I do trust her. Or at least…I’m starting to.
I puff out a breath, trying for once not to overthink anything. “All right. I’ll let her go.”
Evie smiles wide and squeezes my arm. I swear I’m going to lean across the swing and kiss her. I have to. Every inch of me is aching for it.
Honk. Honk.
Evie and I both jump, and she pulls away, springing to her feet and grabbing the dogs’ leashes like we were just caught after curfew doing something we shouldn’t. I wonder if she could read my thoughts a moment ago, because she seems suddenly reluctant to meet my eyes. Would she hate a kiss from me?
GET IT TOGETHER, JAKE. You can’t kiss her! You’re not ready for this, remember?
“I think you’re making the right decision about the party,” Evie says as she’s running down the porch stairs in a full gallop. “I’ll see ya tomorrow!”
I’m watching her leave my house, and honestly, I hate it. I want her to stay. It’s stupid. I’m being stupid. But just before she gets in the Uber, a thought hits me, and I call out to her. “Evie, wait.”
Charlie and Daisy jump in the backseat, and Evie pauses before getting in to look at me. “That’s what Sam was trying to get you to ask me earlier, wasn’t it? When she pushed you into the kitchen? She wanted you to ask me about the slumber party, but you knew I’d say no, so you covered by inviting yourself for dinner.” I state this like I’m at a murder-mystery dinner and I’ve just solved the case.
A smile grows on her lips, confirming that she threw herself under a bus to protect my daughter’s chances of happiness. “Night, Jake.”
“Goodnight, Evie.”
Tomorrow can't come fast enough.
Chapter Twelve
Training Camp Day 3:
JAKE: Thanks for braiding Sam’s hair tonight before you left. I can never get it right.
EVIE: Not a problem. I like braiding hair. Maybe I’ll quit the service-dog business and go to hair school.
JAKE: Can you wait to do that until after you’ve finished working with Sam and Daisy?
EVIE: Bossy much? But okay. We only have two days left anyway.
JAKE: Yeah…two days.
Training Camp Day 4:
EVIE: Dinner was great. Thanks again for inviting me to stay. I swear I really do have food at my apartment.
JAKE: It was nothing. Made sense for you to stay since training went late.
EVIE: Which makes it even nicer of you to offer.
JAKE: Stop it. You’re making me blush.
EVIE: I don’t believe it. I need photographic evidence.
JAKE: Are you trying to get me to send nudes?
EVIE: What? NO. Now I’m blushing.
JAKE: I need photographic evidence.
EVIE: …
Training Camp Day 5:
JAKE: Last day of training today.
EVIE: Yep.
JAKE: Sam’s going to miss you.
EVIE: Sam can come see me anytime she wants.
JAKE: Good to know. Come hungry today. I’m going to feed you pancakes before you guys start your session.
EVIE: Do you talk this dirty to all your female friends?
JAKE: Just you.
Chapter Thirteen
EVIE
My intentions were noble when I set out for the bathroom. I swear it. Put a Bible under my hand and I will—okay, well, that’s taking it too far because clearly my intentions were as noble as sin.
I’m standing in the middle of Jake’s bedroom, looking around with hungry eyes. I’m a jewel thief inside of Tiffany’s, and I don’t know where to start.
Jake was on a work call when I left him, and Sam was in the living room. I walked toward the downstairs bathroom, innocent as the day I was born, until I was out of Jake’s eye line. Then, I shut the bathroom door from the outside—I obviously missed my calling as a spy of some sort—and then hurried down the hall where I suspected Jake’s room to be.
I don’t know why I feel the overwhelming need to be in here. I think it’s because Jake still feels like a mystery to me, and I’m hoping that if I have this inside look at his personal life, I’ll stumble across the secret to who he is. During our last five days of training camp, Jake has been kind and friendly. But that’s it. Nothing more. Nada. His attention is zeroed in on Sam or work or Daisy. He smiles at me. He asks if I want anything to drink. But that’s it.
I wouldn’t think anything strange about it if it weren’t for the texts I get like clockwork every night. I’ve never been so glued to my phone before. It always starts with something innocuous and then quickly dips into flirtatious. It’s like he has another Jacob Broaden stuffed in a closet somewhere and only lets him out after 8 PM.
I open his closet, and unfortunately, no one jumps out.
Now, I realize that I am a borderline stalker woman right now. It’s creepy that I’m tiptoeing around his room, running my fingers across his rumpled gray bedspread, and smiling that he doesn’t bother to make it before he leaves in the morning. I really want to pick up his shirt laying across his bed and smell it…but I said that I was only BORDERLINE creepy, and I stand by that, therefore I refrain.
The ugly truth is, I saw the signs saying Beware: Crush Ahead, but I blew right past them. Jake has stolen all of my brain space.
He is all I think about, and it’s really making me nervous. I don’t want to fall for him. I still feel like he’s too far out of my league. So, I guess, by me tiptoeing around his room like this, I’m sort of just torturing myself with what I’ll never have.
My eyes narrow on a book beside his bed, and my greedy little fingers snatch it up. What does a man like Jake read before he goes to bed?
TWILIGHT?! No. You’ve got to be kidding me. This one life choice of his has me rethinking everything. There’s no other explanation for a thirty-three-year-old man reading a book about teenage vampire love: he’s a psychopath.
Yes, I realize that’s rich coming from a woman snooping around a man’s bedroom.
“Find anything interesting?” Jake’s voice sounds behind me, and I snap the book shut and spin around to face him, holding the book behind my back.
I’m caught red-handed. The jewels are behind my back, and it’s incriminating enough to send me to prison for the rest of my life. I don’t dare speak. I have the right to remain silent. I’ve seen enough cop shows to know that anything I say will be held against me in a court of law.
“Whatcha got there?” He’s smiling, and I’m turning into a tomato.
“I was looking for the bathroom.”
“In my bedside table?”
He’s stalking toward me, and I’m quaking in my tennis shoes. Where’s Charlie when I need him? Attack, boy!
Jake stops just in front of me, so close that I can feel the heat rushing off of him in waves, and I have to tip my head up to look at him. It’s doing nothing to help my flaming cheeks. I don’t think he’s ever stood this close to me before, and I’m wondering if maybe this is 8-PM Jacob Broaden, freshly escaped from whatever cell he’s normally kept in.
He reaches around me, his arm brushing against my shoulder, and I think I accidentally shudder. No, I know I do because he notices and smirks. Hello, 8-PM Jake.