The Will (Magdalene #1)(40)

I very much did.

I didn’t agree verbally. I nodded.

“It’ll be good they got a bit of Lydie to fill that hole. That being you.”

I was not a mother but I could see a father would think this true.

And this felt oddly nice, filling that hole, and that hole being the one Gran left, not to mention him thinking I could fill it as any hole Gran left, I knew too well, was enormous.

I nodded again.

“That said, Amber’s grounded for a week so her ass is tied to Ethan or the house or Lavender House, you take them on. After that, you’re around a while, it’d be cool you give her a break. She’s sixteen years old. That’s too damn early to be a mom to an eight year old kid but with all the shit I gotta do with the club and the gym, I had to lean on her.”

“I can give her a break,” I said quietly.

“That’d be appreciated.”

“I…should I start today?”

“No. You keep settlin’ in. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Amber’s not goin’ on her date because of the shit that came out of her mouth yesterday. They’re covered. But if you could start next week, I’d be grateful.”

I nodded yet again.

“Since Amber’s on enforced babysitting duties, I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow night. Fill you in.”

Dinner with Jake.

Alone.

Again, that strange anticipation I’d experienced all the day before hit me and I knew in that moment that it was because I enjoyed being around this man. What I didn’t know was why I’d anticipate seeing him, that feeling coming on strong, when he was sitting right next to me.

“Dress up, I’m takin’ you to a decent place,” he ordered.

That anticipation spiked in a way I felt it in my ni**les.

My ni**les.

Oh dear.

“I…uh…all right,” I replied.

“Be at your house at seven,” he said.

Finally, a decent hour for dinner.

“I’ll be ready.”

“You done with that?” he asked, tipping his head to my omelet.

I nodded.

“Then let’s get you to the Weavers.”

By this, he meant he would collect all of our refuse, leaving me only to grab my coffee cup. This he did, depositing it in the big barrel with its black plastic liner that served as a rubbish bin for, perhaps, the entirety of the wharf and not just The Shack.

He called, “Later, Tom,” and got back a, “Later, Jake.”

I looked and still, no Tom could be seen in The Shack.

“Your omelets are lovely.” I decided to yell because they were and he probably knew that but it always felt nice getting a compliment.

“Thanks, darlin’!” I heard called back but still could see no Tom.

I completely forgot about Tom when Jake grabbed my hand and started us up the boardwalk.

I also completely forgot to breathe and my heart completely forgot to beat.

We walked, Jake guiding us to my car, and as we did, although I couldn’t breathe and mostly couldn’t think, what I could think was that walking with me holding my hand seemed altogether natural to Jake.

Then again, he’d had three wives, he had a daughter and in our brief acquaintance, he’d shown he could be affectionate and it was doubtful he was only this way with me.

For me, I had never, not once, not since high school, walked holding a man’s hand.

And doing it, that…that knocked me right on my ass.

In a nice way that felt splendid.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I forced myself to say when I’d forced myself to breathe again.

“No worries,” he muttered.

I turned my head and looked up at him. “You were right, it was delicious.”

He dipped his chin and looked down at me. “Told you it’d knock you on your ass.”

Staring in his eyes, now a stormy gray that seemed to reflect the skies above, I knew I was.

I was getting knocked on my ass.

But not by an omelet.

By something altogether different.

And this feeling would continue when he stopped me at the driver’s side door to my car and leaned in. He brushed his lips against my cheek, which gave me another waft of his attractive cologne as well as an altogether too appealing scrape of his stubble (he had again not shaved that morning).

He pulled back and, smiling, murmured, “Later, babe.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow night.”

He winked, squeezed my hand, let it go and I watched him walk to his truck.

I forced myself to get in my car and drive to the Weavers’.

But I did it feeling a peculiar feeling.

That being knocked on my ass.

Thus winded.

And not minding at all.

* * * * *

I didn’t know why I did it; it was as if my eyes were drawn there by unseen forces.

But as I was driving back to Lavender House from the Weavers, my mind consumed with Eliza, her frailty, the pain etched around her mouth, the effort she still was making to pretend everything was all right and chitchat when her eyes were drooping, I turned my head and saw it.

Magdalene was not large and had long since had a town council that was rabidly determined to keep the old Maine coastal town feel about the place. Thus, the commercial areas of town were mostly untouched and had been for well over a century and things like fast food restaurants were firmly placed at the outskirts of town so you couldn’t even see them unless you were on the road driving that way.