The only way I can describe the way Jacob looks right now is thunderous. Thor has nothing on him. “Mmhmm,” he grunts through pursed lips, and honestly, I want to grab the frying pan off the stove and bang it against his head until he learns to be nice. How dare he make me feel terrible for inviting myself! Have you no Southern manners?!
I back-pedal as fast as I can. “Nevermind!” I laugh, and it sounds shrill. “I just remembered I have a can of soup.” Lie. I have a half-eaten pouch of Sour Patch Kids and an expired jug of milk in the fridge. “You guys have a good night! See you tomorrow!”
I whirl around and make a beeline for the door, grabbing Charlie’s and Daisy’s leashes in the process. Only problem is, I went the long way—out of the kitchen and through the living room toward the front door—and just as I’m about to make it to the entryway, I run smack into a hard wall. Not actually a wall.
A Jacob wall.
He took the shorter way, apparently, and cut me off.
“Oof,” I grunt when my head comes in contact with his right pectoral muscle, and let me tell you, that man must work out every day, because I’m fairly certain I have a concussion now.
He grabs my shoulders to steady me, and when our eyes meet, he takes a wide step back. Do not touch the leper.
“Evie, stay for dinner,” says Jacob, but his tone reads: stay at your own risk.
“No, thanks. By your reaction back there, it’s apparent that my company would be nothing short of torture. So, I’ll just be on my way.” I try to go past him, but his hand catches my bicep before I can pass. His touch makes my stomach drop and my nerves sizzle like a drop of water on a frying pan.
His hold was tight at first, but when I freeze and look down at his hand wrapped completely around my arm, he loosens his grip.
Jacob lets out a long breath from his nose. “Please stay. I want you to stay.” This man is nothing short of a mystery.
I’m plucking petals off of a daisy. He loves me, he hates me, he loves me, he hates me.
Which petal will we end on?
I look up to Jacob and force a smile that I don’t at all feel. I’m ready to give him a very polite “over my dead body” when I see the smoldering look in his eyes. He’s serious. I don’t know how I know that, but somehow, I know that this man really does want me to stay for dinner.
Because I’m not generally a masochist, my feet should be carrying me as far away from this fickle mister as fast as humanly possible. But instead, my arm is burning where he’s holding it, and I begin dreaming of that porch swing again. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
He smiles. Actually smiles. There are crinkles beside his eyes, people! “Okay, good.”
We stand like that for a minute, and I’m not entirely sure what’s happening or how to breathe anymore. Charlie must sense my heightened heart rate and think that Jacob is upsetting me, because he suddenly angles his furry golden body between us and looks up at Jacob with the most human look I’ve ever seen him give. Hands off my lady.
Jacob and I both chuckle at my little chaperone, and he releases me. I miss his touch right away.
Jacob turns on his heel and disappears back into the kitchen, and I’m left wondering what in the heck just happened.
I turn around and bend down to unlatch Charlie’s and Daisy’s leashes when I catch Sam’s face across the room. She’s leaning her hip against the side of an armchair, and her arms are folded, a smug grin on her face. I furrow my brows in question, and as a response, she waggles hers.
Oh no. What have I done?
Chapter Eleven
JAKE
I’m standing across the kitchen, watching as Evie finishes painting the last fingernail on Sam’s hand. Sam is smiling from ear to ear, and she keeps looking up at Evie with a studying look as if she’s memorizing every tiny thing Evie does so that she can perfectly replicate her actions later. Sam adores Evie, that much is apparent. And honestly, I understand the sentiment.
The woman is gorgeous. Funny. Strong. Kind-hearted. She has overcome a difficult disability and not let it dictate her life. And she has the most beautiful, full pink lips I’ve ever seen. Okay, I doubt that Sam has noticed that last part, but believe me, I have.
Did I mention that Evie is painting a rainbow pattern on Sam’s nails? That probably doesn’t seem like a big thing, but for my little girl that has resisted everything happy and cheerful over the past six months, it’s huge.
I was quiet during dinner, partly because I have no idea how to interact with Evie, but also because I was enjoying hearing my daughter
talk. I didn’t realize how starved I was for the sound of her voice. It didn’t sound heavy like it has been lately. She didn’t give short, clipped answers. She told Evie things that I had no idea about (Jenna Miller already got her first kiss?! Where have I been? And isn’t eleven years old a little young for that??)
Evie should have felt bored by a young girl’s monologue on preteen romance, but she wasn’t. She was enthralled, sitting on the edge of her seat, one leg propped under her (I’m realizing Evie will never sit normal in a chair) and those emerald eyes wide with interest. I was floored when she asked Sam if there were any boys she was interested in. Even more floored when Sam said yes.
Note to self: hunt down Tate Bradley and explain to him in perfect detail what will happen to him if his lips get anywhere near my little girl.