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“Funny guy,” she says with a grin.
“Truthfully?” I ask with a serious look. As soon as she nods her head for me to continue, I add, “I have no clue what her first name is.”
Jaime stares at me stunned for several heartbeats before laughter bursts from her sweet lips. I’m helpless at the impact of that simple gesture. “Seriously?”
“Yep. When I moved here, I was referred to her place by one of the local realtors. She called her Mrs. Hanson, and every time I spoke with her, I always spoke to her more formally and politely. I’m pretty sure she knows that I have no clue what her first name is and she’s playing me now.”
“I bet she is.” More laughter fills the evening as Jaime’s sparkling eyes lock on mine. “It’s Patricia, but she goes by Pat,” she offers, throwing me the life raft.
“Good to know,” I whisper, giving her a wink and a smile in return.
I relax in my chair, content to just sit beside her. The crickets start to chirp as the breeze starts to pick up a bit. Jaime runs her hand up her arm as if attempting to warm her cooling skin. Quickly, I jump up and slip back inside my condo. I could step further into the kitchen and grab the sweater she arrived in, but a hoodie sweatshirt is folded atop the washing machine by the back door, so I grab it instead and slip back outside. At least it’s clean and not a random work shirt.
“Here,” I say as I step before her. “Stand up.”
Jaime’s several inches shorter than I am and petite compared to my broad shoulders and long arms. Placing the sweatshirt over her head, Jaime fits her arms through the sleeves, which easily hang about five inches longer than her fingertips. She giggles as she whips her hands around, the loose material of the sweatshirt flopping around like a fish out of water.
“Come here,” I say as I roll the sleeves up to her wrists.
“Thank you,” she whispers, gazing up at me with those big green eyes.
Angling her face upward, I trace her jaw with my thumbs, gently pushing the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. The slightest touch of her skin against mine seems to cause instantaneous reactions to both of us. Jaime’s breathing becomes labored, her lush mouth opening to form the perfect little O. My reaction is more visible in the crotch region, but it’s a painful reaction I’ve become accustomed to with her.
And because I’m weak and unable to resist her, I bend down and brush my lips against hers. I can taste the wine on her lips and feel the heat of her mouth as I do everything I can to keep the kiss somewhat platonic. The last thing Jaime needs is for me to turn into a caveman on her, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her off to my lair where I’m sure to ravish her from head to toe for hours on end. Days, even.
“Dinner should be ready soon,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she replies, her eyes clear and bright.
“Do you want to eat out here or go inside where it’s warmer?”
“I’d love to eat out here. Unless you’re cold and want to go in.”
“I’m good. If you’re comfortable in the sweatshirt, then we can eat out here,” I suggest which earns me a head nod.
Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting around the small table on my small deck. The pork loin is perfectly tender and the vegetables crisp. Jaime switched to water when I took the meat off the grill, and I figured it was probably wise to follow suit. Last thing I want to do is get buzzed up and alter my state where Jaime is concerned.
“This is so good,” she moans with a mouth full of food.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“From my mom, actually. She used to cook like this daily when I was growing up, and she always made sure that my siblings and I learned how to cook. We each had a job in the kitchen nightly.”
“That’s awesome. My mom tried, but there were so many of us that it was kinda just a free-for-all.” Jaime smiles, but gets a far off look in her eye like she’s reliving a pleasant memory of her happy childhood.
“I’m sure it was poetic chaos in your household,” I tell her, finishing off my potatoes.
“Most days, there was nothing poetic about it. It was just chaotic and dramatic. There was always bickering, crying, fighting over makeup and boys. But it was also amazing,” she adds. “I’ve become extremely close with all five of my sisters. We’re best friends as well as sisters.”
My only response is a smile. She doesn’t need words. Every word she speaks is the truth if the way she glows is any indication. I was close to my siblings, but nothing like the bond she shares with her sisters. I’ve only met two of them, and I can see it. In fact, I’m pretty sure they all feel the same way.
“How about a few getting-to-know-you questions?” she asks.
“I’m game. Ask away,” I advise, leaning back in my chair.
“Favorite color?” she starts off.
