I laugh, although for the most part, it lacks any actual humor. “We sure do.”
“Sure you don’t want me to stay and clean up while you’re tending to her? I’d be happy to.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’ll take care of it. Not that much to do anyway.”
“Well, I can at least take my dishes to the sink,” he says, standing.
I put my hand on his forearm. “Nope. I insist. You brought the food. The least I can do is clean up.”
He grins. “Oh, so you’re one of those types of women.”
“And what type is that?”
“The type who likes to be equal. In everything.”
The light in his eyes, the suggestive tone…they send apprehension skittering down my spine. I clear my throat and slide around the other end of the table toward the door. “Well, thank you again for the soup. Emmy and I really appreciate it.”
Jason grabs his jacket and throws it over his shoulder. I’m sure it’s meant to be a rakish gesture, but it just creeps me out. He just creeps me out, actually.
“I’ll come back by to check on you tomorrow. Supposed to drop into the single digits tonight and I notice that you don’t even have a fire going,” he says, tipping his head toward the empty fireplace.
“I wasn’t sure it was functional and I forgot to ask.”
“It’s functional. Cole keeps the chimney swept. But you probably don’t even have any wood. I can bring you some and–”
“Don’t go to any more trouble on my account. We’ll be fine. I’ll give you a call in a couple of days just to let you know we’re fine.”
If that’s what it takes–the promise of calling him–to get him off my back, I’m happy to do it.
“Okay, okay, Ms. Independent,” he teases.
I open the door for him. “Thanks again, Jason.”
“It was my pleasure.” Again, his tone…and the way he emphasizes the word “pleasure”…ack!
I barely wait for him to clear the jamb before I close the door. I slump against the cool wood, glad that he’s finally gone. My relief is shortlived, however, when I hear the sick raarrr raarrr raarrr of his engine struggling to turn over. “No, no, no,” I mutter, hoping against hope that he’s not having car trouble.
But when I hear the thud of a slamming door and the clomp of stomping feet, I know I’m not getting my wish. I’m expecting the knock when I hear it this time. With a sigh, I open the door, plastering another smile on my face.
At least Jason has the good sense to look sheepish. “My truck won’t start. I’m low on gas. My guess is that the water in it froze.”
“Really? That quickly?”
He shrugs. “It happens.” I say nothing. He says nothing. We just stare at each other until finally he asks, “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” I say, biting back my exasperation. “Do you need to use the phone to call someone?”
“There’s only one tow service in town and they’re probably gone. And that leaves only Jordan. I hate to get her out after dark, though.”
I grit my teeth. “I can take you before I put Emmy in the bath tub.”
“No, I’d hate for you to get stuck out in this weather. It’ll warm up in the morning, if–”
That’s enough to piss me off. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here, Jason. I have a child and she needs a quiet, predictable environment.”
“It would just be for one night. I could sleep on the couch.”
Could? Could?? What the hell else other option did you think I’d entertain?
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make other arrangements.”
My tone is stern and I’d be willing to bet my expression has lost a lot of its feigned pleasantness.
“Okay, okay. I understand,” he says amiably. “Can I at least wait inside until Jordan gets here?”
Whether or not he’s trying to make me feel like a douche, I don’t know, but I do. I’m not that coldhearted. “Of course you can.”
I tell Emmy to play in her room and I clean up the kitchen as Jason makes calls. Evidently the towing service really is closed, and he calls Jordan three times, all with no answer. “She’s probably drunk already,” he says by way of explanation. He sits with his phone dangling between his knees for a couple of minutes, as though he’s waiting for me to make him an offer. I’m thinking to myself that hell will have to freeze over first. Finally, he takes up his phone again. His sigh is dramatic and loud. “I guess I could try Jep. Maybe he can give me a ride.”
Jep answers and agrees to come and get Jason, much to my relief. “He’ll be here in fifteen.”
My smile is genuine this time. “Good.” I don’t add what I’m thinking, which is that he can’t get here soon enough.
FIFTEEN
Eden
THE SNOW STARTS again the next morning. This one is different. It looks different, feels different. It’s just…different. There’s a stillness in the air that reminds me of the calm before a storm. It doesn’t help that the weatherman keeps talking about the Nor’easter we’ll get if the jet stream dips down and the moisture stays put and blah, blah, blah. I don’t pay too much attention because Emmy and I are stocked up and ready. It doesn’t matter to me either way. As long as Jason gets his truck and doesn’t try to wiggle his way in here again, I’m good.
It’s late in the evening, long past dark, when Jason arrives. He’s in the passenger seat of the same truck that picked him up the other night. I should probably go out and speak to him, but I don’t want to. I’d rather pretend I didn’t see. Even though I did. And only because I was staring at the house across the street, wondering if Cole is there.
I haven’t seen him since the beach, and even though that was only yesterday, I want to see him. Again. And again. It makes no sense, of course, but that doesn’t change the facts. I think about him so much, think about his life and his past, the way he looks at me and the way it felt when he kissed me. He said that I was in his head. Well, he’s in mine, too. In my head, under my skin. He’s everywhere. Even when he’s nowhere.
I smother a growl when I hear a knock at the door. Emmy looks up from her perch on the back of the couch, her green eyes wary. She doesn’t like visits from Jason either.
“Who is it, Momma?” she loud whispers.
I put my finger over my lips. “Jason,” I answer quietly.
“Don’t let him in!”
“I’ll try not to, but I can’t be rude.”
“Yes, you can.” She grins impishly.
“I can, but I shouldn’t. Smarty-pants.”
I ruffle her hair as I pass and she smoothes it right back down. I fix my pleasant expression in place and open the door, but not fully.
“Ms. Independent,” he says, trying to be cute.