets a take-out coffee and a doughnut on my desk.

  “Thanks?” I say blankly. I look at the doughnut. “But . . . You know I don’t do carbs.”

  Let me be very clear about this: I definitely do carbs. I just avoid them in food, because I save all of my daily sugar allowance for alcohol, like a sensible person.

  “Special delivery from Paul’s brother,” Gina says, giving me a bewildered look. “Apparently it’s a keto doughnut. Almond flour and stevia, I think he said.”

  She leaves my office and I scoop my phone up off the desk.

  Jess: You didn’t have to do that.

  Jake: I didn’t? I’ll come back and pick the coffee and fake doughnut up, then.

  Jess: Ha, ha. Why didn’t you stop and say hi?

  Jake: I didn’t want to interrupt your workday. Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you.

  Oh, I am going to give that man the blowjob of his life tonight.

  Jess: Do you want to catch up tonight? I was thinking I’d take off early. Say nine?

  Jake: Sure. Let’s go out for dinner this time.

  Jess: It’s a date. See you at my place at nine.

  And I figure it’s going to be a date that ends in sexy times back at my place, so I leave the office at 8:00 p.m. and race home to shower and change. I do some lady-scaping, redo my makeup and hair, and slip into a barely there black dress with sky-high nude heels. By the time Jake arrives at my door, I’m feeling like a sex goddess, and when I throw it open to greet him, I know I’ve nailed the look.

  “Oh,” he says. He swallows hard. “Jess. My God. You look stunning.”

  “Guilty as charged,” I say cheerfully. I scoop my bag up from the hall table and join him in the hall, then skim my eye over his jeans and white button-down. The way that shirt pulls across his shoulders is a thing of beauty, but even so, I cannot wait to peel it off him later. I’ll undo the buttons slowly while I stare right into his eyes, and then I’ll push the shirt off his shoulders, and then maybe drop to my knees and go for his jeans. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Are you sure you want to go out?”

  “We have reservations,” he tells me lightly, then he glances down at his watch. “Actually, we better get going if we’re going to make them.”

  JAKE HAS MADE us a reservation at a restaurant near his hotel, and I figure that’s code for stay with me tonight, so I mentally update my expected itinerary for the evening.

  Dinner.

  Back to Jake’s hotel.

  Time for dessert, because it’s on.

  I have to admit, I’m a little surprised by his restaurant choice. It’s noisy and brightly lit, with redand-white-checkered tablecloths and silk flowers as centerpieces. There’s a somewhat limited wine list and the menu isn’t great, but the atmosphere is what really gets to me. It’s just . . . lacking. I don’t really need candlelight to get in the mood when it comes to Jake, but it’s just not what I expected. When we were together, he was forever taking me to places with extensive wine lists and real flowers on the table between us. Romantic places, I suppose.

  This place hardly screams romance. Actually, it screams this is not the place you take a woman if you’re trying to woo her, but then again, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe this is just a sign that Jake really is thinking about these weeks with me as a temporary thing. I suppose I should be reassured by that . . . But even if I am reassured, I’m definitely also confused.

  “What did you do with this beautiful vacation day in this super relaxing city?” I ask Jake as I sip my wine. I had so many choices: I could have had sweet or dry, and red or white.

  “I had lunch with Dad and Elspeth,” Jake tells me.

  “I met her briefly at the reception on the weekend,” I tell him. “She seems nice.”

  “She’s great for Dad. They’re really working on staying active together, and she’s so accepting of his . . .”

  “Quirks?”

  Jake smiles at me.

  “Exactly. She’s just a good woman, I think. The only thing is, I discovered yesterday that she has this crazy cat named Meowbert. It’s got serious issues—I mean, it’s torn Dad’s drapes to shreds. But Elspeth seems to worship that thing.” Jake looks bewildered. I burst out laughing.<
br />
  “So, let me get this straight. The man who adores his crazy-ugly dog is confused by the woman who adores her crazy cat, is that what you’re saying?”

  “It’s hardly the same, Jess.” Jake frowns at me. I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Clara is a dog. Dogs are loyal. Man’s best friend, you know? Meowbert is basically a destructive shelf ornament.”

  “If I was going to get a pet, I’d get a cat,” I tell him. He gasps.

  “I thought you were the perfect woman!”

  “I am the perfect woman. As is evidenced by my correct thoughts on the matter of dogs versus cats, and by that I mean, I know that cats are the far superior animal.”

  Jake clutches playfully at his chest.

  “You’re breaking my heart right now.”

  “I’d give my cat a novelty name like Meowbert too. Or maybe I’d get two cats with matching names—like Kitty and . . .” I pause, searching for the right word, then shrug and go with, “Smitty. I don’t know. Something like that, but better.”

  “So why don’t you have a cat, then, if you’re such a fan of all things feline?”

  “Are you kidding me? That white sofa in my apartment cost me thousands of dollars. I’m not risking its health and safety by letting a cat in the apartment.”

  Jake pulls a face.

  “Yeah, we need to talk about that sofa.”

  “We do, do we?”

  “Did you order it from eBay?”

  “I most definitely did not,” I say, horrified. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I thought it might be one of those situations where someone orders what they think is furniture online, but when it arrives, they realize it’s actually built to go in a kid’s dollhouse.”

  “It’s not that small,” I protest, laughing. He gives me a pained look. “Well, when I bought it, I wasn’t expecting any giants to visit with me. Next time you come over, you can have the wing chair.”

  “Your throne, you mean?”

  “It’s my throne now, is it?”

  “Well, when I came by after the rehearsal dinner, I did think you looked almost regal sitting on it,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking upward.

  “Did you imagine me sitting there stroking a cat on my lap? Plotting world domination or something?”

  “Did you think Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movies was ‘regal’? Because that’s literally the scene you just described.” We both burst out laughing, and then he sobers and his gaze is steady on my face as he clarifies, “I just meant that you looked so perfect sitting there. So elegant and poised, like a queen on her throne—completely in command, totally in her element.”

  “That’s so sweet,” I say, my voice a little husky.

  “I mean every word,” Jake murmurs. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  Our gazes are locked, and heat radiates between us. The noisy, too-bright restaurant fades away, and it’s just he and I because there is no one else in the whole world right now—

  “Are you ready to order?” a waitress asks us abruptly, and Jake and I both startle.

  I recover quickly and smile to myself as I glance up at her to order, but I notice that when I glance back to Jake, he’s wearing a look that’s pure guilt, as if he’s been caught doing something he’s just not supposed to be doing.

  JAKE WAS QUIET after we ordered, and it only got worse once the food came. We’ve finished eating now and I’m bewildered as I try to read his mood. I’d assumed we’d be going back to his hotel, but the longer we sit here sharing this muted conversation, the less likely that seems. I’m disappointed. Actually, that’s an understatement.

  I’m gutted, and completely confused.

  “Should we get out of here?” I ask him cautiously.

  “Actually,” Jake says apologetically, “I’ve um . . .” He waves toward his head. “I have a bit of a headache.”

  I look at him blankly. I guess that makes sense, given how quiet he’s been, but it’s just . . . I mean, it’s just such a cliché, isn’t it? Isn’t “I have a headache” exactly what bored spouses say to one another to avoid advances?

  “A headache?” I repeat uncertainly.

  Jake winces.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He waves toward his wineglass. “Maybe some weird preservative reaction or something. Plus, it’s kind of echo-y in here. Noisy, you know?”

  “Yeah. I noticed,” I mutter, but then I tilt my head at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Just need another early night, probably. I’ll bring you a coffee tomorrow?”

  “You really don’t have to do that,” I say, which, of course, means please do. I let him pick up the check, promising I’ll get it next time, and then we walk out onto the street.

  “At least let me get you home,” he says, glancing up and down the traffic as if he’s looking for a cab.

  “Jake, I can catch a fucking car on my own,” I laugh softly, then I stretch to kiss his cheek. Holy shit, that scent is heaven to me. I want to stay here on my tippy-toes in my agonizingly uncomfortable heels just so I can breathe him in. I guess that would be a bit weird. I force myself back down onto my flat feet and give him a sad smile. “Sleep well.”

  He catches my hand, then stares at me. I’m so confused. I can see that he wants me, but his gaze is also strained. There’s reluctance in his eyes . . . reluctance to let me go, maybe, but a definite reluctance for me to stay. Maybe he’s just in pain. I feel a pang of concern for him, so I squeeze his hand.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly, then I quirk an eyebrow. “Rest up, Jake. You’re going to need it.”

  He opens his mouth, then closes it, but doesn’t say a word. I laugh softly and walk away, sashaying my hips as I go, knowing his eyes follow me until I disappear around the corner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jess

  IT’S 7:45 A.M. WEDNESDAY MORNING, and it’s pouring rain. I pause at the awning in front of my apartment and struggle with my umbrella.

  “Allow me,” Jake says, and I glance up at him in amusement as he swaps the two coffee cups for my umbrella. He pops it open easily, then takes his coffee back from me. “Good morning.”

  Jake doesn’t have an umbrella. He’s standing in the rain in a light jacket, the hoodie up over his hair. There are water droplets all over his shoulders and resting on his stubble. Apparently, he’s one of those “no shaving on vacations” guys now.

  I don’t mind at all. At this rate, he’s going to have a salt-and-pepper beard in a few days, and it turns out I wouldn’t mind seeing that.

  “Thanks for the coffee, and good morning.”

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “Do you want to try to squeeze under this umbrella?” I ask hesitantly. Jake laughs.

  “Thanks, but that’s not going to work. I’ll walk in the rain. It’s been dry back home. It’s a nice change to see water actually falling from the sky.”

  “What do you do if it rains when you’re hiking?”

  “Exactly what I’m doing right now,” he says, shrugging. “I put a jacket on and keep going.”

  We start to walk toward my office, and I sip the coffee, then ask, “How’s the headache?”

  “Much better, thanks. I’m really sorry about last night.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry,” I chastise him lightly. “I came home and finished myself off—I mean, I finished the night off alone.”

  Jake groans softly as he gives me a tortured look. I laugh.

  “You know what I was thinking we should do Saturday morning, if you’re free?” he says. “Remember that diner near my old apartment that makes the pancakes you like?”

  “The zero-carb cream cheese pancakes? God, I haven’t had them in years.”

  “We could have brunch there. I’ll pop in this afternoon and book our old table. For eleven?”

  “That sounds amazing.” For two reasons: One, zero-carb pancakes are the bomb. And two: 11:00 a.m. is definitely late enough for us to fuck
like rabbits on Friday night, get some sleep, go another round in the morning and then head out to eat them. “That’s all well and good, but it’s two days away. Do you have plans tonight? Mitch wanted to get a drink. I didn’t mention to him that you’re still in town, but I know he won’t mind you tagging along.”

  “Sure. Where are we going?”

  “Just this bar I like,” I say. He frowns at me suspiciously.

  “Not . . . that stupid place with the weird drinks.”

  “That’s the one.” I grin. “Meet me at my office at 8:00 p.m.?”

  Jake grimaces.

  “Do I have to?”

  “Of course not.” I shrug. We walk in silence for a few moments as the rain sprinkles down over him. When we reach the awning over the entrance to my building, he slides one hand into the pocket of his jeans and gives me a pained look.

  “Do they have beer? I can’t remember.”

  “They have plenty of beers. Glitter beer and coffee stout and milkshake IPAs and all kinds of other delicious oddities.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jake sighs. “You could talk me into anything.”

  I grin.

  “Now that sounds promising.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, then rise up to brush my lips against his as I whisper, “You have yourself a great day, Jake Winton. Make sure you’re thinking of me, okay?”

  “I doubt I’ll think of anything but you,” he whispers back. I grin and leave him to walk inside my office.

  Am I disappointed that we’ve been hanging out for two days and Jake and I haven’t managed any naked time as yet? Absolutely. But I’m also more than confident that tonight, we’ll finally break that streak.

  JAKE AND I are sitting side by side in a booth at Betsy Jane, which is a particularly fabulous bar a few blocks from my office. Mitchell sits opposite us, and since he came in and found us both here two minutes ago, he’s been staring at us in silent horror.

  “We’re just hanging out,” Jake says suddenly, apparently totally guilted by Mitchell’s theatrics.