Page 83 of Take Me Home

“Naw, I believe you. I know it’s bad out there. By the way, how’d you like Madison last night?”

It was hard to believe that Becca’s party had just been the night before. I’d agreed to be with Jake, fooled around in his truck, gotten in a fight with him and my ex, rescued him and Selena from the flood, and finally fucked each other in a 24-hour period.

“Madison? Oh, she was…fine. Why?”

Becca cackled so loud on the other end that Jake peeked around the corner of the kitchen to listen in. “I told her Jake was single and thought she was hot so she’d get you riled up.”

“Are you serious?! That was how you played wingman? You knew I’d be jealous?”

“Yep. Y’all fell right in the trap. I was also behind the song choices for your special dances. Jake wanted some Stapleton song you like, but I vetoed it last minute. I felt like Jake was more the Shameless type.”

I doubled over laughing. “Wait til I tell him. He’s gonna kill you for putting Madison on him. Also, poor Madison, Becca. That’s mean!”

Jake got my attention, mouthing, “What?” I waved him off.

“Oh, shush. She’s always sniffing around Cody, so it gave me someone else to put her on for a night. She only showed up because she knew Cody’d be there, not because she cared about my birthday. Serves her right,” Becca said.

“Legion drama is so intense,” I sighed.

“Y’all be safe out there. Don’t get flooded too bad. And hey, say ‘potato’ if the dick was good. I need to know he treated you right. Otherwise, I’ll have to intervene on that,” Becca giggled.

“Jesus, Becca. That won’t be necessary.”

“Well? Was it good?”

I paused and lowered my voice. “Potato.”

“Fuckin’ knew it. Have fun, Dee. Don’t get pregnant. Unless you want to, I don’t know.”

“Goodbye, Becca. I’m hanging up now,” I said firmly.

Her smoker’s laughter rattled through the line as I hung up.

Back in the kitchen, Jake had our dinner waiting. I’d normally go to the store on Sunday, but since we couldn’t get out, he worked with ingredients that would go bad if we lost power.

“I had to get creative, so we’re having bare-bones tacos!” Jake said with a flourish. He was right: just cheese, meat, and tortillas.

“You did great,” I told him. “Whatever we eat in the next few days will have to be creative. The weather’s showing more storms on the way.”

“Well, shit,” Jake said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll just have to eat you, then.”

“God, you’re cheesy.”

“You love it.”

“Something like that,” I said. Jake and I no longer sat with a chair between us at the island, opting to sit right next to each other. We chatted comfortably, like we’d never had space and tension between us. It was like a switch had been flipped and we were a cohesive whole. We were easy, uncomplicated, and content. I knew it was early. Like, really early. But I felt like there was nothing Jake and I couldn’t face together. Like no matter what, if things kept going the way they were, we’d make it work.

After dinner, we poured glasses of Bulleit Rye and sat on the porch together. A cool breeze passed through the holler, so Jake brought out a quilt he’d saved from the trailer.

“It looked like a family heirloom. I didn’t want to risk it getting flooded,” he said simply.

I smiled. “Mamaw made that one. Not her finest work, but I love it all the same. You see this rip here?” I asked, gesturing to a place where the pink fabric split and batting poked out. “That happened when Eli and I had an epic game of tug of war. He was pretending to be Alan Jackson and I was Shania Twain. I wanted the quilt for a headpiece thing like from that one video, and he thought Alan needed a cape for his royal status. We pulled, and it ripped.”

Jake wheezed out a laugh. “For the record, I do think Alan Jackson should wear a cape. Eli was right.”

“Why don’t you go screw Eli then?” I said, acting hurt. I spread the blanket over the porch swing and sat, patting next to me so Jake would join me. Jake wrapped the quilt over my shoulders and pulled me to him, kissing my cheek.

“Not a bad idea,” Jake responded, cocking his head to the side. “Not sure I’m his type though. Nor he mine.”

---