Jaime didn’t take it at first, but stared at it, like she’d tried to give him a dead squirrel. “You drove here, in the snow, to give me my glove?” He blinked. “At midnight?”
“It stopped snowing,” she said with a little shrug.
He pocketed the glove and then, seeing that he couldn’t very well send her out into the snow again, sighed. He took off his running shoes and his coat and went to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”
He didn’t listen for a reply. He dug through his fridge, pulling out eggs, and began making Eggs Benedict because it sounded good and he could do it in his sleep. Discovering that he had some leftover bacon, he began frying that up, and his house soon filled with the scents of breakfast food, calming his pounding heart.
Cooking allowed him to think when he needed to, or it allowed his mind to drift into another place. Tonight, he concentrated on the meal, poaching the eggs at the exact temperature to create that delectable runny yolk when you cut into the egg. As the eggs poached, he mixed up the hollandaise sauce, the English muffins crisping in the toaster.
He heard Grace come into the kitchen. “What are you making?”
“Eggs Benedict.”
“At midnight?”
He laughed, working the sauce. “That seems to be the theme for tonight, doesn’t it?”
“You need help with anything?”
He pointed a finger to the living room. “You sit your butt down and let me cook. This is a very delicate operation.”
He heard her snort as she left him to it.
After placing the bacon on the muffin, he delicately put the poached eggs on top, then covered both with the hollandaise sauce. For some added color, he fanned out orange slices on the side and then sprinkled the Eggs Benedict with a little parsley. He came to the living room bearing the plates and set one in front of Grace before sitting down beside her with his own plate.
“I hope you like eggs,” he said, “because I’m not making anything else.”
She gave him a look. “Good thing I do, in fact, like eggs.”
He smiled, cutting into the poached egg and sighing in satisfaction. “Excellent. Now eat before I change my mind about letting you stay.”
They ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt…homey. Like they’d been doing this for years, and afterward, they’d talk about their days and maybe watch some TV. Go to bed.
Jaime became overly aware of Grace sitting beside him, wearing that thin tank top and her pajamas with dancing bears on them. She seemed both infinitely young and absurdly mature; sometimes he didn’t know how to look at her.
When they finished, Grace lay back on the couch, her hand over her stomach. “That was amazing. I could go to sleep right now.”
Jaime took the plates to the kitchen, setting them on the ledge, before returning to Grace. He sat down by her feet and propped them on his lap. She opened her eyes, surprised, but when he started rubbing her feet, she moaned a little.
As he massaged the balls of her feet, encased in purple socks, he asked, “Why are you here, Graciela?”
She didn’t open her eyes or answer. He tickled her feet, which caused her to shriek with laughter.
“No, don’t! Stop! I told you, I came to return your glove.”
He stopped tickling, but he gave her a look saying that if she lied, he’d continue the tickling.
“No one comes out in the middle of the night to give someone a glove.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I do.”
He made a move like he was going to tickle her again, and she pulled her feet up under her butt with a laugh.
“Fine! Fine, you win. Jerk.”
He just waited.
She didn’t look at him as she murmured, “I didn’t—I didn’t want what happened, to end. Like that.” When her gaze collided with his, his entire body heated. “Because I don’t think it should end. No matter what you think everyone will say.”
They watched each other, assessing. Jaime wondered if this was a dream. Was he going to wake up again with her name in his mouth and his entire body aching? But this wasn’t a dream. She’d come here—for him.
“Graciela…” He touched her calf.
“Don’t.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Don’t give me your excuses. You can’t tell me all the reasons why this is bad and wrong and stupid when you touch me like you did in your truck. You can’t pretend like you're going to take the higher moral ground when everything you do contradicts what you say.” Her voice was breaking, and she was breathing in pants. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He gently pulled her legs toward him and settled her on his lap. She widened her eyes at him.
As he tangled his fingers in her hair, he said, “Just so you know, I wasn’t going to say anything like that.”
Then he kissed her.
He should’ve known that the second Grace had decided she wanted something—wanted him—that he’d be powerless against her. As he touched her soft hair and kissed her and inhaled her scent, he didn’t remotely care that he’d lost this battle.
He leaned her backward until she was underneath him on the couch. A flush had gathered in her cheeks and spread to her chest, and her breasts pushed against her top. Seeing her nipples peaking through the cloth, he realized with a groan that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Is this what you want? Tell me now if it's not and I’ll stop.” He didn’t touch her, but waited. He scanned her face.
She breathed—in and out. Then she sifted her fingers through his hair and murmured, “Yes, I want this.”
Before she finished speaking, he kissed her. He inhaled her gasp and slicked his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her, claiming her. His hands roved down her body, cupping a breast, feeling the nipple beneath his palm. She shuddered.
The moment intensified. This wasn’t just a kiss, this wasn’t just touching, it was like they’d finally discovered each other and it was a revelation. Jaime could barely comprehend what was happening. His mind seemed to stop, and it was only Grace, beneath him, soft and silky and sweet.
He kissed her chin, kissing down her neck and across her collarbone. He marveled at a few freckles on her left shoulder before he gently pulled down the strap of her tank top. He looked at her face, to make sure she was enjoying this, and the desire in her expression punched him in the gut. God, he’d never get tired of that. He kissed her shoulder as he pulled the strap down her elbow and off of her arm.
He did the same to the other strap, and then her breasts were bare to him. They were small with pale pink nipples, and he touched each one, delicately tracing the blue veins he could see shadowing underneath. She hitched her hips against him.
“So pretty and pink,” he marveled. He brushed his thumb against one nipple, and he just watched as her chest rose and fell in quick gasps. He continued to circle her areola, loving how her nipple continued to pucker, like it was begging for his touch.
Grace touched his face. She shifted her legs. “You’re driving me crazy,” she admitted.
He looked up. Her eyes were wide and glassy. He brushed hair from her forehead, tender and gentle. As his fingers moved across her lips, she kissed them, her eyelashes fluttering.