by Katie McCoy
“You’re not lost,” I reached for her hand. “You’re here with me.”
She smiled at that. “There’s just something about the soup that I can’t really explain. I can’t be stressed if I smell it. If I could wear it as a perfume, I would, but that would probably be weird.”
“I don’t know about weird.” I winked at her. “But you’d probably have a lot of hungry strangers following you around. Me included.”
“You’re not a stranger,” she corrected. “Strange, but not a stranger.”
I placed a hand to my chest. “I’m touched.”
She placed one on my head. “Indeed you are.”
“Ouch.” I pretended to wince. “Are you this nice to all the guys you date?”
“No.” Her voice went quiet. “Just the ones I like.”
That would have been the perfect moment to kiss her. To pull her towards me and roll her underneath my naked, aching body, reaching my hand between her legs, touching her exactly where I knew she wanted to be touched and stroking her until she screamed before thrusting deep inside of her.
That would have been the moment, if I wasn’t halfway dead with the flu and if my cell phone hadn’t rang.
“I’ll get it.” Ella jolted up, clearly embarrassed by her admission, the same admission that had both thrilled and aroused such an intense fantasy in me. Even though my phone was just on the other bedside table, she still went around the bed to pick it up. Good thing, or she would have had to lean over me, and even being sick, that wouldn’t have stopped me from grabbing her and kissing her until we both lost our minds.
“Hello?” she answered the phone. “Oh, hi, Mr. Matson.”
Great. My dad.
“Jake is sick so I’m just here helping him out.” There was a pause and she cast a sideways glance at me. “I’m a . . . friend.”
My dad was always good at muddling situations, even when he wasn’t physically present. Tonight was clearly not the exception to that rule.
“Uh-huh. Of course. Yes, it was very nice to meet you as well.”
Ella lowered the phone.
“Your dad,” she told me and handed over the phone. I watched the sway of her perfect ass in her slinky skirt as she walked away from the bed and back into the kitchen, and I tried to banish all the fantasies that sprang up.
I lifted the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, trying to sound as sick as possible, even though I knew the record for the longest conversation between the two of us was around five minutes.
“You sound terrible,” he told me gruffly.
“Yep.” I coughed loudly, trying to ignore Ella’s unimpressed glance from the kitchen. “I have the flu.”
“Well, drink lots of liquids and get some rest.” That was about as fatherly as my dad got. I was sure things had been different when my mom was still around, but those memories seemed to get further and further away from me, replaced by the guy who really didn’t know how to connect with me. And vice versa, I supposed.
“Yeah, I’m on it,” I told him.
“That Ella sounded nice.”
Something we could both agree on.
“She is.” I gave her a smile and she smiled back.
“Things still good with the restaurant?” Dad asked.
“Yep.” Years of experience told me he didn’t really want to know the details. I was pretty sure he didn’t even know which restaurant I worked for, even though I had been there for four years. He hadn’t come to eat there once. I stopped asking a while ago.
“That’s good.”
“Yep.” There was a long pause and I heard him clear his throat.
“Well, I hope you feel better, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Talk to you later.”
“Okay.”
After he hung up, I leaned back on my pillow. Well, if I had been looking for a boner killer, I had gotten one. I suddenly was exhausted.
“Why don’t I let you rest?” Ella appeared at the foot of my bed, looking concerned but thankfully not prying. Tonight was not the night to talk about my folks. And even though I wanted her to stay, I knew that sleeping was probably the thing I needed right now.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here and watch me sleep?” I teased. “I’ve heard I’m quite the handsome sleeper.”
“While I’m sure you’re much more attractive when you’re sleeping—” Ella shot back.
“Ouch,” I said, but I was loving this no-holds-barred side of her.
“—I think it’s better that I sit this round out,” she finished.
“Alright.” I stretched my arms up, not missing how her eyes darted down to the sheets riding low on my hips. “But once I’m back in fighting form, there will be no excuses. Deal?”
Her gaze met mine and didn’t waver. It was all heat.
“Deal,” she said.
21
Ella
“Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty,” Jake told me when he called to set up our next date.
My mind flashed through a million different possibilities—most of them involving food, especially whipped cream that I would lick off his chest and arms and stomach and . . .
I heard a chuckle on the other line of the phone and I realized I had let out a soft moan.
“Clearly your mind is already dirty enough,” Jake murmured, his voice rumbling through me and giving me chills. “Careful, baby, or I might not be able to wait until tomorrow night.”
“Anticipation is a good thing,” I told him, not fully believing it myself.
“Yeah, but satisfaction is much, much better,” he growled, and I thought about throwing down the phone and rushing upstairs to where I imagined him sprawled out on his bed. But before I could act on that, Jake coughed. Clearly he was still a little sick.
“Sounds like you need some more rest before anyone can be satisfied,” I teased him.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he informed me. “I guarantee satisfaction. No matter what.”
I shivered again. Most men promised that—and thought they could deliver—but Jake was the first guy I actually believed would be able to fulfill that guarantee. And I couldn’t wait.
“Where are we going?” I asked Jake when he picked me up the next day. Just looking at him, you couldn’t tell that he had been bedridden for several days. Same devastatingly handsome guy, clean-shaven, but wearing another one of his seen-better-days shirts and a pair of jeans that molded to his thighs like a second skin. Although I had liked Jake in his slacks and button-up shirt, this was the one I preferred. I even missed the stubble a little.
“Have I ever seen you in jeans before?” Jake neatly sidestepped my question. When I had opened the door he had let out a whistle. It wasn’t a form of greeting I often got, but I loved it.
“I haven’t owned a pair in a while.” I smoothed my hand down them. I was so used to skirts that it felt a little strange wearing jeans, but I liked the way Jake looked at me in them.
“You should own a few,” he told me, taking my hand and spinning me around. “Mmmhmm.” He stopped me so I was facing away. “Yep. I think I’ll buy you a few more pairs.”
I looked over my shoulder to find that he was staring at my butt. I yanked my hand out of his and spun around, trying to be bothered, which was really hard because I was mostly flattered. And a whole lot turned on. Who knew that having a guy openly gawk at you was such a turn-on? I supposed it had a lot to do with who the guy was.
Jake’s hands found my hips and he pulled me close.
“So what are you wearing underneath?” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “More red lace?”
I had bought a new set of lingerie for tonight, but I wasn’t going to spoil that surprise.
“Where are we going tonight?” I countered.
“Surprise.” He gave me a grin, clearly seeing that if I wasn’t going to give up my secrets, he wasn’t going to give up his. “In fact, we should probably go.”
But he didn’t move, his fingers now linked at the small of my back, keeping my hips against his. I loved the feel of him, hard against my stomach. My nipples tightened and heat pooled between my legs. What if we just skipped the date, I thought, and catching his intense gaze, I could tell he was considering the same.
Then his phone buzzed, and we were so close it was as if I was feeling it in my own pocket.
“You should get that,” I told him, but I didn’t pull away.
“I could.” He gave me a wolfish grin. “Or I could let it ring and hope that they call again and again and again.”
I laughed and extracted myself from his grasp. He let me go reluctantly and dug his cell out of his pocket.
“Jake here,” he said as a greeting. “That’s right, the ravioli will be stuffed with crab this week. Thanks.”
He hung up. “Sorry,” he apologized again. “When the head chef is out sick, even with a great sous chef, things tend to fall apart and it takes a while to get it in order again.” He looped his arm around my shoulders. “Ready for our date?”
I nodded and my skin tingled as if the phone was still vibrating against my leg. Tonight was going to be a long night.
“A garden?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. A lush, bursting-with-color garden in the middle of San Francisco. I looked over at Jake. The expression on his face was pure pride.
“That plot is mine.” He pointed out a particularly wild section and took my hand.
I loved the roughness of his fingers against mine.
Jake led me to his garden, and I could see that although it first appeared overgrown, it seemed extremely well organized and, on closer inspection, well thought out.
My family had the opposite of a green thumb. My parents had attempted to grow pot a few years back, but that hadn’t gone very well. I could barely keep a cactus alive, let alone tend to an entire garden. But Jake’s garden was gorgeous. There were rows of lettuce, tons of tomato plants, a small lemon tree, and plenty of herbs in neatly labeled pots.
“It’s beautiful,” I told Jake, who was checking on what looked to be several tires piled up on top of each other with big leafy greens overflowing the top. “What’s that?”
“Potatoes.” He gestured me over and dug his hand through the rich soil, coming up with a red potato, roots still covered in dirt.
“I didn’t know this is how potatoes grew.” I was amazed. “And what’s this?” I pointed to a wooden shaped pyramid thing with different levels of dirt and green leaves.
“Look closer.” Jake brushed off his hands.
I leaned in and saw shiny red fruit. “Strawberries!”
“Yep.” He reached past me and plucked a large one. “Open up,” he ordered.
I did so without hesitation. The strawberry was sweet and amazing. A little juice escaped my lips and made its way down my chin. But before I could reach up to wipe it away, Jake’s mouth was there, his tongue lapping up the remaining juice.
“Mmm,” he murmured against my chin, and with a slight tilt of his jaw, settled his lips against mine.
I was never going to get tired of kissing him. I leaned into him, into the kiss, my tongue welcoming his. His hand tangled in my hair and he smelled of earth and fresh fruit and summertime. My fingers slid up his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat beneath my palm. I thought once again of how easy it would be to just give that worn shirt of his one good tug.
But then I heard someone clear their throat.
“Ahem.”
“Dammit,” Jake muttered against my mouth before stepping away.
I turned and found Dakota standing there, looking completely amused. She had a basketful of vegetables in her arms.
“What are you doing here?” Jake demanded.
“Good to see you, too,” she told Jake before turning to me. “Hi, Ella. Good to see you again.”
“Hi Dakota,” I murmured, my face hot. Had I just been thinking about ripping off Jake’s shirt in public? Yep. And I was still thinking about it, I realized as I watched the way his shoulder muscles flexed as he walked towards Dakota and took the basket from her.
“I thought you were going to be here tomorrow,” he said.
“Guess we got our wires crossed.” She gave him an apologetic shrug. “Unfortunately, I already rented the truck.”
Jake sighed. “Remind me to fire you,” he told her.
“Puh-lease.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Like I wanted to crash your date.” She looked past him toward me. “Sorry, Ella.”
I didn’t really understand what was going on, but I gave her a smile anyways. “It’s okay.”
Jake came back over to me, the basket resting against his hip. It looked heavy, but he carried it with ease, his biceps filling out his shirt fantastically. When had I become so interested in tattoos, I wondered, staring down at the geometric design that peered out at me from under the sleeve. Or maybe it was just Jake’s that I was interested in. That was it. If it had something to do with Jake, I was interested.
“So.” He looked a little sheepish. “This didn’t work out exactly as I planned it.” He shifted the basket. “Dakota’s plot is over there.” He pointed to the other side of the community garden. “We help each other with our crops when it’s time to harvest them. We use them in the restaurant if we have a good yield. And this year we both had a great one—one we were going to take to the restaurant”—he called over his shoulder towards Dakota—“tomorrow.”
She shook her head and headed towards the other end of the garden.
Jake turned back to me. “But I guess there’s a reason I’m a chef and not a professional planner,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
Well, it wasn’t a conventional date by any means, but I realized I didn’t care. I got to spend time with Jake. That’s what mattered most.
“Don’t worry about it.” I rolled up my sleeves. “How can I help?”
He put me to work pulling up carrots while he worked alongside me, harvesting the potatoes. Their container wasn’t big—only three tires high—but it seemed to contain an endless amount of spuds. Dakota had brought us baskets to put the vegetables in, but we seemed to keep filling them. Once we had filled them all up, there was a truck that she had brought to put them all in. After only a few hours the truck was almost full as well.
My hands were dirty, my jeans were dirty, my face was probably dirty too, but I couldn’t remember the last time I had had so much fun. It didn’t hurt that Jake was a fun person to do it with.
“I was the only person in culinary school to have my own garden,” he told me. “Dakota started hers later. And my garden was one of the reasons Patricia chose me to be her apprentice. She wanted to have someone who understood where food came from and how much work it takes to grow something. It makes you appreciate it more.”
“So all this food is going to be used in the restaurant?” I asked.
He nodded. “Right now, I pretty much only grow what I can use there—what Patricia’s recipes call for.”
“What about your own stuff?”
“Like my soup?” Jake teased, but I still blushed. “I’ve been begging the owner to give me a shot, and I think she might cave. If so, I’ve got some big plans for the garden next year.” He suddenly began looking around his work area. “Hey, have you seen my shovel?”
I glanced over. “No, I don’t think so.”
“That’s okay.” He let out a heavy sigh and then gave me a sidelong look. “I’m sure it will turnip.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his stupid pun.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “sometimes I can’t help myself, even when it’s fruitless.”
“You’re terrible.” I threw one of my carrots at him.
“You must find me somewhat a-peeling,” he wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Because you make my heart skip a beet.”
I groaned, trying to hide my smile.
“And I’ve become rather fond of your melons.”
Just then, Dakota poke
d her head around the corner.
“Is he doing his vegetable puns?” she asked. I nodded, biting my lip to keep from laughing. They were so stupid, but pretty adorable nonetheless.
“Hey, they are berry, berry popular among my students,” Jake argued.
“No they’re not,” Dakota retorted. “They are super lame and cheesy.”
Jake held up his hand. “Lettuce not jump to conclusions.”
Dakota rolled her eyes. “Truck’s mostly full,” she told us. “These will have to be the last baskets.”
“Great.” Jake got up. Dakota and I seemed to hold our breath, waiting for another bad vegetable pun, but he just brushed off his hands before helping me off the ground. “I’ll take these to the truck. If you ladies want to wash up, I’ll make us something for dinner.” His eyes, though, seemed to extend the invitation only to me. Thankfully Dakota took the hint.
“No thanks.” She grinned. “I’ve third-wheeled for long enough. Besides, I’ve got to take this stuff back to the restaurant. One of the busboys said he’d come in to help me unload it.”
“Alright,” Jake said. “But watch out for him. I don’t think he carrots you at all.”
Dakota threw her gloves at him.
Jake chuckled and headed towards the truck, carefully balancing the produce. I tried not to stare at how great those jeans fit him.
“Thanks again for watching out for him while he was sick,” Dakota told me, adjusting her braid.
“It wasn’t a problem,” I assured her.
“Well, then thanks for letting me come into your apartment and cry all over your new shirt,” she said wryly. “Again, that’s not something I do often. Or ever, really.”
“I didn’t mind,” I told her. “How are you doing?”
“Other than the completely shattered heart, I’m great!” She plastered a big fake smile on her face and then grimaced. “I’ll be fine.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get hit by a bus.”
“You don’t need to get hit by a bus, Dakota. That guy was a jerk.” Jake had returned. “You deserve better.”