“Pigtails?” Jake grins at me.
I shrug. “I made them look good.”
“I bet you did.”
Grandma Sandy just won’t stop. “And she had the chubbiest little cheeks. She’d run around wearing her Wonder Woman outfit—”
“Grandma.” I meet her gaze, hoping she’ll take a hint.
She sighs heavily and leaves the room.
“Wonder Woman?” Jake nods with appreciation.
“Yes, I was a fan.”
“I’ll be a fan of you if you wear that outfit for me,” he says in a low tone.
“Won’t you at least have some pie?” my mom asks Jake as she walks into the kitchen. “It’s all homemade.”
“Thank you, but I’m full,” he says. “Maybe if there’s any left, Miranda will bring me a piece.”
Mom’s face brightens. “Of course, we’ll have plenty left.”
“I should probably get going,” Jake says, looking at his watch. “Cal and Denny are waiting on me at the airport.”
We both stand up.
“I’m glad you came,” I say.
“Me, too.”
It takes five minutes for him to get his coat and say goodbye to everyone before I can get him out the front door. When we’re out on the front sidewalk, he gives me a short kiss, probably because he assumes my family is watching from the window. And they are.
“See you when you get back,” he says.
I see the knot of his tie through the open collar of his coat and reach for him, throwing my arms around his neck.
We hold each other for a few seconds before I let go and stretch up to kiss him again.
“Bye, Jake. Your visit meant a lot to me,” I whisper. I know we’ll talk more about it later, but for him to have done what he did…well, it means a lot and I want him to know that.
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, holding my gaze as he kisses it.
And then he leaves, but I still feel his warmth long after he drives away in the car he arrived in.
—
Jake’s decision to come to my parents’ house after all inspires me to be impulsive, too. The next morning, I pause outside his room at the Dupont, my hand in the air to knock on his door. I wonder if this was the right decision.
My co-worker Sheila was thrilled when I called to tell her I’d work for her today. No one wants to work the day after Thanksgiving. But now the what-ifs are flying through my mind.
What if Jake’s still angry? What if he put up that do not disturb sign because he’s got a woman in his bed right now? What if he’s allergic to pecans?
I take a deep breath and, remembering what he said about not knocking, take out my Dupont key card and slide it through the key pad. When the light turns green, I push open the door and take my cart in.
It’s quiet. I wonder if Jake’s even here. That would be classic Miranda, coming home a day early to see a guy who isn’t even here.
The curtains in the bedroom are drawn. I walk back there and see Jake sprawled out on his stomach top of the covers, wearing nothing but boxer briefs.
Even in the darkness, I can make out the lines of muscle on his body. His big arms are wrapped around the pillow he’s snoring into.
“Jake?” I say softly, tiptoeing toward his bed.
He doesn’t even move. When I’m standing beside the bed, I reach out and touch his shoulder.
“Huh?” He jumps to attention mid-snore.
“Hey.”
“Miranda?” He squints at me.
“Yeah.” I sit down on the edge of the bed.
“You’re here.” Jake rolls onto his back and then sits up. “I thought you weren’t coming back ’til tomorrow.”
“I changed plans.” I look down at the bedsheet, suddenly nervous. “I brought you some of my mom’s pie.”
He takes hold of my waist and pulls me toward him. I climb onto his lap and we wrap our arms around each other, holding on tight.
“It’s good to see you,” he says against my neck.
“You, too.”
“I missed you.”
“Me, too.” I squeeze my eyes closed, loving the feel of being pressed against his bare body.
Jake slides his hands down to my thighs, pushing up the skirt of the Dupont dress uniform. My legs press against his, only the fabric of the dress on my chest and arms separating us. His erection is pressed perfectly against my core, tempting me to press myself against it harder.
“I’m sorry I hurt you by not coming home with you,” he says, his tone tender. “The problem has nothing to do with you, I swear. This is just a hard time of year for me.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you came later.”
“Me, too. It meant a lot that you invited me.”
I feel his hands in my hair and I realize he’s trying to undo my bun.
“How the fuck do I get this?” he mutters.
I sit up, moving away from his chest, and reach my hands back to unfasten the pins holding my long dark hair in place. It falls around my shoulders in waves and Jake puts his hands in it, running big sections through his fingertips.
“Your hair smells so good,” he says. “It feels good, too.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders and then brushes a thumb across my lips. Everywhere he touches me, a warm trail of desire follows in his wake. My neck, my cheeks, back up into my hair. I bask in the feel of him exploring my body.
“What did you mean about your hands the other day?” he asks.
“What?”
“You made a comment about other women having better hands than you. Why’d you say that?”
“Oh. It’s just that my hands are always dry. Especially in the winter. I have to wash them all the time and I can’t afford manicures. I actually just have the lotion I snag from the Dupont and it’s kind of shitty.”
He reaches down to my sides and takes my hands in his. My breath catches in my throat as he places my palms on his chest, guiding them up and down. Up and over his shoulders. To his face.
“Your hands feel perfect to me,” he says.
He brushes my hair back over my shoulders and his hands find the top button of my uniform. I feel him unfasten it and my pulse races. Dammit. If only I’d just snuck in here instead of working.
“Jake.” I put my hands on his wrists. “We can’t. I’m supposed to be working.”