Digging through my boxes, I searched for the rest of my running gear. Jake would be back from the truck return soon, and I needed to get rid of some of this tension coursing through my veins. I threw my still-damp hair in a ponytail, dressed in my shorts and tank top, and slipped on my running shoes before heading out the door.
When my feet hit the pavement, I felt the familiar burn of my thighs and knew it would only be a few minutes before my mind went blank and peace washed over me. I’d started running in San Diego, when I hadn’t known a single person and needed a way to escape from the grief of losing Dave. But if I was being completely honest, it was the loss of Jake, too. Yes, moving had been my choice, leaving my doing, but it still felt like abandoning another piece of my already shattered heart.
As I settled into my familiar stride, the sound of rustling leaves filled my ears. The streets were lined with enormous mulberry trees that must have been forty years old, and American flags flew in just about every yard. It reminded me of the neighborhood we grew up in, and I wondered if Jake made that same connection.
The sweet scent of star jasmine drifted in the breeze, and even though I didn’t see any around, I would know that smell anywhere. It made me think of childhood, of home, of that hot August morning when I was six. Dad had brought the plants home, and I begged him to let me help dig the holes. Though thinking back on it, I’m pretty sure I did a lot more twirling than digging. My dad never seemed to mind, though. I don’t think he was bothered by anything I ever did. The morning he passed, I sat out on the front steps in tears, the jasmine vining up the side of the house in bloom. I felt as though he were still there. Wrapped around me with memories of days playing in the front yard, spinning around in circles—but I was lost.
It was Jake who found me again. Late one night, a few days after Dad’s passing, he walked into my room, pulled me into his arms, and hugged me so hard I felt whole again for the first time in days. In the silence of my pink bedroom he gripped me, his touch almost painful, but felt so good. It was that real human contact that told me life still had to be lived. That I could go on because even though I lost my dad, I still had people who loved me.
We didn’t talk that night. No words could’ve been as meaningful as his touch. He held me for hours, and I let all the tears I kept bottled up fall to his shoulders. I couldn’t let my mom and brother see them. They had their own grief, and I didn’t want to worry them with mine. But Jake was strong; he could take my hurt, and I let it all pour out of me like a roaring river in spring. I didn’t have to tell him how much I missed my dad, or about feeling consumed by guilt for being thankful it was over. I didn’t tell him seeing my dad so sick at the end of his life had been too much for me to take, and I was almost happy when he finally found his peace. I didn’t have to, because he already knew. It was in that moment, held in his capable arms, that I began to breathe again. That I began to feel like myself. And it was that night I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life held in his capable arms.
Rounding the next corner, I saw a large field of grass with a play area on the other side. The park was filled with families enjoying what was left of the summer sun, and I recalled what Grace said about her and Jake getting married. Were things really that serious? Would Jake marry her? Have children? Surely not. Jake had always been so vocal about never wanting kids. Never wanting the family life he’d hated so much.
I pushed the thought of Grace from my mind and began running laps around the park. As I picked up the pace, my mind began to calm. Perspiration covered my skin like dew, and the summer breeze cooled me. The sun had begun to set on the horizon, and I relished in the soft rays as they kissed my face. A blue jay fluttered across my path, and for the first time all week, my fingers itched for my camera.
My love for photography started when I was ten years old, when I picked up my dad’s camera for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing, but I felt important with it in my hands and loved to watch life happen through glass. Somehow limiting my view to that tiny window helped me see things a little differently, a little better. I often found hidden details that everyone else missed. To this day, I still heard my dad’s voice every time I pushed the shutter.
Slow down... Don’t rush... See the shot... Breathe.
When my legs began to tire, I turned back down the street to Jake’s house. Each pound of my feet on the pavement rejuvenated me, and I felt lighter than I had in days. When I was only a few feet from the house, Jake walked out of the gate and waved. My foot caught on something on the sidewalk, and all of a sudden I flew through the air landing on hands and knees.
“Holy shit, Katie! Are you okay?”
In a second, Jake was at my side, pulling me into his arms and carrying me into the house through the entrance from the garage. “What happened?” His voice was rough with concern, but all I could think about was the feel of his warm breath on my neck.
“I tripped.” I rolled my eyes, as heat swept up my cheeks. He was making a fuss over nothing, and all I wanted was for him to put me down so I didn’t embarrass myself further.
But he didn’t. He continued into the kitchen and sat me on the counter.
My heart skipped a beat when he began to run his hands over my legs, inspecting them for damage. His touch was gentle, and I was suddenly very grateful I’d remembered to shave.
“Well, it doesn’t look like anything’s broken.” He flicked on the faucet as he began rummaging through a cabinet.
“You don’t have to do this, Jake,” I said, wishing there was a drawer big enough so I could climb inside and never come out.
A smile lurked at the corner of his mouth as he pulled the first aid kit from the top shelf. “You always were accident prone.”
Only with you around.
He moistened a paper towel under the cool water, rested one hand on my bare thigh, then ran the damp cloth over my skinned knees. Goosebumps covered everywhere he touched, and my breath hitched in my throat.
“Does that hurt?” He looked up at me through thick lashes, and I shook my head.
“Just a little,” I lied. But I knew my reaction had nothing to do with pain.
“Do you remember that time Dave and I tied the skateboard to the back of my bike?” A lazy smile tugged at his mouth, and he brushed his thumb over my knee to remove some lingering debris.
I inhaled sharply as my nerves began to protest. “How could I possibly forget?”
“Sorry,” he said with a wince, and I began to recall holding on for dear life as Dave pulled me at rapid speed down the middle of the street. No helmet, no protection. Kids.
“We were so lucky you didn’t get seriously hurt.” His eyes flashed to mine, and I swallowed.
He stood right in front of me, and my bare leg brushed against his jeans. He grabbed a tube of ointment out of the kit, applied a dab to his finger, then smoothed it over my roughened flesh.
I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by his closeness.
“I’m almost done,” he said softly, but all I could think about was how clueless he was. How could he not see how much he affected me? Everyone else could. Why couldn’t he?
I opened my eyes again when I felt the first bandage hit my knee. “Do you really expect me to walk around like this?” I asked, inspecting the large brown swatch with my fingers.
“You can take it off later.” His blue eyes sparkled, and I couldn’t help but smile. That was the Jake I knew. The Jake I’d missed every day for the past three years.
Just as he placed the last bandage, Grace appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Her voice was calm, but she shifted her eyes from me to Jake, and I couldn’t help feeling as guilty as the time Mom caught me in the closet playing doctor with little Billy Pratt.
“Just a couple of skinned-up knees,” Jake replied. But the way she looked at us made me think she didn’t buy it.
Just then the back door opened, and I gingerly climbed down from the counter to see John.
“I’m going to ru
n to the store to get more beer, you guys need anything?” He was looking at us oddly, and I knew he could feel it too. The tension in the room was as thick as my grandma’s split pea soup.
“Can I come with you?” I asked, needing to remove myself from this simmering pot.
“Of course,” he replied, and I didn’t hesitate before grabbing my purse and walking out the front door.
“What happened?” John asked as I climbed into the cab beside him.
“I just tripped.” It was a crappy answer. I knew he wasn’t talking about my fall, but I really didn’t want to think about what happened back there. I wasn’t sure myself.
“I mean in the kitchen.” He raised his eyebrows, and I knew he wasn’t going to give up.
“I don’t know.” I turned toward the window and busied myself looking for the seatbelt. I still felt embarrassingly aroused from the whole ordeal and didn’t feel like talking.
“Grace looked pretty pissed.” He backed out of the driveway, shifted into gear, and pulled out to the open road.
“I hadn’t noticed,” I lied. It wasn’t like she had anything to worry about. No matter how lustful my thoughts, Jake would never think of me as more than his sister.
“It’s not like you can blame her.”
“Blame her for what?” I couldn’t read his expression.
“For being jealous.”
What? “Why do you think she’s jealous?”
“Oh come on, Katie. A beautiful woman just moved into her boyfriend’s house. I think it’s only natural.” He turned the corner, and my chest tightened.
“Jake doesn’t think of me that way.” I shook my head and turned back to the window.
“Oh.” His brow lifted. “So he’s not your brother?” I could hear the amusement in his tone and cringed.
“Jake’s a man, sweetheart. There’s no way he doesn’t notice you.”
He pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store, and I practically jumped out of the truck as soon as it stopped moving.
He must have noticed the effect he had on me, because when he closed his door behind him, he was laughing. “Come on, Katie, let’s go get some beer. Looks like you could use a few.”
The next few minutes were spent with John throwing various microbrews and alcohol in the bed of the shopping cart.
“How many people are coming over anyway?” I asked, counting ten six-packs and all the fixings for margaritas.
“Just a few, but it would be a crime if we ran out.” He flashed his easy grin, and I felt my mood lighten.
“So how long have you worked with Jake?”
“A few years,” he responded, then pushed the cart to another aisle.
“Is he a good boss?” I caught myself smiling as I followed behind him, not able to ignore the way his ass looked in those jeans. He was very attractive, and I wasn’t blind.
“He’s grumpy as hell”—there was laughter in his voice—“but he’s a good guy.” He threw some plastic cups and plates into the cart before moving on. “Jake doesn’t take any shit, but there’s no one who works harder than he does. I mean…I don’t know anyone who’s built what he has in such a short amount of time.”
I had to agree; Jake was a hard worker. Maybe his drive for success replaced the spot others reserved for family.
“So what’s your story? I mean, now that I know you’re not really his sister.” He turned to look at me, and I noticed the scar between his lip and chin. It sort of reminded me of a dimple, but not. . . no, it was definitely a scar of some sort.
I cleared my throat, grabbed the cart from his hands, and started pushing it myself. “We grew up together.”
“I’m sorry,” he teased, then pulled the front of the cart, so we turned into the produce section.
John went off to grab a bag of lemons, while I busied myself knocking on watermelons.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, coming to stand beside me.
“I’m picking out a watermelon.” I tried to keep my face serious, but I’d always felt silly when I knocked.
“Do you expect it to answer you?” He bumped me with his shoulder like old friends.
“Yeah, you go ahead and laugh now, but when this is the best watermelon you’ve ever had, I expect you to bow at my feet.”
He raised his eyebrows, and I turned away before he could see me blush. What the hell was I doing?
He grabbed a watermelon of his own, held it to his ear, and began tapping. “What am I listening for?”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. We can go now.” I placed my watermelon in the cart and began to push.
“No, I’m serious.” He reached out to grab my arm. “Tell me all your secrets, Katie.” I looked up at him, and something in his expression told me he wanted to know more than about watermelon.
I laughed a little, grabbed the melon out of his hands, and started examining it. “Okay, the first thing you do is check to see if it feels heavy for its size.”
He picked up another and did as I instructed, his face calm and serious.
I shook my head, feeling completely silly, but forced myself to continue. “It’s also good to check for brown spots and pieces of sap.”
“Does that mean it’s bad?” he asked, his deep brown eyes both serious and reminding me of a puppy at the same time.
“No”—I laughed—“that actually means it’s sweet.”
“Like you.” He smiled again, and I had to resist the urge to chew my lip.
He examined the dark green skin a while, and I couldn’t help but be amused by how seriously he was taking the job. “When do we get to the knocking?” He looked up, and I laughed.
“Go ahead.”
After a round of knocking from the both of us, he held his selected melon to my ear and tapped. “Is that right?”
I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
His arm brushed mine as he placed his melon in the cart, and I wondered if he’d touched me on purpose. I grabbed the melon I’d chosen, and put it back on the shelf.
“What are you doing?” he asked, seeming almost insulted as he took the melon off the shelf and returned it to the cart. “We’ll need this for the competition.”
My brows furrowed with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”
“One of us will be bowing tonight, remember?” A devilish smile spread across his face. “From the look of those brown spots, I think I have a good chance.”
My jaw dropped. “But that’s not fair.” I followed behind him in complete shock. “I just showed you all my tricks.”
“I never said I played fair, Katie.” He looked back at me over his shoulder, his eyes alive with mischief, and pushed the cart into a checkout line.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
A HALF HOUR LATER, I stood in front of Jake’s refrigerator and let the cool air rush over me. The feeling reminded me of the days when Dave and I used the fridge as a makeshift air conditioner. When everything was so simple.
The beer had begun to sweat at my feet, and I hurried to stack the bottles on empty shelves. Jake had spent nearly every day at our house back then. We ate boxed mac and cheese and hot dogs, while his parents prepared gourmet meals next door. I never questioned why. He grew up in a house that was more like a museum than a home. So much to see, so little to touch. I placed the last beer in the spot in the door, picked up one of the watermelons, and laughed. Shit.
“There’s another fridge out in the garage.”
Jake’s voice startled me and I turned around. He smiled in that easy way of his and snaked an arm around my waist to grab a couple beers from the bottom shelf.
“Where’s John?” he asked.
I closed the door and hoisted the melon a little higher. “Out back.” I cleared my throat.
“Oh.” He raised one brow, then glanced between the watermelon I held in my arms and the one still on the floor. “That’s a lot of watermelon.” He popped the caps off the beer and handed me one.
“S
o?” I carried the melon and beer to the center island and pulled a knife from the block. I’d spent the whole drive home trying to figure a way out of the whole situation. I didn’t think John was serious, but I wasn’t planning to find out either. “Do you have a bowl?”
He set his beer on the counter, then dropped to his haunches. “Will this one work?” he asked, pulling out a large silver bowl from the cupboard. He looked up, a glint of light hit his eye, and that same smile that always made my pulse race flashed at me.
I cleared my throat again. “Yes.”
“How’s work?” I asked, turning back to the cutting board and placing the bowl on the counter. The watermelon was large, and I had to use all my weight to get the knife all the way through.
“Busy. Which is good I guess.” He was amused for some reason, and I shifted my weight to the other foot.
“Yeah, it looks like it’s a good thing.” I pulled out the knife and waved it around to indicate all he’d built, but his eyes went wide, and he stepped toward me.
“Careful.” He removed it from my hand and placed it back on the counter. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
I wrinkled my nose, remembering the time I nicked Dave while slicing apples. It had been an accident of course, but there were some things you never lived down.
I laughed under my breath. “Sometimes it sucks knowing people so long. They know every mistake you’ve ever made.”
His eyes crinkled with understanding. “Why are you so nervous anyway?”
I glanced down at the cutting board, hating the fact he knew me so well.
“I—” he began, but the back of his jeans started to buzz, and he muttered an apology as he shoved a hand in his pocket to fish it out his phone. He glanced at the screen, turned it off, then shook his head. “Sorry. Work.”
I picked up the knife and began slicing again, hoping he’d forgotten about his last question. “You could have answered it.”
He tucked the phone back in his pocket and shook his head. “It’s the weekend, whatever it is can wait.”
I nodded. “What are you working on these days?”
He raised his brows, my change of subject not going unnoticed, but he humored me anyway. “Right now? A shopping complex. The inspector’s been riding my ass—I’m sure that was him… He doesn’t like me too much.”
Home to You Page 5