The Will(33)

“Babe,” Jake called and since I was already looking at him, I nodded to indicate I was focused on him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I for some reason shared.

He studied me.

Then he said, very quietly this time, “We’ll talk. Tomorrow. Without the kids.”

Again, for reasons unknown to me, I nodded my agreement.

His hand gave me a squeeze. “Go pour yourself more wine and relax. I’ll finish the pans.”

“I can finish the pans.”

“Babe.” Another squeeze, this one deeper as his face dipped close and his voice dipped low and serious. “What did I say?”

I found this surprising. It was inappropriately overbearing and dictatorial.

It was more surprising when I found myself nodding, slipping out from in front of him and doing what he inappropriately dictatorially told me to do.

This meant I spent the next fifteen minutes before we all retired to the family room to watch TV sipping wine at the kitchen table. But only after I went to go get my phone so I could check Ethan’s answers to his multiplication homework (I was hopeless at math) on the calculator.

He got one wrong out of thirty.

Which meant he was also bright as well as amusing and quite sweet.

And I felt this to be the utter truth even when I asked him to do the incorrect problem again and he counted it out on his fingers with his lips moving.

And I felt this because, I decided, that was adorable too.

*

It was the end of the evening. We were standing outside close to Jake’s truck and I was addressing Amber.

“I’ll inform your father when Jean-Michel gets back to me,” I told her as she’d cleaned her face with my face wash and I’d taken her photo. Though I wouldn’t text it to Jean-Michel until the next day as it was late, he was in New York and that would be rude.

“Right,” she mumbled.

“It was lovely meeting you,” I went on.

“Same,” she muttered, lifted a hand in an awkward wave and moved to the truck.

She barely started her short journey before Ethan darted forward and gave my waist another hug.

This time, I dropped a hand to his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he pulled away.

“Super cool to meet you and the food was fah-ree-king awesome!” he declared.

“I’m glad you thought so and it was lovely to meet you as well,” I replied.

He gave me a big smile, a wide wave and hastened to the truck.

Jake filled his place and when he did, he declared, “It was a good night.”

It actually was and it appeared it was so for all of us.

I nodded.

“Tomorrow, nine o’clock. Meet me at The Shack.”

I stared at him, aghast.

I was aghast because The Shack was, well…a shack. It was on the wharf and although I’d heard of it and knew Gran had been there on occasion, I’d also seen it and it was, well…ghastly.

“The Shack?” I asked and he smiled.

“The Shack, slick,” he stated strangely for I couldn’t comprehend why he added the world “slick.” “Nine,” he finished.

“I, uh…perhaps I can make you breakfast,” I suggested.

“You could, but if you did then I wouldn’t get to introduce you to their seafood omelets that are so good they’ll knock you on your ass. And I want you focused on tellin’ me all the shit that’s goin’ on behind those pretty blues and not on cookin’ breakfast.”

Pretty blues?

Was he referring to my eyes?

Just the thought made my stomach again pitch.

“So nine. The Shack,” he ordered.

I sighed before I agreed, “All right.”

He gave me another smile, leaned in and gave me another brush of his lips on my cheek and then he moved back nary an inch before he whispered, “Thanks for a good night.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Even in Lavender House’s dim outside lights, I could see his eyes light with amusement before he shook his head and moved away, saying, “Later, babe.”

“Uh…erm…later,” I called.

I watched him swing up into his truck.

I waved back when Ethan waved at me from the backseat.

I only moved to the house when the truck started growling along the drive.

Once inside, the door closed and locked behind me, it wasn’t until I hit the kitchen to turn off the lights that I felt it.

The house felt strange.

As in, strangely empty.

It had never felt that way. It always felt the opposite, even with only Gran and me.

Vibrant.

Alive.

Now it felt quiet.

Lonely.

“Or maybe that’s just how you feel, buttercup.”

The words were said by me and not only the fact that I’d utter them, but the words I uttered were so startling, and troubling, I instantly shoved them out of my head and moved to the light switch.

But I reversed directions and instead of turning out the lights, I went to the stoppered bottle of wine and poured myself the last of it.

Carrying it with me, only then did I turn out the lights.

And I headed to the light room.





Chapter Six


Fierce