Page 30 of Barefoot Lake

“Sorry, I was just admiring your tattoo. It’s beautiful.”

Was that weird to say? It feels weird. Does he think I’m weird?

What am I saying? Of course he does.

It could have been worse. I could have said he’s beautiful. But that would definitely have been weird.

“Thanks.” Jake resumes his drying, dropping the first towel on the ground and setting the wet sweatshirt on top of it before taking the second towel. “Do you have any?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’ve always wanted one. I’ve just never been able to decide on something I like enough to have on me forever.”

He balls up the second towel and places it in the pile on the floor.

“Here.” I hold out the blanket, gesturing to the table. “Let me at least make you a cup of coffee.”

He nods and toes off his shoes before peeling off his socks and setting them beside my line of shoes. He follows me into the kitchen, arranging the blanket around him so he doesn’t get anything else wet. It would make more sense for him to go back to his house, shower, and change into dry clothes, but for some reason, he’s choosing to sit bundled up at my kitchen table. I like how it feels to have him in my space, so I don’t point out that it’s illogical for him to have accepted my invitation to come inside.

I start brewing coffee and lean back on the counter, looking at him. I might be permanently blushing from here on out, but I can’t stop looking at him, even when he’s just sitting there.

The house isn’t particularly big, and neither is the furniture Mom filled it with, so it’s doing an excellent job of accentuating Jake’s sheer size. The blanket is wrapped over his shoulders, so I can’t continue my perusal of his torso, but his arms are propped on the table and even they look… solid. All of him is just so sturdy.

Also, contrary to nearly every other time I’ve seen him, Jake’s face is relaxed. It takes me a second to figure out why he looks different. Then, I notice his brow isn’t furrowed. He’s usually so serious and seeing him at least somewhat relaxed is like breaking the surface after holding your breath underwater as long as you can. He’s… well, he’s beautiful.

He must feel my gaze because he looks up at me.

“Ace, who’s Reid?” The question comes out of nowhere.

My heartbeat ticks up.

“Why do you know that name? Did somebody contact you?” I can see the slippery slope to panic and resist sliding down it.

“No?” Jake’s clearly confused by my reaction, and the furrow in his brow is right back where I’m used to seeing it. “You said it when you were rambling outside.”

I hadn’t realized I’d let the name slip. I feel some relief knowing Reid hasn’t tried to hunt me down up here, but just the sound of his name from somebody in my “new life” is enough to maintain a feeling of anxiousness. I wanted Reid to stay securely in my “old life.”

“He’s a troll,” I say simply, remembering the comment from Piper and finding it to be a very apt description.

Jake raises his eyebrows but stays silent, waiting for more.

“He’s a mistake, one I don’t want to waste any more time on. He’s… he’s not a nice guy.” I shake my head like I’m trying to clear an Etch A Sketch and delete Reid from my brain.

Jake opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but I’m saved from having to explain further by the coffee maker bubbling and hissing as it spits the last of the water into the pot. I quickly turn my back to Jake before he can get out whatever he’s planning on saying.

“How do you take it?” I ask as I retrieve two mugs that are more like bowls, and pour a healthy amount of coffee into each, leaving some room in both. I set them on the table and slide one toward Jake.

“Just cream. No sugar.” He seems to have taken the hint that the Reid conversation is over, but his brow is still all bunched up like he’s displeased.

I retrieve half and half and vanilla creamer from my fridge and pass him the smaller of the two bottles. He tips just a splash into his mug and then watches, horrified, as I sit across from him and pour vanilla creamer into mine, stopping just shy of exceeding the coffee quantity with creamer.

He’s still staring, looking alarmed.

“Can I help you?” I call him out on his expression.

“Does that even taste like coffee anymore?” He sounds like I’ve dishonored the mug of bean water in front of me.

“Nope,” I laugh. “That’s the point.”

“Like mother, like daughter.” The corner of his lips quirk up as he continues to stare at my abomination of a morning beverage. Mom also preferred a bit of coffee with her creamer.