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At least he doesn’t call me Ms. Russell.
“Hey, Jay-Jay.”
I walk to him, ignoring Jake standing so close I can feel his body heat and how his scent makes my knees lock.
“You met the kids already?”
His eyes narrow. That expression is all his father.
“Uh-huh,” he says slowly, looking at Jake. “Can I play with my friends now?” He shuffles impatiently on his feet.
Friends?
This kid works fast.
When Jake dips his chin, he’s off like lightning.
Stepping back, he gestures toward the door, the same self-assured tilt to his lips.
Why does he insist on looking at me like that—like he’s always one step ahead?
“Ladies first.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets before stepping aside. I’m not sure how a man built this big can move with fluidity, but he manages it.
He follows close behind. I sense him with every step I take, but I refuse to fidget. I don’t want him to know he puts me on edge by just breathing the same air.
I spent many years teaching myself not to be intimidated by men, but Jake carries it in everything he does—his gait, the tilt of his chin, eyes that can pin me to one spot, the demanding tone of his voice.
By simply existing.
But sometimes a hint of mischief breaks through. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard his laugh. I’ve seen a genuine smile. He might not remember, but I do, and for some reason, I feel protective over those glimpses he once showed before he knew who I was. When I was just a stranger. I can’t help but wonder what else he is hiding beneath the walls.
In my peripheral, he picks up some boxes from the table in the lobby.
I don’t ask what they are.
It’s hard for me not to break the tension by talking, but my tongue gets tangled in my mouth too often when I’m nervous, so I decide against it.
I let out a long breath when we get to the kitchen, grateful for a distraction. Steam rises from pots. Women are deep in conversations, some are singing along to the radio, and the kids are causing chaos as they run around their mother’s legs. Two of the women are setting the large table. Another is breastfeeding her newborn in the corner.
That’s going to make our uptight visitor uneasy.
Jake sees. He doesn’t flinch.
Nothing.
Just a friendly nod of greeting to the nursing mother.
I don’t know if it’s because he’s the only man in a room full of women, the magnetism he oozes, or that he fills the doorway, but heads turn.
“Ladies,” I begin to say, about to introduce the very man who paid for the ground we’re standing on, but the sea of greetings flying our way has my jaw snapping shut again.
This is familiar.
These aren’t the welcomings of women meeting a stranger for the first time.
I was nervous because I didn’t warn them, and I thought bringing a strange man in here was going to cause an upset.
“Oh, Jake, you made it.”
