She nodded. “I stand corrected.”
“You do remember that then?”
“We were eleven, we were playing truth or dare at Mitch’s birthday party, and Zander dared me to kiss you.”
“And because it was Zander, and you could never let Zander get the better of you, you agreed and laid a major one on me, as I recall.”
She grinned. “My grandma loved romantic movies.”
He laughed. “It showed. I remember that fondly.”
“I remember so many things fondly with you, Fletcher. You’re the best.”
Her expression and tone of voice were both full of genuine fondness and Fletcher felt his chest warm. No matter what else he felt for this woman, the predominant emotion would always be love. A soft love that came from a long history and many, many wonderful memories. He would do anything for her.
“You were my first too,” he said.
She nodded. “I figured.”
He lifted a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“I don’t think you’d watched too many kissing movies when you were eleven,” she told him. “I remember girls talking about kissing you in junior high, and I was floored that they were so impressed.”
“You’re a brat,” he told her, tossing his napkin at her.
She laughed as she caught it.
That sound—her laughter—after worrying about her all of last night while camped out in the New Orleans airport (he really should have looked up flight times before he drove all the way there), made him take a deep, contented breath. That was what he wanted. Jordan Benoit happy.
“So what do you need?” he asked her. “How can I make all of this better?”
“Take me home,” she said.
His chest squeezed. He loved the fact that Autre was still home to her and that was where she wanted to go when things were falling apart.
Not that they would be falling apart for long. He would make sure of that.
“You are staying with me,” he said. “Seriously.”
She nodded. “I’m going to take you up on that. Living with you could make me pretend that things are on the right track.”
“What do you mean?” His heart thumped without even knowing the answer to that question.
“I’m twenty-six. I have spent eleven years in a serious relationship I thought was going to end with marriage and babies. I know it doesn’t sound very liberated, or adventurous, or even unique, but what I want is a house with a front and a back porch, two dogs, a yard, French toast on Saturday mornings, being able to drop in and see my mom and my grandma for lunch, big family dinners, having everyone together for birthday celebrations, and silly little things like…crawfish boils.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I honestly sat in Nashville thinking more than once that I wasn’t going to be able to have a crawfish boil whenever I wanted one. How do you have crawfish boils when you’re living on a tour bus?”
Fletcher couldn’t answer her for a moment. His chest was tight and his mouth was dry.
He had a big house on the edge of town that had a front and back porch.
He’d be happy to get a dog. Or three. Her mom lived eight blocks away from him. Her grandmother lived ten. And he made kickass French toast. Which she knew. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d mentioned French toast on purpose.
He wondered how many kids she wanted to have. At one time she’d wanted six. That was when they’d still been kids though. Maybe things like that changed. But he could see Jordan with six kids.
She’d be an amazing mom. She was funny and creative, just organized enough to keep a rowdy bunch together, but not so much that they wouldn’t have a ton of fun. She was a fantastic baker. She was a great crafter. She was patient and sweet, while also being clear about her limits for bullshit. She was an incredible teacher because of all of those things, and he was certain they would spill over into motherhood.
Damn, Jason Young was a dumb ass for letting this woman go.
And he was letting this woman go.
Fletcher and Jason had exchanged texts over the past few hours. Jason knew Fletcher was on his way to Vegas and he knew Jordan and Fletcher’s relationship well enough to know that Fletcher was not leaving here without her.
Jason knew that Fletcher would take care of her.
In the past that had been a bone of contention actually. Jason had been jealous of Fletcher and Jordan’s relationship at various times over the years. But now, he seemed relieved that Fletcher was on his way.
Which made sense if Jason was in love with another woman.
What a dumbass.
“You can have my porch, my French toast, and my crawfish pot for as long as you want them,” Fletcher told her.
She gave him a soft smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yes, please.” She pushed to her feet. “Just let me go shower, wash my hair, and change.”
“Great.” He sat back. He was anxious to get her home. “Hurry up.”
5
Thirty minutes later, Jordan stepped out of the bathroom with dry, purple-striped hair and light make-up on. She wasn’t going to do Charlie’s dramatic make-up-sexy-dress thing, but she might be able to pull off some Audrey Hepburn attitude if she had Fletcher walking through the lobby with her.
At the dresser, she pulled on a white thong and matching bra. Then she paused. She glanced toward the closet where her suitcase was. She needed to pack.
With a sigh, she hauled her roller bag out of the closet, tossed it onto the duvet, and opened it. She tossed the dresses from the closet into the bag. On top of those, she threw the few clothes she had in the dresser—two pairs of capri pants and a couple of t-shirts. She didn’t have a lot of casual clothes along. Very little in Jason’s life had been casual lately.
See, Vivian dealt with all of the pomp and circumstance with the band and the tour and the parties so much better than Jordan did. Jason and Vivian would be really good together.
“Hey, hurry up.” Fletcher nudged the door open. “We need to—” He stopped one step inside the room. And stared.
Jordan gave a little squeak. “Fletcher!” She reached for a shirt. “It’s called knocking.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
She jerked the t-shirt down over her head. “Want to try it?”
“Not really. This worked out pretty well for me.”
He didn’t even attempt to turn away. Or avert his eyes. Or apologize. In fact, he watched her jab her arms through the sleeves with a grin.
He seemed completely comfortable watching her dress.
Jordan was completely…not uncomfortable. Which was very weird.
But not as weird as the ribbon of heat that curled through her stomach.
She and Fletcher were incredibly easy with one another. Fletcher had been the one to explain what people meant when they talked about “sixty-nine” and what wet dreams were. They’d belched and puked in front of one another. They’d cried on each other’s shoulders. They’d covered for one another when in trouble with their parents. Fletcher had come straight to her the one—and only—time a girlfriend had told him she thought she was pregnant. She hadn’t been, but Jordan was the one he’d panicked with until he knew for sure.