Home to You (7 page)

“Shut up.” I shook my head. “I didn’t have time to do laundry.”
 

“Yeah, okay,” he teased.

John grabbed the other dolly and smiled at me as he climbed the ramp. “Dirty and rough. My kind of girl.”
 

It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t needed, plus John kept making comments that made my cheeks flame red. When Jake came out of the house for the third load, I dismissed myself and headed to my room for a shower.
 

As I waited for the water to warm, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There were bags under my eyes from little sleep; my hair, which started in long braids, now looked like something a bird had tried to nest in; and there was a coffee stain on the front of my light blue shirt.
Great.
I closed my eyes and began to work the tangles from my hair until loose waves fell to my shoulders.
 

When I stepped under the hot stream, I let some of the past week wash down the drain and tried to force myself to relax. It had been one of the worst of my life, but at least it was over. I needed to move on and focus on the next chapter. I grabbed the shampoo and conditioner Jake left for me and couldn’t stop myself from inhaling the clean herbal scent. It smelled like him. There was something intimate and comforting about that.
 

Five minutes later, I wrapped one of the white towels tightly around my body and stood in front of the mirror again to brush my teeth.
 

Jake has a girlfriend
. For some reason my mind couldn’t let that go. He hadn’t said anything about her when I called last week, and you’d think that would’ve been an important detail not to forget. Well, to me anyway.
 

But to be fair, I guess I didn’t give him the chance. He’d been the first person I thought of when I got the confirmation of Kevin’s infidelity, and when I talked to him, I might have been slightly hysterical. I probably scared the shit out of him. Actually, I know I did. He wouldn’t let me hang up the phone until I promised that Kevin hadn’t hurt me. To be honest, I think I called him because I wanted that kind of reaction. I knew he’d want to break Kevin’s arms, and there was something strangely comforting about that.
 

When I finished combing through my hair, I peeked out to the bedroom to see a stack of boxes already inside. The door to the hallway was closed, so I opened the first box hoping to find something clean to wear.

The door to the bedroom flew open, and I let out a little scream.
 

“Oh shit,” Jake muttered, shifting his eyes to the floor. “This is the last of it, I’ll just come back later.” He turned to leave, but I shook my head determined not to make things awkward between us.

 
“Jake, it’s okay.” My voice was tight, and I held the edge of my towel firmly at my chest, but we’d lived together almost a year, for Christ’s sake. He’d seen me like this a thousand times. “You can just put it on the bed.”  

He nodded, then placed the box on the bed before he turned around. “Eaton and I are going to return the truck, is there any paperwork we need?”

“Who’s Eaton?”

He scratched the back of his neck and looked into my eyes. I almost laughed at how obvious he was about not looking down. “Sorry, I mean John. There are a few of them at work, so I call him by his last name there.”
 

“Oh.” I chewed on my nail when he continued to stare at me.
 

“So…?”
 

“What?” I felt the blood rush to my face.
 

“Do we need paperwork for the truck return?”
 

Oh, God! Idiot!
 

“Oh—no—I don’t think so. Do you need me to go with you? I just need to get dressed. It’ll only take a minute.” I pulled open the box and began shifting through my less than stellar pack job.
 

Jake laughed. “No, we’re good. I don’t think there’s room in the cab anyway. Stay here and get settled.”
 

I covered my face, feeling like a jerk. “Okay.”
 

He bit his lower lip and smiled at me. “Are you up for company tonight? We thought we’d pick up a few pizzas.”
 

“Sure, that sounds great.”  

“It’s good to have you back, Kit Kat.” He looked at me sideways as he walked out of the room, and I was left grinning, breathless, and completely in over my head.
 

JAKE UNNERVED ME. HE TURNED me into a quivering mess simply by his presence in a room. No other man had ever done that—not even Kevin.  

When I was in San Diego, it was easy to convince myself it was all just something my body had become accustomed to. Like Pavlov, and his theory of classical conditioning. Jake was the ticking metronome, and I was the salivating dog.
 

I thought with three years of separation I’d be able to control myself, but the minute I felt the backs of his callused fingers run across my cheek, it was over.   

What was it about him? How could he make my toes curl and all the air leave the room with one of his smiles? Standing there with only a towel shielding my naked body, my only thought had been of running a finger along the cleft of his chin. To reach out and touch the scruff of his face and the masculine edge of his jaw. I didn’t dare venture any farther south.  

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?”