through the amateurs.”
“Why did you agree to run the company if it’s not what you want to do?”
His jaw tightens. “Peter was killed in a car crash eighteen months ago and my dad fell apart. He was going to lose everything he had worked for. I couldn’t let that happen. In the end, they are my family.”
“I’m so sorry about Peter.” My throat tightens with sympathy. “Makayla told me about the accident. I called but I got your voice mail, so I left a message…” Jake hardly talked about his family when we were together, but I knew he and his brother, Peter, were close.
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks. I just wasn’t up to speaking to anyone at the time.” He opens my squeaky cutlery drawer and closes it. Open. Squeak . Close. Open. Squeak . Close. Then he opens it and frowns. Suddenly all my cutlery is on the counter and my drawer is upside down on the table. He grabs a bread knife and viciously attacks one of the screws on the rail.
“Dad was so happy when I took over the company. Said it was the first useful thing I’d done with my life. But I prefer to be outdoors, working with my hands, rather than stuck in an office all day. And I’d rather live in a place like this…lotsa space with a big backyard so I could get a dog like I had when I was a kid, but I had to get a condo in the city so I could be close to work.” He replaces the drawer and gives it a test.
Open. Close. Open. Close. No squeaks.
“All fixed.”
“Thanks.” I fiddle with my bracelet in the awkward silence that follows. Why is he sticking around? As if the depths of my despair aren’t deep enough without having to watch him strut his perfectly toned body around my house.
His gaze rakes over me in an entirely assessing and nonsexual way and then he frowns. “Makayla was right. You’ve lost weight. I’ll fix you something to eat before I go.”
Ummm…hello? But then, this is Jake, and once he makes up his mind about something, he doesn’t let trivial things like manners or what other people want or not knowing how to use a stove get in the way.
“You’re going to cook?”
“Yes.” He points to the stool at the kitchen counter. “Now sit while I whip up a gourmet feast.”
“You?” I don’t sit because first, I have no food; and second, I never once saw Jake in front of a stove the entire time we were going out. He lived on protein shakes, protein bars, and meat lover’s pizza, hold the crust.
Jake pulls open the fridge door and frowns over his shoulder. “There’s nothing in here. When did you last eat?”
“I can’t remember.”
“How can you not remember when you last ate?” His incredulous look is almost comical.
I give a theatrical valley girl sigh to hide the emotion welling up inside me. On top of everything else, seeing Jake making himself at home in my kitchen is just too much. I just want to retreat back to the warm, cozy darkness of my bedroom. “Eating isn’t important. Nothing is important. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not really hungry so I’m going back to bed.”
Before I even make it halfway across the kitchen, Jake grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Makayla said you haven’t left the house since you got discharged from the hospital. She said if she hadn’t done your shopping, you would’ve starved to death. She thinks you’re depressed.”
“You know Makayla.” I sigh and wrench my arm out of his grip. “She’s prone to exaggeration.”
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but don’t you think two weeks is enough? Don’t you think it’s time to rejoin the world?”
My hands ball into fists and I press my lips together. Who is he to waltz in here and tell me how to run or not run my life?
“Jake?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Thank you for bringing the backpack and fixing the drawer and offering to make me dinner. It was lovely to see you, but I have sleeping to get back to. Good-bye.” I may be depressed, but at least I have manners.
With a firm click, I
“Why did you agree to run the company if it’s not what you want to do?”
His jaw tightens. “Peter was killed in a car crash eighteen months ago and my dad fell apart. He was going to lose everything he had worked for. I couldn’t let that happen. In the end, they are my family.”
“I’m so sorry about Peter.” My throat tightens with sympathy. “Makayla told me about the accident. I called but I got your voice mail, so I left a message…” Jake hardly talked about his family when we were together, but I knew he and his brother, Peter, were close.
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks. I just wasn’t up to speaking to anyone at the time.” He opens my squeaky cutlery drawer and closes it. Open. Squeak . Close. Open. Squeak . Close. Then he opens it and frowns. Suddenly all my cutlery is on the counter and my drawer is upside down on the table. He grabs a bread knife and viciously attacks one of the screws on the rail.
“Dad was so happy when I took over the company. Said it was the first useful thing I’d done with my life. But I prefer to be outdoors, working with my hands, rather than stuck in an office all day. And I’d rather live in a place like this…lotsa space with a big backyard so I could get a dog like I had when I was a kid, but I had to get a condo in the city so I could be close to work.” He replaces the drawer and gives it a test.
Open. Close. Open. Close. No squeaks.
“All fixed.”
“Thanks.” I fiddle with my bracelet in the awkward silence that follows. Why is he sticking around? As if the depths of my despair aren’t deep enough without having to watch him strut his perfectly toned body around my house.
His gaze rakes over me in an entirely assessing and nonsexual way and then he frowns. “Makayla was right. You’ve lost weight. I’ll fix you something to eat before I go.”
Ummm…hello? But then, this is Jake, and once he makes up his mind about something, he doesn’t let trivial things like manners or what other people want or not knowing how to use a stove get in the way.
“You’re going to cook?”
“Yes.” He points to the stool at the kitchen counter. “Now sit while I whip up a gourmet feast.”
“You?” I don’t sit because first, I have no food; and second, I never once saw Jake in front of a stove the entire time we were going out. He lived on protein shakes, protein bars, and meat lover’s pizza, hold the crust.
Jake pulls open the fridge door and frowns over his shoulder. “There’s nothing in here. When did you last eat?”
“I can’t remember.”
“How can you not remember when you last ate?” His incredulous look is almost comical.
I give a theatrical valley girl sigh to hide the emotion welling up inside me. On top of everything else, seeing Jake making himself at home in my kitchen is just too much. I just want to retreat back to the warm, cozy darkness of my bedroom. “Eating isn’t important. Nothing is important. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not really hungry so I’m going back to bed.”
Before I even make it halfway across the kitchen, Jake grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Makayla said you haven’t left the house since you got discharged from the hospital. She said if she hadn’t done your shopping, you would’ve starved to death. She thinks you’re depressed.”
“You know Makayla.” I sigh and wrench my arm out of his grip. “She’s prone to exaggeration.”
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but don’t you think two weeks is enough? Don’t you think it’s time to rejoin the world?”
My hands ball into fists and I press my lips together. Who is he to waltz in here and tell me how to run or not run my life?
“Jake?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Thank you for bringing the backpack and fixing the drawer and offering to make me dinner. It was lovely to see you, but I have sleeping to get back to. Good-bye.” I may be depressed, but at least I have manners.
With a firm click, I
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