I was already leaning into his shoulder but then he pulled me on top of him, my legs straddling his waist, his hands on the waistband of my jeans.
I leaned forward, my hair dancing into his eyes. “I had this fantasy of having sex tonight in your childhood bedroom,” I said to him. “Is that perverted?”
He smiled. “A little. But in a good way.”
I smiled, bending forward into his kiss.
“But I don’t want to wait until tonight,” he whispered, his lips moving to my neck. “Do you?”
I let myself get lost in the feeling of his hands as they slid under my sweater and gently lifted it up and off me. I shivered against him, the desire for him so powerful, so certain, it was almost out-of-body. It was like being here, in this place where he’d been raised, made me even more connected to him than I’d ever felt before.
“No, I don’t want to wait.”
THERE WERE VOICES COMINGfrom beyond the foyer when we stepped back into the house forty minutes later. The currentof nervous energy that had calmed when I was alone with Jamie whipped back up as we entered the grand living room.
I’d known that Jamie took after his dad, but seeing them side by side, it was uncanny how similar they looked. They had the same chestnut-brown hair and tall build, but where Jamie’s eyes were the warm brown of his mom, his dad’s were a dark blue. His sister, Amelia, had the same coloring as Jamie but not the height. She barely reached Jamie’s shoulder wearing three-inch heels, but she still managed to seem incredibly intimidating. Probably because, as a district court judge, it was literally her job to project a sense of authority. Seated in a wingback was an elderly woman with a snow-white bob, a nearly empty wine glass, and a well-worn Judith McNaught book balanced on the arm of her chair.
Jamie led me over to her. “This is my Grandma G,” he said, bending over to give her a peck on the cheek.
She squinted at me playfully. “Jamie tells me you and I share a love of happily ever afters.” She tapped the book beside her. “Are you a fan?”
I nodded and smiled. Grandma G stood from her chair and looped her arm through mine, placing a delicately bony hand on my arm. I noticed her large ruby-and-diamond art deco ring—I had seen it in a picture of her on Jamie’s desk once. He’d said it was called a “Toi et Moi” ring—you and me. I always loved that idea, and how unique the ring looked. It was even more beautiful in person.
“Truth be told, I’m actually more a Johanna Lindsey girl,” I admitted as Grandma G began steering me toward the diningroom—with an incredible amount of force for a woman of her age and size.
“Ah,” she said, “so you like a pirate.”
“Love a pirate,” I agreed.
“Our Jamie’s a little more of a Mr. Darcy type, you know. He’s not swashbuckling; he’s strong and silent.”
“Well, no one’s better than Darcy—not even a pirate.”
Grandma G gave me an appraising glance. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, because she patted my arm twice and released me. “Good luck, dear.” I could’ve sworn she added,You’re going to need itbefore settling into her chair at the far end of the dining table.
As I settled into my own seat, a woman in a black button-up shirt and slacks appeared and asked what I’d like to drink.
“We have everything,” Jamie said encouragingly, sensing my awkwardness. I’d never been waited on like this in someone’s home. “Patty makes amazing cocktails, and we have wine, of course.”
“Oh, um—could I get a vodka martini, please?”
“She likes them extra dry,” Jamie added with a sly smile. “And extra dirty.”
“Jamie!” I hissed at him. It was true, thatwasmy preferred cocktail order. But asking for anything with the word “dirty” in the name in front of my boyfriend’s parents was mortifying. “I’ll just do a glass of wine.”
“Try the cabernet, Sybil,” Mr. Kauffman said from his seat at the head of the table. “It’s our specialty.”
Red wine usually gave me a headache, but turning down Mr. Kauffman’s prized passion project seemed like a terribleway to make a first impression. So I just nodded and said, “Cabernet sounds great, thank you.”
Moments later, the woman returned with a bottle and began pouring everyone a glass.
“So, Sybil, did Jamie give you the full tour?” Mrs. Kauffman asked.
“Yes, we checked out the grounds when we arrived this afternoon—it’s so beautiful here.”
“Isn’t it?” Amelia said. “I’m dying for a good ride in the meadow.”
I choked on my cabernet, my face turning as red as the beets in the salad. Had Jamie’s sister seen us cowgirl style in the meadow? Jamiesworewe weren’t visible from the house.
