Page 32 of Fight for You
Jamie took my hand, his fingers stitching into mine, and he walked with me along the sand back into the house. “Before you get that shower,” he said.
I stopped near the staircase, facing away from him. “Mm-hmm?”
“Can you turn around?”
No. After a beat, I did as told. I owed this man my life. A smile formed on my face. One of those smiles I offered arrogant men to placate them. I felt sick. I wanted love.
Jamie held something behind his back. Despite his linebacker build and strong features, his nerves were charming. I wanted to kiss the hesitance off his lips.
“What do you have there?” If it were a 5000-dollar pair of shoes, I might hate myself for the enticement. The man could work my mind and my body without touching me already. He better not give me lavish gifts.
“Oh, nothing much.” He revealed a large Amazon package and passed it to me.
As I peeled open the bag, the familiar scent of mango and cocoa butter rose from it. Hair grease. Hair cream. Shea butter. My heart stopped.
“It’s uh …”
Tears met my eyes.
“Well, it’s not a big deal.” He fumbled with his words. “I saw you spritzing olive oil in your hair a few times. You could’ve asked,JorJor.”
I swiped another tear. All Black people staples. This guy got me. But did he really? I shoved away the thought and focused on gratitude. “You- Googled this?”
“Fell into a rabbit hole too. Pretty sure I saw a video about deep moisturizers. And shrinkage. Still don’t get it. But the women seemed to hate shrinkage.”
A laugh-sob escaped me. Why was he this perfect guy? How did he get me? But still notgetme.
“Oh, if you think that’s funny, then get this. The only form of butter I once knew was Irish butter. Big Br … Dad always muttered about getting into a fight with an Irishman while drowning his pancakes in pure Irish butter. Silliness aside, I enjoy learning about you, JorJor.”
“I love you,” I murmured without thinking.
And so, it begins. The downfall of Jordy because she couldn’t keep her feelings in check. I slipped into the small space between us and kissed him. Not just a peck but a kiss. Deep. Real. On my tippy toes, hands behind his neck to bring him close, I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth and tasted tenderness and restraint.
Jamie groaned—a sound so raw I didn’t know if it was desire or agony. But he didn’t pull away.
When we came up for air, I inhaled just enough oxygen to go back in and drown on him again. Because maybe, just maybe … this wasn’t a dream. This was love. Messy. Slow. Healing. And mine.
14
SANTA BARBARA
Jamie
The salmonwith a rich whisky cream sauce—a delicious reminder of a neglected heritage—no longer felt heavy in my gut. I’d stuffed myself on Jordyn’s new specialty. She’d found a recipe, perfected it, and served it with a pride that left me speechless.
Over the last few months, we’d gotten into a rhythm. We jogged in the mornings and listened to audiobooks in the evenings. Although we’d divided and conquered responsibilities when it came to the house, it still felt as if she thought she needed to earn my favor by cooking my favorite meals.
She’d won. Ten times over.
Thanksgiving had included a feast for two. No obligation to explain us to family. No questions. Just peace. I could tell she dreaded the thought of spending turkey day with my clan, not that I’d even entertained the idea.
She got her GED a few weeks ago. I cooked to celebrate. Well, I tried. I got chewed out and was told never to step foot in thekitchen, but then she’d celebrated me, too, for helping her study and for encouraging her.
With a grin and a shake of my head at that memory, I poured glasses of wine.
I placed the glasses on the end table and sat on the couch. Jordyn walked over with a bowl of popcorn that she sat next to our Chardonnay.
“I can’t believe we’re finally watching a movie,” she said, curling up beside me.
