“It’s the truth, Babygirl, everything tastes better with you, you’re my favorite flavor.” Fuck me twice on a Tuesday, this man. “You did say you’d share a coffee with me.”
“I definitely said ‘maybe,’” I counter. “Sweet Bean is my favorite coffee spot, it’s unmatched. Paloma turned me onto it a few years ago and now no one can make my coffee like they can.”
“I’ve never been a coffee person but you might have changed my mind,” he responds and takes another sip.
“Listen now, when I said ‘share a coffee’ I didn’t think you’d be guzzling it down.” I snicker as he blows a breath from the heated liquid he just consumed.
Before he can take another sip, I grab it and take one of my own as I lean over and click on the pin board he is looking at. “What about this?” The picture has a tree house that’s maybe only four or five feet above the ground. There are hexagon-shaped concrete pavers that create a pathway to a little deck that leads to the front door of the treehouse. I pin it to his board and click on another image that has string lights hung around the perimeter of the house as well as in the middle of the yard.
“I love that! I was also thinking this would be a great addition. I like how everything is set up to be a place of conversation. How the swings are wide and comfortable with garden beds assembled around it,” he explains, pointing at the areas he is envisioning in this backyard for a family that doesn’t own it yet. He truly cares for people and I see that in the way he is planning this space. No matter if he is going to keep a property or flip it, he wants to ensure everyone is satisfied. Cared for.
He rubs my thigh, gripping it a bit as he says, “Mm. Damn girl, I want a bite of that.” My cheeks instantly flush with color from his words, but also because the little old lady who’s sitting at the table next to us is now looking at me. My neck heats further.“Oh, you can share your coffee but not your croissant.” When I look at him, his smile is mischievous and I can tell he knows exactly what he is doing. Well, two can play at this game. But not with my croissant.
“Nope,” I say, popping the “P” hard. “I’ll share my coffee, but that glazed beauty is all mine.” He scoffs.
“Is that so?” His grin is still there, but now it looks like he’s holding on to a secret. Just as I’m about to answer him, he grips my sides and wiggles his fingers. A laugh falls out of my mouth instantly.
“Oh my God, Jameson!” I exclaim, breathless giggles are all I can afford as I swat at his hands. “Please. Anything but the croissant.”
“Anything?” His torture stops quickly as his hands reach for my coffee, taking a big gulp of it. “Shit, it’s still hot.” He holds his hands to his mouth and we both crack up at our flirty antics. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he brings me in closer. “So, you want to help me plan this backyard?”
And we do just that for the remainder of the morning. At the end of the afternoon, and one planned backyard later, we exit the Sweet Bean with our hands intertwined. Without any questions I follow him to his truck, not wanting to separate from him yet. He opens the passenger door and clicks my seatbelt into place before rounding the truck and getting in. The drive is only a few minutes but he fills the time by talking about the place and the new property manager.
“Keya reminds me of Anders and I when we were young. Except when we were her age we were still fumbling over projects we were working on. She is far ahead of that. She does an incredible job, not a single issue, especially with keeping me in the loop. I thought I would need to extend the remodel an additional two weeks after Toes mess—.”
“Who is Toes?” I question, cutting him off, surprised by the word so out of the blue.
He chuckles and eases into a parking space behind my building before he responds. “Toes…” He shudders. “No grown man should bear witness to another man’s toes without warning. He was my former property manager,” he tells me.
“I remember you telling me about that, but I do not remember the toes,” I say, wiggling my own toes in my sandals in response, and I almost giggle at my internal joke. Anderson’s name pops up on the truck’s display.
“Hey bro, I’m dropping off Cassidy right now then heading your way,” Jameson says as he answers the call.
“Dope. Tell Cass I said hey and get your ass over here.” He disconnects the call as Jameson parks and exits his door, already on his way to open mine. He walks me to my apartment and gives me a quick kiss before heading back to the truck. Not driving off until my door is closed.
Though the break-in has been in the back of my mind, work has required a lot of my focus, it’s kept me busy, which I’m glad for. I glance over our checklist for the golf tournament once more and realize it’s almost done.
After the very delicious breakfast, and I amnottalking about the burnt pancakes, Jameson left only to grab a few things he needed from his job site and his extra toolbag from his truck to fix my door. Making sure the door frame was like-new, he added in longer screws to make it harder to break down. He also grabbed an extra security camera, measure with smart features, to affix to the front of my door, one I can monitor frommy phone if I choose to. Hopefully, adding these new, minute improvements will deter anyone from considering my home as their next big break.
Though that’s a great thought in theoryand reality, I can’t help the sudden gasp or dropping of the very expensive bottle of alcohol that is now broken on the floor, when I hear the front door slam shut and I jump. I know I’m safe, but the break-in really did a number on me.
I’ve had a few scenarios playing on loop in my head of what could have happened if Jameson hadn’t gotten to my place when he did. Was it stupid to not call the police first? In hindsight, probably, but I am not going to focus on that. I freaked out when I heard the door busted through and my first instinct was to call Jameson. I was digging through the guest bedroom’s closet to refresh the sheets on the bed when I heard the door slam and splinter.
I can’t pinpoint the exact flight response that came over me, but all I could think was,this cannot possibly be happening to me. People never truly know how they’ll react when things happen, but I don’t regret my decision for a second.
My I’ve-read-one-too-many-romance-books heart is telling me that I need to let go and fall all in with Jameson, that clearly I am his first choice. But my brain, my stupid, fucking cock-blocking brain, is reminding me of what happened before: that my parents didn’t even choose me, so how could this incredible bulldozer of a man, want to prioritize me in his life? Why would he want to choose me when no one else has before? No one but my Lo and Janelle, but still…my sheets have been frosty and my girls aren’t warming them. Which feels ridiculous to think about since Jameson has been here: present tense.
Maybe a call to my therapist is due. I want to overcome the hurt of my parents not being there for me. I’m ready to move on but this feeling, deep down inside of me, is getting in the way. Iam getting in my own way of my own happiness and it’s time I get on board with giving myself thisyes. Jameson is a yes that I don’t believe I will ever regret giving into—living without him… just thinking about it, is painful.
When I look up, I see Paloma struggling with the front door. Her frustration bubbles over with a scream, one that sounds more like a roar, as she yanks the door back. Her reaction pulls me out of my thoughts of Jameson and the break-in. She slaps her palm against the door frame, catching herself from almost falling on her ass in the process. She pulls the door open with so much force that I’m actually nervous she might rip the door off its hinges. Small but mighty. She leans her body halfway out of the door and snatches her bag free from the traitorous handle it was caught on.
“Puñeta!” It’s the only intelligible word I hear, but I know she is cursing under her breath. Who pissed in her Cheerios this morning? She adjusts her shirt, needing something to do with her hands after such an outburst, a nervous habit of hers that she doesn’t let many see. Her gaze suddenly pops up to me as she realizes I’m watching her.
I still have my hand pressed firmly into my chest as I try to calm my ragged breaths from hearing the door slam open. Paloma slowly blinks before she doubles over in laughter, dropping my hand I follow after her. Howling at the clear annoyance that we’ve all been through.
“Girl! You want to tell me what made you so pissed off at the door?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them as we continue laughing for another few minutes.
“Carajo! Fucking door, I swear its always something.” She snorts, her frustration still brimming at the surface. “One slightly minor inconvenience and I am going to lose my shit. One. More. That’s all it’s gonna take.”
