CHAPTER FIVE
When I emerge from my bedroom the next morning, Jasper is sitting on the couch, fully dressed in dark slacks and a blue button-down shirt. You know, normal casual attire for nine a.m. on a Saturday. He has his phone in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
“Morning.” It comes out sounding like a croak, so I clear my throat and try again. I’m not used to talking to anyone first thing, unless you count muttering to myself.
“Good morning, Willow.” He sets his phone aside and gets to his feet. His gaze sweeps over myStar WarsBB-8 pajamas before locking on mine. “I hope you don’t mind that I made coffee.”
“No, I’m glad you did. I meant to tell you last night to go ahead if you were up before me. Did you sleep okay?”
“I did, thank you. Your couch is very comfortable.”
I give him a sleepy smile and head for the kitchen, where I pour myself a cup of coffee. I peer into the fridge, making a face at the mostly empty shelves. “I don’t have much to offer you in the way of breakfast. I’m guessing you’re not a leftover-lasagna-in-the-morning type of guy.”
“Not particularly.” His voice is closer than expected. I pop my head over the top of the fridge door to find him standing a few feet away. “I had thought I’d make breakfast as a thank-you for putting me up for the night, but…”
“But Mother Hubbard’s cupboards are bare? Yeah. I need to shop at some point this weekend. I didn’t mean to let the fridge get this empty.” I say it lightly as if it’s not a regular occurrence. Since moving back to Bellevue, my fridge hasn’t held more than a few things at a time, and most of it has been leftovers from Mom or things I’ve brought home from the café. I suppress a sigh as I mentally pull up my bank balance. It might be time to swallow my pride and let my mother help me after all.
“That’s a really sweet thought, though,” I add. “We could go out for breakfast if you want. I don’t have to be at the café until later.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary, coffee is fine,” Jasper says. “I don’t want to take up more of your time.”
I’m about to tell him I don’t mind and would actually enjoy having breakfast with him when his phone rings. He excuses himself before stepping back into the living room to answer. After a short, quiet conversation, he turns back to me. “That was Gwen. She says everyone is up, and I can come over whenever I’m ready.”
“Okay. You don’t have to rush off, you know. We could at least have coffee together.”
At first, I think he’s going to decline. I don’t want to ponder too hard over the rush of relief I feel when he nods and gestures toward the couch. I lead the way, noticing his blankets are folded neatly and topped with the pillows. I settle in and lean against the soft pile while he sits on the opposite end of the couch.
“You survived the night with the Funko Pops?” I ask.
His eyes light with amusement. “I did. When I was falling asleep, I had a sudden memory of Hadley as a little girl. She loved dolls—baby dolls, Barbies, Trolls. She had a vast collection from an early age. After seeingToy Story, every last one of her dolls had to be put away at night because she was afraid they’d come to life while she was sleeping. Stuffed animals were fine for some reason, but the dolls went into her toy box or the closet.”
The fond expression on his face as he speaks about his youngest sister tugs at my heartstrings. “Did she get over it? Would she have said yes when I offered to turn the figurines around last night?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He scratches at his chin, drawing my attention to the dusting of dark stubble along his jaw. I would have thought Jasper would be the type to shave every day. Despite his outfit and his neatly styled hair, the shadow of a beard makes him appear more casual. And kind of sexy if I’m honest.
“Hadley lives with you, right?” I already know the answer, but it seems like a safe conversation starter.
“That’s right. She traveled abroad for most of last year and came back to Toronto last fall. When she started traveling again with her new job, she quickly realized it was costing too much to rent an apartment only to have it sit empty for weeks at a time. I offered her my spare bedroom, and she moved in a few weeks later.”
“You must get along well to invite her to live with you,” I say. “Is it weird living together as adults?”
“With Hadley away so much of the time, it often feels no different than it did when I lived on my own,” he says. “But when she’s home, we enjoy each other’s company. It’s nice having someone to cook for and do things with. I enjoy hearing her travel stories and looking at her photographs.”
Having pegged Jasper as a man of few words, I’m surprised to discover he’s actually quite talkative and doesn’t seem to mind answering my questions. I wouldn’t normally be so forward, but he’s my best friend’s future brother-in-law and we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks. Plus hedidjust spend the night in my apartment. “What do you do when Hadley’s away?”
Jasper smoothes an invisible wrinkle on the thigh of his trousers and takes a long, slow sip of his coffee before saying, “Work.”
“And?”
He clears his throat. “And work.” His eyes dart in my direction, meeting mine long enough for me to see the sardonic look there. “I enjoy reading. I’m not much for TV or movies, except when Hadley is around and forces me to watch things with her. My therapist says…” He stalls, his posture going even more rigid as he straightens and clears his throat once more.
“Your therapist says…?” I prompt gently. When he remains silent, I add, “You don’t have to continue, but there’s no shame in therapy if that’s why you’re hesitating. I saw a psychologist for a few years in my teens after my parents got divorced, and started again a few years ago when I moved to Toronto.” I stop myself from saying more. Not because I don’t want to—I’m an open book—but because I feel like it would act as a distraction and keep Jasper from talking about himself.
His eyes meet mine for longer this time. His gaze is so intense it feels like I’m under a microscope. He must find whatever he’s looking for because he gives a short, decisive nod. “My therapist says I need to get out more. Spend time with friends. Date.” He says ‘date’ like it’s a dirty word.
Again, I already know the answer, but something compels me to ask, “And do you? Date, I mean.”
“No. I don’t enjoy dating. I find it uncomfortable and tedious. I can’t flirt, I’m socially awkward, and I’m terrible at idle chitchat. My therapist maintains I’d get used to it with a bit of practice, but why suffer through the agony of dating when I’m quite content being on my own?”
