“In the spare?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not … no. We’re not doing that. It’s not the right thing to do.”
“But we’re not going to—”
“It’s too tempting, babe.”
“So it’ll be a good test for self-control?”
“You think I need a test? I’m already at my limit, sweetheart.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms. “But it’s thousands of dollars going to waste all becauseyoudon’t know how to keep your hands off me.”
He scoffs but laughs slightly. I’m staring out the window, butI can feel Jesse’s eyes on me, studying me, my frustrated mood.
“How ’bout you move into the hunters’ lodge?” he calls out in the silence.
There’s an idea. I didn’t even think about that. That cabin is vacant until September. It would be perfect timing. I know it’s not much, given it’s a hunting cabin and meant for basically just sleeping in, but at least it gets me out of paying for an apartment I’m not even living at.
“Okay.”
“It’s pretty bare but—”
“It’s better than wasting money. And it’s only for the summer.”
“I can run it by Dad, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Relief and excitement hit me. I can save moneyandbe closer to him. The only downside is losing the convenience of being near the hospital, but I was going to have to adjust to the forty-five-minute drive anyway.
* * *
We settled on the main meal and appetizers, now it’s time for the cake. I’m excited; Jesse’s stuffed already, but that’s okay, just means more for me.
The caterers set up all the samples and leave us alone so we can discuss our honest opinions with each other and not hurt anyone’s feelings.
We start with the chocolate raspberry. It’s really good but I don’t want a dark wedding cake. It’ll get stuck in my teeth and I don’t want to stain our clothes when we smash it against each other’s faces.
“I think this one looks good,” Jesse says, digging his fork intoanother slice and into his mouth. I read the label and hold in a laugh.
His face says it all as he forces it down. “That tastes like feet.” He reaches for his water and I start cackling. It was carrot cake. He hates carrot cake.
“I could’ve told you that.”
“What’s this one?” he asks, already digging into it.
“Honey lavender,” I read.
“Eh.” He pulls his fork and goes for another instead.
“This one?”
“Lemon strawberry.”
He groans. “Did they do plain flavors? Vanilla? Chocolate?”
