“Because he knows they’re good.”
“I’ve half a mind to give you an intervention.”
“I’ve half a mind to chuck this ball at you.”
Jack grins.
Thursday morning dawns coldand clear when I raise the blind on my bedroom window. It’s earlier than I typically wake up, and despite common courtesy telling me I shouldn’t, I don’t text Jack—I call him.
He picks up by the third ring. “Hello?”
“Morning.” I press my hand to the window. His voice is blurred with sleep. “Did I wake you up?”
Jack yawns. “From a dream with you in it. Bit rude, really.”
My lips quirk up. “Is it too early to start Thanksgiving?”
“Mom’s probably already started the turkey. Thing takes forever. So, no.”
“I can bring you breakfast,” I offer.
“Just you is enough, but I’ll never turn down food. Want to go for a walk, or come hang out on the couch for a while?”
“I could do with some couch time first. Be over in a few minutes.”
I put the phone down and grab my clothes for the day, Jack’s words echoing in my ears.Just you is enough.Warmth steals over me like stepping into a hot shower, spreading from my core in a tingling, pleasing ripple.
Uncle Remington isn’t up yet. I debate leaving a note on the refrigerator, to remind him I’m going to Jack’s. We haven’t spoken other than quick greetings since Sunday. I haven’t been home very much. He’s said nothing about Thanksgiving, in those quick interactions. I let my hand fall instead of picking up the pad of paper and pen. He knows where I’ll be. I’d prefer if he didn’t come, anyway. I want this warmth to last all day.
I reach Jack’s house within twenty minutes of calling him, my cheeks stinging from the rawness of the air. Jack must have been waiting at the door; it opens before I do more than reach for the handle.
“I brought donuts,” I say, stepping in and holding up the box, my backpack halfway to the floor.
Jack pushes the door shut, pulls me close, and kisses me. The box drops to the floor next to my backpack.
I’m vaguely aware of Widget running over, sniffing and wiggling and wagging his tail, waiting to be pet. Low music sounds from the kitchen, along with a faint humming I know comes from Mrs. Benson.
Jack eclipses everything. Pushes away all thoughts, draws all attention. His hand curls on the back of my neck and I twine mine in his soft hair. Spearmint washes over me, the scent and taste of his toothpaste strong. I don’t realize I’m moving until my back hits the door. It puts a breath of space between our lips, and Jack’s laugh is a warm exhale on my skin.
“Good morning,” he says with a dazed smile.
“We should say good morning like this more often,” I say, touching my lips to his again.
It has to be a few minutes before we surface from each other, and Jack leads me into the kitchen by the hand.
Mrs. Benson beams, pausing in the process of spreading a pie crust. “Eli! I didn’t even hear you come in!”
“Morning, Mrs. Benson. Sorry I’m a little early.”
“Why would you be sorry about that?” She walks over and puts her arms around me, holding her flour-covered hands out. “Couldn’t wait for a hug. Don’t think I got you with flour, did I?”
Jack inspects me, walking in a circle, eyes moving up and down my body, and grins. “Looks good.”
Mrs. Benson pats him on the cheek, leaving a powdery handprint. She sucks in a small, feigned breath. “Oh, dear. Looks like I got you, Jack.”
The indignation in his raised brows is priceless. Especially when he reaches for the flour on the counter to retaliate and she swats his hand away.
“Go on,” she says with a chuckle. “I’ll let you know when I need you to sample things. You keep an eye on the time so we don’t miss the parade!”
