“Are you okay?” he asks, noticing the flicker of discomfort. Instantly concerned, he holds me by the biceps, eyes scanning my body for the source of my pain.
I try to nod but I shake my head, unexpected tears pooling in my eyes. I’m not okay. I’m confused and frustrated and drawn to the wrong man. It’s all wrong, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“I can’t do this. I should go.” I put a hand to his chest, willing myself to step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I push away from him and turn for the door, but then his big hand suddenly clasps mine, and instinctively our fingers thread together like two halves of a whole. He spins me back around to face him. There’s a desperate sort of confusion in his eyes.
“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice gravelly with desire. “I can’t…I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses. “I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried. For years I convinced myself I’d forgotten you, that I was over you, and then I came home and you walked into the bakery and I realized everything I thought I’d forgotten was just waiting under the surface until I saw you again.” He stares at me unhappily. He reaches out and brushes a wisp of hair back from my cheek, the calloused pads of his fingers grazing my cheekbone. His other hand is still holding mine, big and warm and so safe feeling. I never want him to let me go.
“Emmie, what are you doing to me?” he groans. His eyes lock with mine. “Tell me you don’t think of me.” It’s a demand, a challenge. “Tell me there’s nothing here.” He gestures between us. I shake my head and swallow hard. I’m not a liar.
“I can’t,” I rasp out finally, a confession I don’t want to make. It seems we’re both finding the courage to tell our truth tonight. I wonder briefly what the consequences will be.
There is a brief flash of relief and victory in his eyes. “Thought so,” he says, and then he pulls me flush against his body, his arm banded tightly, protectively across my back. I catch a whiff of him, sawdust and soap and sweet bread dough. I give a little gasp as his mouth comes down over mine. The kiss is not sweet, not gentle. It’s pent-up longing and desire and a touch of despair. He tastes of espresso and dark chocolate, with the faintest floral hint from the sprinkle on his lip. I arch into him hungrily.
He gently rakes his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer to him, his mouth devouring, and mine meeting his. I nip his bottom lip and he growls softly, cradling my skull between his hands. My knees buckle and he turns me, walking me back a few steps until I bump into the marble slab table. Effortlessly he hoists me up and sets me on the smooth, cold marble, pressing against me, his fingers big and warm on my thighs, steadying both of us while he kisses me so thoroughly I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe and I don’t care. I never want this kiss to stop. We’re pressed so close together, straining to get closer, completely lost in each other. I wrap my legs around his waist and he pulls me closer still. I feel like my veins are filled with sparklers, shooting desire down through my body all the way to my toes. I can’t deny this any longer. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.
He breaks the kiss first, stepping back with a groan, dragging himself away from me. I lean back on the table, panting a little, disheveled and weak-kneed. My head is spinning. Who knew Jakob Kristensen could kiss likethat!
“You want to know why I can’t sleep?” he asks, his voice soft and rough at the same time. “That’s why. I can’t stop thinking about you—all the time. And tonight you came out wearing that dress, looking so beautiful it scrambles my brain.” He runs his hands through his hair, messing up his little man bun. “And then you left with him, and all night all I could think about was you with him, what you were doing, if he was touching you, kissing you…it’s driving me crazy. I’m tired of trying to fight how I feel about you, Emmie. I want you, pure and simple. I always have.”
And all of a sudden like a pail of cold water, I realize what I’ve just done. Henry. This is all wrong.
“No!” I put out a hand, sliding off the table and inchingaround him toward the door, feeling panicked. What am I thinking? “No, this is not how it’s supposed to go.” I am kissing the wrong man. I am falling for the wrong man. “I can’t do this.” I can sense the temptation to tell him how I feel rising up in me, the words balanced on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. I cannot allow myself to open up to him tonight. I should be kissing Henry, opening up to Henry.
I see the hurt and confusion in Jakob’s eyes, but I force myself to gather up my purse and clothes again. “I’ve got the competition coming up and a lot on my plate. I can’t…I just can’t do this right now.”
He shakes his head, a look of disbelief replacing the desire and longing. “Really? Why are you fighting this, Emmie? Am I so revolting to you? It sure didn’t seem like that a minute ago.” He gestures to the marble slab table where sixty seconds ago I was ready to climb him like an apple tree. My face flames. Now I can’t get away fast enough.
“It’s just not the right time. It’s not the right thing,” I babble, putting my hand on the doorknob, feeling shame and desire and confusion all rolled into one. I’m tempted to tell him the truth, but he doesn’t know about the vision and I can’t spill the secret. Besides, how absurd would it sound to him, that I’m trying to orient my life around a vision I had for a few brief seconds? But he doesn’t understand the weight these visions carry in my family. They’re infallibly true, held up as beacons and road maps and inspirations. My mom and I and generations of women before us have oriented our entire lives around what we see in those brief moments. The visions are our North Star, true and immutable. I cannot go against what I saw after I blew out Signe’s birthday candle, not even for Jakob.
He is standing there in the dim light of the kitchen, hands athis sides, looking frustrated and confused, but I can’t fix it. I have to keep my distance. It’s for the best.
“Jakob, I’m sorry,” I tell him earnestly. And then I turn on my heel and slip out the door, almost breaking into a run in my haste to escape temptation as fast as I possibly can.
Chapter 28
“What is going on between you and that fine man out there?” Dot demands, peering out of the office door at Jakob and Walt. She’s just dropped by for a minute to check on the renovations during a late-afternoon lull in customers at her shop. It’s almost a week after my dancing date with Henry, and in the aftermath of our incendiary late-night kitchen make out session, I’ve avoided Jakob like the plague. I’ve buried myself in my work, spending hours in the kitchen perfecting my three chocolate competition entries. I took the salmonberries Jakob foraged for me and turned them into a gelée that, when combined with crystallized ginger, made a unique and delectable filling for a bonbon. I’m hoarding the precious stuff like a dragon guarding treasure. I have just enough to make one final batch for the competition.
All week I’ve talked only to Walt, spent time with Gus at home as much as possible, taken a couple of walks and had coffee with Henry, and managed not to interact with Jakob at all.Unfortunately, avoiding him is having no impact on my feelings for him. I’m miserable and annoyed and worried I’m messing up my life. Damn that magnificent man who smells like pastries and can kiss like a demigod. I blow a breath out in frustration.
“Jakob’s been as touchy as a bear with a sore paw all week,” Dot continues with a frown. “And you’re no picnic either, girlie. Did something happen between the two of you?”
“What? Why?” I say defensively, looking up from my computer where I’m trying to finalize a decision about light fixtures. Are frosted globes timeless, or are they going to look dated in a few years? I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me the answer.
“Just wondering,” Dot says, holding her hands up as though to ward off my ire.
“Sorry, just feeling jumpy about the competition and worried about money with the county upgrades looming,” I tell her. Which is not a lie but is not the whole truth either. I’m also struggling hard against my attraction to Jakob, and I’m afraid I’m falling for the wrong man.
“You’re gonna knock those judges’ socks off,” Dot assures me. “You’re a shoo-in to win, and then you’ll have all the money you need.”
I’m touched by her faith in me, but the knot of worry in my stomach does not loosen.
“I hope you’re right. If I don’t win, I don’t know how we are going to get that money,” I tell her with a sigh. The estimates from two more contractors have come in, and the news continues to be grim. They all gave similar bids. We’re still looking at around thirty-five to forty thousand dollars for our building to be upgraded. That’s at least ten thousand dollars apiece for which we all need to budget just for what the county is requiring us to do. “It feels impossible,” I say aloud.
Dot shrugs. “You can always find a way forward,” she says. “You just gotta knock on every door and have faith that one of them will open in time. We’ll figure something out. I’m noodling on ideas too. We all are. I know sometimes you think you’re the only one who can save things around here, but no one has to do it alone, Emmie girl. We’re all in this together, the whole community.” She gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “By the way, that list of contractors you sent out has been really helpful. The whole business owners group is going to meet next week again to compare notes and see what anyone’s come up with. Now I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
A minute after Dot leaves, I hear the front door bell jingle, and Mom’s voice calls out, “Gus, honey, slow down. Stay with me. This is a construction site.” Mom walked Gus back from his jujitsu lesson so I could finish deciding on light fixtures. Gus runs into the office and throws himself into my arms, giving me a crushing hug. Mr. Butters waddles in behind him, wagging his tail. Today he is wearing a tiny top hat attached to his head with an elastic band under his chin.
“Hi, baby. How was class?” I hug Gus, holding tight. These snuggles are not forever, I realize. One day he won’t want to throw himself on my lap. I’m determined to savor every day he does.
