Page 69 of Make Her Mine

He’s set a little bottle of cinnamon on the note with an empty mug and a dark roast coffee pod.

I frown. That’s nice.

So he doesn’t want to cuddle me at night, but he’ll make sure I have my morning coffee just the way I like it?

I start for the front door, intending to ignore all of that, but after I slip my shoes on, I get real.

It’s already two hours past my usual first cup and I’m going to have to walk home in heels. I return to the kitchen, make the cup, get annoyed that the dark roast is really pretty good, peek in the little drawer of pods to find that he has more of them, then take the cup with me as I head out the door.

I stop halfway down the walk. I could walk home. But it’s daylight, I’m in the dress and heels from last night so this definitely looks like a walk of shame, I didn’t get to have sex last night to warrant this walk of shame and…I don’t want to walk. So I borrow Jefferson’s truck that’s still in the drive.

I assume he jogged up to the high school for the work-out, but he’ll probably need his truck for whatever festival stuff he’s doing later, which means it will be inconvenient that I’ve got his truck.

Perfect.

When I get home, I shower, braid my wet hair, put on shorts, a tee, and tennis shoes, and then start loading Jefferson’s truck with essentials.

I get a text about an hour and a half after leaving Jefferson’s house.

Jefferson: Do you have my truck?

Me: I do.

Jefferson: Am I getting it back?

Me: Just needed it for a couple of errands. Is that okay, pookie?

Jefferson: Did you wreck it? I feel like ‘pookie’ is code for you wrecked it.

I laugh despite myself. It’s in perfect shape. But you need a nickname from your loving girlfriend.

Jefferson: I’m not sure I’m a nickname guy.

I just smile at that. He’s probably right. Then you should have picked another girlfriend.

He doesn’t respond for a minute, so I get in the truck and point it toward my next and final errand.

My phone dings again.

Jefferson: Do you need help with your errands?

I hesitate. He's offering to help. And that’s not just a fake-boyfriend thing. Jefferson is actually a nice guy and I think he’d offer no matter what. I think being his girlfriend would be a pretty easy gig. If you could get past the know-it-all-ness.

I'm getting a real taste of what being his actual girlfriend would be like and it’s making me feel things I shouldn’t.

Me: I’m good. When will you be home?

Jefferson: About an hour. Miss me already?

I smile. Not exactly but I am eager to see his reaction.

Me: Can’t believe you ate all the French toast before I woke up.

I’ll bet he actually makes really great French toast. He’s annoying like that.

Jefferson: Can’t believe you sleep without any blankets on at all.

I pause and read that twice. I really don’t like blankets. In fact, it takes me until well into December in Nebraska to even wear a coat. I run hot and I prefer as few layers as possible at all times. But that comment, while seemingly harmless, could mean a number of things considering how I was dressed last night and the fact I was wondering where he spent the night. Did he get an eyeful?

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