This time I like when he calls me Sunshine as if I could be the bright spot he needs in his life.
“I keep my feet on the ground,” I remind him. This—allowing Jude to kiss me—is the wildest thing I have done in years. “I don’t dream or wish. I can’t risk it, and I can’t fly.”
“Then I’ll build you wings.”
Chapter 8
I skip two weeks of meetings and ignore phone calls from Sondra and Stephanie and a few other people that I don’t remember giving my number. No doubt word in group is that I’ve fallen off the wagon and I have, but it isn’t drugs or drinking. Nope, it’s the worst addiction of all. Him. And I haven’t even had a taste of him since that night. I’d be lying if I said I don’t hope he’ll appear in the restaurant or at my front door. Except he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t know where I live. He doesn’t have my phone number. His best bet is the bistro, but maybe he regrets that kiss as much as I do. Or maybe he’s smarter than me. He sent me away that day at his house and like it or not I am the one who keeps finding him.
Because apparently I’m a crazy stalker. The truth sucks.
“Go out,” Amie orders me over the phone.
“And do what?” I fall back on the couch and stare at Max who’s happily playing with Legos on the floor.
“It’s Saturday!”
“So?”
She doesn’t respond because I’ve called her bluff. Neither of us have any idea what to do on a Saturday. She always works and I stay home and catch up on laundry and television. But the laundry is done and the Netflix queue is spent since taking up a vow of celibacy. I’ve barely gone to the grocery store. The outside world feels like a land mine. One wrong step and I’ll land in Jude Mercer’s arms.
“I’m going to stop buying milk,” Amie threatens. “You have to leave.”
“I take Max to preschool.”
“Wrong answer! I’m going to have to take drastic action.”
“Bring it.” I hang up on her before she levels any more threats. An hour later I’ve hit a low point and turned on a made-for-TV movie. One of those terrible tearjerkers were a single mom falls in love with the dog groomer or some shit—and I can’t look away.
Amie might be right about getting out of the house. Gathering my courage, I go into the bathroom and face the mirror. I look pale, but that’s common this time of year. Even if I hadn’t taken up hermitage, that would be the case.
“Stop being a coward,” I order my reflection. A few minutes later, I’ve combed, deodorized and rehumanized. It’s not exactly an exciting package, but I won’t be embarrassed to be seen in public. Just as I’m tugging on a fresh pair of jeans, Max bounces into the room and grabs my hand. I can’t get him to stop and tell me what’s wrong, so I let him drag me to the living room. The front door is wide open, and I fall to my knees and begin to sign rapidly.
I don’t want you opening the front door, baby.
Someone knocked and you didn’t come.
I’m sorry. I don’t even bother to see if they’re still there. But Mommy still says no opening the door.
“I wouldn’t let him let me in.” The screen door muffles Jude’s voice, but it does nothing to stifle the thrill that surges through me. My excitement is short-lived when I stand up and realize that I never got around to buttoning my pants. Whipping around, I zip and button and count to three.
Jude is still there when I turn around.
“Um, I’m sorry.” I rush to the door and try to open it. “It sticks.”
“Another thing to fix.” He reclines against the doorframe, his gray, canvas jacket unzipped far enough that I can see the thin white t-shirt he’s wearing. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I move back and gesture inside. “Watch out for Legos, and I can’t guarantee there’s no crackers on the floor.”
I try to remember what a woman is supposed to do when a man comes over, but unfortunately the last time I asked a man into my house….Well, I can’t do that with Max home even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to with Jude. Or maybe I shouldn’t want to.
Jude must have made quite the impression at the grocery store last month, because Max recognizes him immediately and takes advantage of my temporary shock to drag him into his room. Which is next to my room. The realization jolts me into action and I fly down the hallway and slam my bedroom door before he spots the dirty underwear littering my floor. But Jude is taking his tour far too seriously to notice my raunchy panties. When Max is finally done showing him every toy he owns, I’m breathing normally and I’m fairly certain I’m no longer the color of a tomato.
Before Max can continue, Jude bends down to his level. “I need to help your mom with something. Is it okay if I work on your car?”
Max’s eyes follow his lips and he puffs out his chest, giving Jude a permissive nod. The man of the house has handed me off, it seems.