Yours Truly (Part of Your World #2)

Three weeks. Jacob and I had been in our fake relationship for three weeks. And I loved it.

God, I liked him. Like, I really really liked him.

We spent pretty much every day off together—mostly with his family or places where we could take good selfies for Instagram. We’d met Jill and Walter for dinner at Outback. Stopped by Jane’s work, where she managed a small cat café, to get lattes and say hi. Last week, we’d taken the twins to the park so Jewel and Gwen could have a few hours alone—Carter rolled down a hill and got dizzy, then barfed alllll over Jacob. It was hilarious. Jacob was such a good sport. I loved watching him with the kids. He was so patient and sweet with them.

We went for walks and to coffee shops, took Grandpa to lunch. He harassed me for cigarettes the whole time, but it was still fun.

Every time Jacob’s truck pulled into my driveway, I got excited. I had someone to do things with again. To share my day. To eat out and see a movie and hang out with on my days off.

I hadn’t had that kind of companionship in so long. Even before we separated, Nick had been so checked out.

Jacob and I texted when we weren’t together, or we talked on the phone or wrote letters. We were so ready for the engagement party tonight it wasn’t even funny. We had the PDA thing down pat. He was pretty affectionate once he was comfortable. Whenever anyone was around, we just held hands or stood extra close. It was super easy. Especially because I adored him. I literally adored him.

He was so sweet, and kind, and funny, and self-deprecating, and awkwardly lovable. I had this deep urge to take care of him and baby him and just love all over him.

Tonight I was going to his house for the first time. He was picking me up and we were stopping there first, then going to his parents’ house for the engagement party. I hadn’t been over to his place yet. I had to see it before I met Amy just in case it came up. I was super excited.

He picked me up at four, and I jogged out to the truck to meet him.

“Hey.” He smiled as I tossed my purse onto the seat and got in. He held up a bag. “I got you a red velvet donut.”

I grinned. “You did?”

“I have to feed you or you get crabby and nonproductive.”

I gasped dramatically. “I am never nonproductive.”

He laughed as I got buckled in. Then he backed out of the driveway while I dug in the pastry bag.

“Where’s Lieutenant Dan?” I asked.

“At home. I didn’t want to leave him in the truck while I ran in to get your donut.”

He glanced at me. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at the red floral, knee-length halter dress I had on. The engagement party was a luau. I had a big fake red hibiscus flower in my hair. Jacob wore a black Hawaiian shirt with large birds-of-paradise on it. It was very hokey and very not Jacob. He’d probably had to go buy it.

According to him, this party was exactly the kind of crap Amy loved. Themed, loud, and lots of people.

I took a bite of the donut. Then I held it out in front of him and he took a bite too.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked, licking frosting off my thumb. “What time is everyone getting there?”

He chewed and swallowed. “The party starts at six. Amy’s family will be there and some of her friends. My parents are having it catered. It’ll probably run until nine or so. We should stay the whole time.”

“Got it. Are you nervous?”

He paused. He was nervous.

I had gotten to know him so well over the last few weeks he didn’t even have to tell me. I knew his body language, and his facial expressions, and all of his quiets.

“Look,” I said. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you this isn’t going to suck. But we’ve got this.”

He glanced at me with a grateful but not entirely convincing smile.

I hated that he had to go through this. I wouldn’t have been able to do it. If I had to go to Nick and Kelly’s engagement party, I’d show up in my wedding dress to burn the venue down.

Jacob wasn’t like that, though. He was diplomatic and not in the least bit petty. He was more inclined to take the high ground, put the blame for someone’s bad treatment of him on himself rather than publicly admit someone had done him dirty.

I had noooo problem telling everyone Nick did me dirty. Fuck him.

We pulled onto Jacob’s street and I craned my neck to see. He lived in a quiet wooded neighborhood in Minnetonka, a few blocks from the lake. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but his house was exactly it the second I saw it.

The place was small. It looked funny on the large, tree-filled lot, almost like a shed that had been converted into a home. Probably a vacation cottage once, being that it was so close to the popular lake. Nice curb appeal. He had it all landscaped and pretty, with hostas and lilac bushes that were actually pruned and managed—not like mine.

We got out and walked around the yard first. He showed me the birdbath and the porch swing that faced the woods.

Then we circled back to the front and he opened the door to an excited Lieutenant Dan and a warm, sunny living room. It was an open floorplan with a newly remodeled, farm-style kitchen to the left and a small table with two chairs. He had two sophisticated tan leather recliners in front of the TV where a couch would normally be.

“This is cute,” I said, petting the dog and looking around. “But you don’t have a sofa.”

“The chairs are comfortable.”

“Yeah, but you can’t Netflix and chill in these. How do you snuggle? And only two? What if more than one person comes over?”

“I don’t want more than one person to come over.”

“Clearly. The horror.”

He gave me an amused look. “I just like people more when they’re not around. Present company excluded.”

I laughed.

Lieutenant Dan finished with me and hopped up onto one of the chairs, and I gave Jacob a look. “Oh my God. Is that his chair? You only have two chairs and one of them is for the dog?”

He gave me a shrug and a small smile.

I shook my head and wandered around looking at his stuff while he followed me silently. He had a big floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with framed photos tucked into it. Lots of plants. There was a prescription bottle for anxiety meds next to the coffeemaker in the kitchen.

He’d never mentioned being on medication for his anxiety, but I kind of figured. I liked that he managed his mental health. Better than punching holes in walls.

I picked up the bottle and shook it. “Does it help?”

He gave me a nod. “It does. A lot.”

“Good.”

I set the bottle down.

There was a remarkable amount of color in his house. Yellow walls, pops of blue, colorful backsplash in the kitchen, nice artwork. He had a pretty chandelier over the small table and stained glass hanging in a window.

He hovered just behind me, quiet. Like this inspection was a test and he was waiting for his grade.

“It’s not like I thought it was going to be,” I said, picking up a vanilla candle and sniffing it.

“How did you think it was going to be?” he asked from behind me.

I shrugged, setting the candle down. “I don’t know. The way guys’ places usually are. Cold and gray and serious. Or totally empty and you sleep on a mattress on the floor. I like it,” I said, turning to him.

The corners of his lips twitched up.

“Did you decorate it yourself?” I asked.

“I did.”

“You did a great job. You need a framed picture of us, though. In case your family comes over.”

“I have one. It’s next to the bed.”

I put a hand on my chest. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve thought of everything.”

He grinned.

I nodded toward the hallway. “Do I get to see your bedroom?”

“Of course.”

I followed him down a hall lined with framed family photos. We passed a small half-bathroom on the left. He opened a door at the end of the hallway and stood back to let me in.

His large room was clean and neat—hardwood floors with an Aztec rug under the bed. He had a wall-to-wall bookshelf, filled with more books. A forest green tufted chair with a throw pillow on it sat by the window. There was another bathroom at the other end of the room and a large dog bed for Lieutenant Dan in the corner. He had a small workout area with a rowing machine, and an organized weight rack with a rolled yoga mat leaning against it. There were a few plants, an abstract painting over the headboard—and the bed, with a white duvet and a mustard-colored throw folded down at the end.

The second I saw his bed, my heart did a small somersault. This was where he slept.

This is where he has sex…

The thought of that made me a little breathless. Because I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about Jacob and sex over the last three weeks. A lot.

I found him unbelievably attractive. He was in great shape. But I was obsessed with his collarbone. It was the most random thing. I never knew a collarbone could be sexy until Jacob. Maybe because I saw so little of his body, I found the parts I could see so erotic? His forearms, his neck, his Adam’s apple. The other day at the park he was playing with one of the twins and his shirt hiked up and I almost died looking at the two inches of stomach and the trail of hair I got to see.

And I loved the way he smelled. When we were in front of people we knew and we had to look like a couple, the first thing I did was get close enough to smell him. It was like clean laundry and soap. This room smelled like that. This whole place was Jacob, concentrated.

And I could picture us in this bed. I could imagine us coming back after a day of hanging out and maybe we’d be a little drunk and maybe he’d kiss me and maybe…

Maybe…

It was a dangerous word, maybe. And it was one I’d been thinking. A lot.

I couldn’t deny how I was starting to feel.

It was like I was one of the abused animals he rescued. Like I was being coaxed out with food and soft words and gentle pats and I was starting to feel safe. And my hard NO to never being in a relationship again had begun to turn into a maybe…

But only with him.

Not that he was interested. Not that it was a good idea, even if he was. He was still in love with Amy. We worked together, he was Benny’s kidney donor. If something between us went badly, I didn’t want it to affect our working relationship or how he felt about what he was doing for my brother. It wasn’t a good idea to muddy things or cross lines.

But I didn’t want anyone else in this bed with him either.

The idea made me feel sort of panicked.

I didn’t want anyone else to get handwritten letters. I didn’t want him to smile at another woman or hang out with them. I felt oddly possessive of him and this little universe we’d built, which was equal parts ridiculous and scary, because how much of our universe was even real?

He was spending time with me so we could survive the scrutiny we’d be under once Amy was around. He was probably only coming over so much to take the pictures we needed and get to know each other enough to pull off our fake dating. If that wasn’t a factor, would he be hanging out with me at all?

He spoke from behind me. “I told you I have a headboard.”

I laughed a little too loudly. When I turned around, he was leaning in the doorway. He had his arms crossed and he was gazing at me with those soft brown eyes.

There is something so intimate about being in a man’s bedroom. Probably because there’s really only one reason why you would be…

I cleared my throat. “Don’t you have a plant room?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Come on.”

He pushed off the doorway and took me across the hall. When he opened the door, I sucked in a shock of air.

It was beautiful.

There must have been a hundred potted plants in there.

It was a sunroom with an antique desk pushed against a window overlooking the wooded yard. He had creeping vines, plump succulents, wide-leafed plants, and hanging baskets of ferns. A small fountain trickled in the corner. It was a little humid and it smelled earthy.

This place was a secret enchanted garden.

But then his whole life was, I realized.

This was his private world and almost nobody had access to it. It was by invite only, designed to be small and hidden away and only for him. I felt privileged to be here.

There was a large glass jar sitting on a wooden stand in the corner. It had several plants inside. The top was corked. “What’s that?”

“It’s a terrarium,” he said from behind me.

“How do you water it?”

“You don’t. It’s a self-sustaining ecosystem. It waters itself.”

“Huh. Cool. My kind of plant.”

I turned to look at him. “You have a very beautiful life, Jacob.”

Something that I couldn’t read moved across his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

I nodded at the desk. “Is this where you write to me?”

He slipped his hands in his pockets. “Yes.”

I smiled. I liked the idea that his words were born here, in this magical room. It was so him.

Jacob knew who he was. He felt so fully formed. Grown-up.

His life was made up of hundreds of thousands of tiny choices, each thing in it selected by him and only him, so it was exactly what he wanted.

Imagine being the woman he picked to join him here. Having a gentle man like this one choose you to be a part of his private, insular world. To be as special as each thing he carefully surrounded himself with. How lucky that woman would be. And I wondered how Amy couldn’t have felt that way. How she could have had the love of a man like this one and not wanted it.

I smiled softly around the room.

I liked that Jacob knew what he liked. He knew what he needed and he built a life around him that reflected that.

I’d done that once. I’d built a life.

Picked out furniture and framed photos and put vacation souvenirs on shelves. And then the man I’d done it with gave it to someone else. And now I lived in the shattered and fading remnants of my childhood instead. I lived with peeling linoleum and shag carpet and ugly furniture I hated.

I wanted to be this whole again. I would. As soon as Benny was healthy again, I’d move on. Move out. Find a place to make like this one. Be like Jacob.

Be like the old me.

I sniffed and turned to him. “This room reminds me of something my mom always used to say.”

“What?”

“Un hombre que puede mantener viva una planta tiene la paciencia de aguantar tus mierdas. It means ‘A man who can keep a plant alive has the patience to put up with your shit.’”

He smiled.

“I’ve never heard you speak Spanish,” he said. “It’s very beautiful.”

I don’t know why, but this made my cheeks heat a little. Maybe because the way he looked at me when he said it felt like he was telling me I was beautiful. And I liked that very much. Because, looking around this house, Jacob knew beautiful when he saw it.

He looked at his watch. “We should probably get going.” But he didn’t move from the door.

The fun part of the evening was over. We were moving on to stage two, the main event. Three solid hours of socializing.

And Amy.

He was nervous. And probably a little heartsick. Having to watch his ex celebrate her engagement to his brother while everyone looked on to see if he’d die of a broken heart wasn’t going to be easy.

“Do you need a hug?” I asked.

He drew his brows down. “What?”

“You look like you need a hug. Can I hug you?”

We usually didn’t touch unless it was part of the ruse, smoke and mirrors for an audience. But nobody was here to see this, and I honestly didn’t know if he’d even let me.

He gave me one of his quiet pauses. And then he nodded. “Yes.”

I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him. “I am here for you,” I whispered. “We’ll get through this together and everything will be okay.”

He responded by hugging me back. He tucked my head under his chin, and I felt his hands draw me closer. A warm, firm cage that I didn’t want out of. And he must not have wanted out either because that tiny hourglass of appropriate hug time between family and friends ran out and we just…stayed.

And I let myself melt into it.

He was solid. Strong. But also soft somehow, like you could crash into him and not get hurt. The pulse of his neck beat against my cheek. The scent of his skin so near teased me and something warm tingled inside of me at the feel of his body held to mine.

All I could think about was how close his bedroom was. How all I had on under this dress was a thin G-string and an easily removed strapless bra.

I could feel his breath tickle my shoulder. His mouth was right there.

I wondered if he wanted to touch me. If he thought about it too. If he liked the way I smelled, and looked, and felt pressed against him.

Or maybe for him it was exactly what it was supposed to be. Nothing but a platonic arrangement.

Worse.

Maybe when I touched him, he wished I was her.

It was enough to snap me out of it, and I pulled away first.

When I let him go, his hands slid from my back down to my waist and we stood there like that for a fraction of a second. I cleared my throat and took another step. His hands fell away from me.

“Ready?” I asked, my voice a touch too high.

He peered at me, studying my face for a moment. Then he nodded. “Ready.”