Page 64 of Wrecked on the Mountain
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. "Jamie..."
"I know you're scared," he continues. "I'm scared too. But I've never had anyone show up to Sunday dinner who actually wanted to be there."
I blink at him. "Sunday dinner?"
"Tomorrow. With my family. I was going to tell you we should probably skip it, let you rest—"
"No," I interrupt, sitting up straighter. "I don't want to skip it."
He stares at me like I've just offered to perform surgery with my bare hands. "You don't?"
"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to it all week," I admit. "I bought a new dress and everything."
His eyes widen, a sexy spark igniting behind them. I know how much he enjoyed my last dress. He leans forward, just barely, as though drawn by an invisible thread.
"God, you're amazing, you know that? My ex would have canceled," he says quietly. "Any excuse to avoid family time."
"Well," I say, settling back against his chest, "I'm not her."
His arm tightens around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head.
"No," he agrees. "You're definitely not."
"I think you should stay tonight," I say after another comfortable silence. "Not for... you know. But just to stay. My head feels better when you're here."
Jamie goes very still beneath me. "Brooke..."
"I know it's clingy and pathetic—"
"It's not," he says firmly. "It's not clingy or pathetic. I want to stay."
Jamie shifts beneath me, brushing a kiss to my temple before untangling himself carefully from the couch.
“But if I'm staying, I need to grab something. Be right back,” he says, slipping his boots on at the front door.
I blink across the room. “Where are you going?! You’re not bailing on me now, are you?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Not bailing, sweetheart. Just getting more reinforcements.”
He disappears out the front door into the freezing night, and I hear the distant creak of his truck. A moment later, the door swings open again and this time he’s carrying a second paper bag.
This one’s bursting at the seams and threatening to collapse under the weight of its contents.
My eyebrows rise. "Jamie... please tell me that's not another batch of drugs?"
He drops the bag onto the coffee table like it’s a prize haul from a very specific scavenger hunt. “Nope. But it is more emergency provisions.”
“Oh my God, Jamie. Is that a king-size bag of peanut M&Ms?”
He grins and starts unpacking the bag, lining everything up on the table. I can't believe my eyes.
There are two different kinds of potato chips, caramel popcorn, a giant bar of dark chocolate with sea salt, sour gummies, salted caramels in a mason jar, a pint of mint choc chip ice cream, and two little spoons.
“Sweetandsalty,” he says, deadpan. “Because I wasn’t sure what kind of post-migraine craving situation I would be walking into.”
“You packed a snack apocalypse,” I whisper, awed.
"I just wanted to be prepared. This was all for tomorrow when you were feeling better… but to hell with the soup." Jamie grins as he flops back onto the couch beside me and reaches for the TV remote.
