Page 122 of Doctorshipped
“I’m guessing Chinese is your favorite.”
“I’d take it over anything else.”
We walk into the kitchen. I dish up our meal while Jayme pours the drinks. We move comfortably around one another in my kitchen, and I find myself daydreaming of mornings when we’ll wake in one another’s arms, and make our way downstairs to share a pot of coffee before we start our days. I know I’m rushing ahead, but it’s hard to take things slowly at my age when I’ve already been married and I have a child. I know what I’ve found in Jayme, and I already see how well matched we are.
I cooked my mom’s shrimp Florentine pasta recipe, and I’m serving it with homemade garlic bread and Caesar salad. Jayme and I eat in the dining room. After we polish off dinner, we sit on the back porch together, talking and laughing.
What? You expected us to walk around attached at the lips? There’s more to us than the physical attraction obviously coursing between us. I’m always aware of the tug to touch her, to watch her, to savor every aspect of her personality, to indulge myself in our kisses. As much as I’m tempted to pull her into my arms, I also enjoy relaxing with her, getting to know her better.
Jayme lifts her chair and sets it closer to mine so we can hold hands while we watch the night fade into darkness. We talk about her friend group here—they apparently want to have a gathering including me and Jayme as a couple, soon. That invitation feels like a rite of passage.
I ask her about her childhood in Columbus. She tells me some stories, and then she confesses that she told her parents we were dating when they were foisting a man on her during her last visit to see them.
“Why me? You could have told them you were dating anyone—someone fictional, or even Brooks.”
“I don’t really know. At the time I wasn’t a huge fan of yours. I liked you well enough, and I definitely saw the sweetness of how you were with Fiona, but if you’d have asked me if you were dating material, I would have shuddered.”
“Shuddered?” I fake a grouchy pout.
“Oh, yeah. Shuddered. Grumpy Grant? No way. I thought I needed a man who smiles freely, who makes me laugh, and who doesn’t think everything’s on the cusp of heralding a doomsday.”
“It’s not?”
She giggles softly. “No, Grant. It’s not.”
Her eyes turn warm and serious, and her thumb gently caresses the skin between my thumb and pointer finger.
“Life is so full of goodness. Look at us, here—what we’ve found with one another—two people sworn to singleness, but somehow we allowed that conviction to be smashed. I never imagined I could have a man who looks at me the way you do.”
“Or who kisses like me?” I wag my eyebrows, knowing full well what it does to her.
She chuckles and gently shakes her head.
“Your kisses are pretty nice,” she says.
“Nice? My grandma’s kisses were nice. My kisses are hot. Admit it.”
She laughs. Yes. I wanted to hear the song of her laughter floating across my yard, to see her face crinkle with happiness. And she freely gives me what I want. It’s more than I could ever deserve or ask for.
“Your kisses are hot. Okay?”
She looks at me through her lashes, smiling a flirty smile. I’m trying to enjoy our conversation. She’s making me want so much more.
“My kisses are hot, because you are hot,” I tell her, licking my lips.
“I’m trying to talk about the innate goodness of life here.”
“Your sexiness is part of that goodness.”
“My sexiness?”
The blush rises up her neck and fills her cheeks.
I realize it’s true. Jayme makes the difference. Margot and I kissed when we were dating. And those kisses were good, better than the ones we gave one another once we settled into our marriage. But Margot and I never shared the kind of passion I feel with Jayme. Margot was far too orderly and contained to let loose the way Jayme does. I don’t want to compare the two of them. I want to leave Margot out of what’s developing between me and Jayme. But, I can’t help but acknowledge the world of difference between what’s happening now and what I experienced then.
With Jayme, I feel like I’m uninhibited, able to pour my longing into our physical connection. She’s the one who does that to me. I’m not a man who normally ever kissed like we do—not until I kissed her.
“We’re putting the kibosh on that line of discussion,” Jayme says.
