Page 65 of Barefoot Lake

I remove the condom and step away, wrapping it in a paper towel to throw it away.

I return and lift her back off the couch, gathering her in my arms and holding her on my lap as I walk around the couch to sit. I pull a blanket over us both, and she nuzzles her face against my chest.

“God, Alice. You are fucking magnificent.”

I feel her smile, and I might be the Grinch because I swear my heart grows three times in size.

CHAPTER 27

Alice

As I sink into the couch with Jake, I think that I could spend all my time in his arms and never tire of it. I want to fall asleep here, with him, but his stomach grumbles loudly. I peel an eye open to peek up at him.

Even after what we just did, this man has the nerve to blush.

“Sorry…” he mutters, and I can’t help but laugh.

I unwind myself from his limbs and press a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” I promise, standing. I snatch Jake’s flannel from its landing spot on the arm of the couch and, once I untangle his t-shirt from it, slip it on. It barely has any functioning buttons left and stops just barely below my bottom, but I deem that good enough and head to the bathroom.

When I emerge and come around the corner to the kitchen, I freeze at the sight before me. Jake has put his boxers back on — bummer — and is standing in front of my stove, cooking our burgers. He looks over at me and smiles. The importance of these ordinary moments sends a tingle all the way down to my toes.

I spot my underwear and retrieve them, noting Jake raises his eyebrows when I put them on. He disapproves but smirks with some level of satisfaction when I move gingerly. I’m already deliciously sore. I roll my eyes and make my way to the sink so I can finish cleaning the lettuce and tomatoes.

It’s not until I’m digging into my stacked burger with cheese, lettuce, tomato, bacon, avocado, and barbecue sauce that I realize I’m starving. After the first bite, I can’t help the little happy food dance I do in my seat before I inhale the rest of my food.

I spot Jake, also finished and leaning back in his chair, and he’s looking at me like I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread. He reaches over and plucks at his sleeve on my arm.

“I like this,” he says simply. I don’t know if he means seeing me in his shirt, eating dinner together, or enjoying a post-sex glow, but I like all of it, too.

After we clean up together — so domestic! — Jake lays back on the couch, and I crawl over him like a cat until I find the perfect spot to wrap around him. He turns on the television but keeps the volume low like anything louder would disrupt the calm in the room.

“Tell me something about you.” I’ve known this man biblically, but I still want more. I want to know what makes him smile, his pet peeves, embarrassing moments, and dreams. I want to know the big things and the little things.

“Like what?” His chest rumbles beneath me when he speaks, and it feels intimate.

“Anything, really. What’s…” I try to think of anything. “Your favorite food?”

“Easy. Sushi. What’s yours?”

“Cheese.”

Jake barks out a laugh. “Cheese?”

“Yes! And don’t you dare disrespect the sanctity of cheese.” I laugh with him, but I mean it.

We continue like that for what feels like hours, sharing whatever we can think of. His favorite movie is surprisingly Mean Girls (“It makes me laugh!”), and I tell him mine is My Cousin Vinny. He tells me he broke his leg while snowboarding when he was ten and has refused to try again, even though he lives in New Hampshire. I tell him about my irrational fear in high school that the email chains threatening to curse me if I didn’t keep it going were real.

It’s silly, and it’s open, and it’s easy.

We talk about some deeper things, too. Owning Wilcox Nursery wasn’t a lifelong dream of Jake’s, but he’s always had a green thumb and loves being able to work with his hands and his best friend now.

I tell him about my dream of visiting Paris someday. Money was tight growing up, so Mom and I didn’t travel much, and we never went abroad. I’ve always had this picture in my head of me sitting at a wrought iron table on a narrow cobblestone street in the city of love, reading a novel, drinking a glass of wine, and snacking on bread and cheese. It feels magical.

Eventually, Jake asks about my father again.

“You never wanted to find him?” he asks.