Page 51 of You Had Me at Chocolate

Even given his inconvenient attraction, he wouldn’t have traded his time in Clementine’s house. He’d enjoyed it too damn much. Enjoyed how their friendship had deepened to something more mature, more evolved from their childhood connection. The companionship of nights together, time in the kitchen together, eating together, watching TV together.

The paper cranes.

He’d never just sat still and been with a woman. His celebrity had altered all his relationships, with the opposite sex in particular, and he’d worn himself out being the guy he’d figured women wanted in a celebrity.

Flashy dates, A-list parties, being seen at all the right places.

It had been exhausting. And he’d kidded himself into thinking he was happy because he’d made it. So many wannabes and he’d made it. When the truth was he’d never been happier than when he’d helped Clementine decorate her porch and dish out Halloween treats to excited little kiddies in a black cape and plastic fangs. He’d never felt as right about anything as he’d done when he’d talked to the Marietta Relator about finding himself an inn.

A decade ago, his dream to own a country inn had seemed too small in the spotlight of his sudden fame. Now, it was the perfect fit.

“You know what this means?” she said, her voice brisk as she took a little step to the side, increasing the space between them and crossing her arms.

It took every ounce of willpower Jude owned not to check out how much tighter her sweater had pulled. He returned to his piping. “No, what?”

“We’re going to need to get folding.”

After Halloween, they’d set a target of folding a thousand origami cranes together. The Japanese tradition that a thousand paper cranes could make one special wish come true had appealed to Clementine’s goal-orientated soul and his competitive nature.

It also gave them something else to do with their hands.

“We’ll surely be done by then? But even if we’re not, there’s no reason why we can’t still get together for a friendly origami sesh after I leave.”

Except for these feelings he wasn’t entirely sure were friendly anymore.

“True. But let’s see if we can’t smash it out before that.”

“Sure,” he said, concentrating hard on the piping nozzle. “Fine by me.”

“You still up for The Martian tonight?”

“Yep, another fifteen or so?”

“Cool.” She pushed away from the counter and Jude felt both relief and loss. “I’ll get changed and be reading in the living room whenever you’re ready.”

She walked away then and Jude resisted looking up for one second, two seconds, three. And then he succumbed, catching a brief glimpse of that pink sweater as she disappeared from sight.

But not, unfortunately, from mind.

*

Clem couldn’t believe how fast two weeks had flown by as she got home from the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. She normally got in between five and six but her watch said four thirty as she let herself into her house. Her father, who usually arrived at the hospital about five had turned up at four, as planned, so Clem could double-check on the arrangements for her mom tomorrow.

Trina’s medical team hadn’t been ready to discharge her home yet, which had been a huge blow for her mom but, they had suggested a day pass for tomorrow, which she’d grabbed with both hands. This year, more than any other, they had much to be thankful for and getting to be together at home as a family, even for a reduced time, was precious.

So, while her father and Jude, who was staying in Marietta for Thanksgiving—his mom was on a cruise and his father was at some crane symposium in Canada—had taken care of the meal planning, Clem had tasked herself with the logistics of transport and equipment that would be required. And, satisfied that everything was organized and ready to go for the morning, she’d headed home.

The warmth of the house was wonderful compared to the biting chill outside and Clem’s nostrils flared at the aroma’s wafting from the kitchen. Pumpkin spice and cloves. She’d miss this—her house smelling like a Michelin star restaurant—when Jude left. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d miss Jude, period.

It was necessary, she knew. Sensible. Of course, he needed the permanency of his own place. But Clem couldn’t deny the tiny tug in her chest at the thought of him moving out.

She discarded her jacket, laptop, and bag in her room before wandering to the kitchen. Pulling up short in the doorway she blinked at a shirtless Jude. Every atom of saliva in her mouth evaporated as her eyes were drawn to the broad outline of his shoulders, the definition of his pecs and the firm pillowed plank of his abs.

A smattering of red-gold hair around his nipples was equally fascinating but not as fascinating as the trail that trekked downward form his navel.

Down. Down. Down.

An image of her following that line southward with her tongue had her salivary glands performing a rapid reverse action, her mouth flooding with moisture. And somewhere, a lone frantic brain cell ordered her to stop looking. Just stop.

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