I smile. “I guess.”
She stares me down, and her eyes narrow in contemplation. “I don’t need a sugar daddy, Jake.”
“Good, because that term has always creeped me out, and I really don’t want to be associated with it.”
“I’m serious. I’m not helpless. I’m just a little broke until I get paid again, because my insurance went up again this month, making things a little tighter.”
“When is payday?”
“…Two weeks.”
“Yeah. Come on.” She looks so torn. If I don’t want to throw her over my shoulder, I’m going to have to reason with her. “Please, Evie. Let me help. I promise this won’t make you beholden to me. I can just help you with this one little thing to get you on your feet, and then I swear I’ll never force my money on you again.”
She grins a little. “All right, fine.” She’s crossing in front of me, headed for my truck. Bra forgotten. “But we’re also buying the ingredients for your favorite brownies so I can make them as a thank you.” She pauses at the right bumper and looks over her shoulder. Her damp hair is flowing in the wind, and she looks way too cute in that oversized shirt. “Except, I’m going to have to make it at your place because I don’t have an oven.”
Chapter Eighteen
EVIE: I opened my pantry this morning and felt overwhelmed. I’ve never had so many breakfast choices before.
JAKE: Mix them all together.
EVIE: EW! Are you one of those people who stacks all of your food on top of each other at Thanksgiving?
JAKE: It all goes to the same place.
EVIE: *GIF of a woman yelling “murderer!”*
JAKE: So you’re a gif girl, huh?
EVIE: I prefer them over words.
JAKE: *Gif of a person walking across the street*
EVIE: What in the world was that????
JAKE: I thought you preferred them over words. That was me saying I’m leaving to come get you soon.
EVIE: Wait, why?! I can call an Uber.
JAKE: I know. But I want to come get you.
EVIE: Stop being so nice to me all the time.
JAKE: But then someone might take my nice guy trophy away.
I’m sitting in Jake’s truck, feeling baseball-sized butterflies fill my stomach. It’s the day of the pool party, and in approximately ten minutes, I will meet every member of Jake’s family. This still perplexes me. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I do know that I’m holding a tin of extra-fudgy brownies in my lap…but only because I spent the evening at his house last night making them. Sam helped while Jake hovered and kept trying to stick his finger in the batter. I swatted him no less than three times, and the whole thing felt oddly domestic.
I want to love it. I want to let myself be ridiculously happy with what seems to be blooming between us. But I can’t seem to silence the loud voice in my head that won’t stop screaming WHAT THE HECK IS BLOOMING?!
What am I to Jake?
What is he to me?
We kissed once, a few days ago, but honestly, I’ve kissed my grandmama longer and with more gusto than the kiss that transpired between Jake and me. I feel like it doesn’t count (and I really need a do over). But neither of us has mentioned it. I think about it all the time, but I don’t dare bring it up because I'm a big stinkin’ coward. I’m scared that if I mention it, he’ll spook and run away. And I really don’t want him to run away. I want this one to stay. To like me. Maybe even love me one day. Is that crazy?
“What’s going through your head over there?” Jake’s voice makes me jump.
“Huh? Oh. Nothing.”
“Not nothing. You look like you’re about to throw up all over my seats.”
I laugh, and it sounds silly and put on like a theatrical dame on Broadway. Ha ha! Oh, Jakey, Jakey, you’re too funny! But yes, I’m totally going to throw up. Nerves are overtaking me because I’m about to meet Jake’s family. I almost chickened out this morning and said I was sick, but Jo texted me before I got the chance and basically forbade it.
JO: I better see photographic evidence of your cutie little bootie in a swimsuit poolside, or I will revoke your use of my washer and dryer.
Rude. She knows my weakness too well: clean underwear.
“I’m fine,” I say, but of course my voice wobbles.
“You don’t have to be nervous. My family’s going to love you.” Really? Cause mine doesn’t.
A few minutes later, we are pulling into Jake’s driveway, and there are already five other cars parked outside, and I’m mentally reminding myself how much I love having clean underwear, otherwise I would be hightailing my butt out of there. He gets out, and I stay put. I don’t mean to stay put in his truck, but the super glue I poured on the seat before sitting down is really doing its job.
He laughs and comes around to my door and opens it. He’s not being chivalrous; he knows I’m not getting out if he doesn’t pry me out. “Come on, crazy. They aren’t going to bite, I swear.”
I hand him the brownies and slide out. My cover-up drags against the seat, and wayyyy too much leg is revealed in the process. Sure, I’m wearing a bathing suit under this cover-up, and it’s going to come off soon, revealing even more of my legs. But in a driveway where Jake is still completely covered and there is not a drop of water in sight, it feels way too indecent.
Jake thinks so too because he’s trying to hide his smile like a teenage buffoon. This is the distraction I needed, though. I slap his arm. “Can you at least try to be a gentleman?”
“I could, but I don’t really want to.”
Charlie jumps out behind me, and I think he finds this flirting between Jake and me annoying, because he grunts and then sits down right beside us, staring up with the most unamused expression I’ve ever seen.
“All right, Charlie, we’re going.” I wasn’t the one to say that. It was Jake. Which means Jake is now interpreting Charlie’s facial expressions too, and wow, this thing is getting real.
Speaking of real, Jake takes my hand and guides me into the house. We’re holding hands (we’ve never held hands before) and walking into a family event. This doesn’t feel like friendship. This feels like dating. But are we? I’ve never felt more confused in my life. I also love Jake’s hands. You would think from all the calluses that he’s a contractor instead of an architect.
We walk through the front door, and Jake drops my hand to take the brownies from me and set them on the counter. He made fun of me for putting up a big fuss to take the brownies back to my place so I could bring them over again today—that way everyone could see that I was contributing something to the party. I’m disappointed that no one is here to witness my contribution. Now it just looks like the brownies were here all along!
“Wait. Let’s go back and ring the doorbell so everyone can see me bring in the brownies.”
Jake turns around with a grin. “You don’t have to come bearing brownies for them to like you.”
“But when has bringing brownies ever hurt anyone’s chances of likability?”
In the next moment, the back sliding door is opening, and I’m out of time. I lunge for the brownies so I can hold them in front of me like a peace offering, but Jake is one step ahead and blocks the brownies. Now it looks like I’m lunging for him. Wonderful. He takes it in stride, though, and wraps his arm around my shoulder, holding me pinned to his side.