Page 51 of On the Line

“I have a date. Her name is Paige.”

He pushes off the counter, letting his fingertips skim up my forearms as he steps back. “Well, if you change your mind and want someone better suited for the job, all you have to do is ask.”

* * *

Dinner has been cleaned up, the girls have been bathed and put to bed, and Jameson and I now stand at the front windows in my living room, looking out at the storm. The drifts of snow at the edges of my yard are easily a foot or two high at this point. I haven’t heard a snowplow go by since I got home, and though we can hardly see to the other side of the street through the torrent of white flakes and the glare of the streetlights in the storm, the road appears to be a pristine pillow of white snow—probably about eight or nine inches of it I’d guess—which will make them completely impassable.

“I think you missed your window for driving home,” I tell him.

In my peripheral vision I see him look over at me but I continue looking out the window, trying not to freak out at the thought of him spending the night here.

“Let’s not pretend,” he says from beside me, “that there was ever a chance of me going home tonight.”

My stomach erupts into a full-out riot of butterflies. I’d been so busy enjoying having him here that I hadn’t really been thinking about how he’d get home in this weather. But in the back of my mind, I must have realized that I’d barely gotten home before the roads were impassable, and that was hours ago. But neither of my guest bedrooms have furniture in them—the only bed is in my bedroom.

“There’s no way,” he continues, beside me, “that I’d leave you here alone to clear all this snow tomorrow. Do you even have a snowblower?”

He’s staying because he knows there’s no way I can deal with this much snow by myself with two kids to watch also.This is what friends do for each other.And someday, when he needs a friend, I hope to be able to return all these favors.

“Yeah, I bought one when I moved in.” We’ve had a mild winter until now. It’s snowed an inch or two here or there, but then it always got warm enough to melt it right away so the snowblower hasn’t been needed.

“Ever used one?”

“No, but I read the manual.” Back in Park City, Josh always took care of snow blowing when he was home, and if there was a storm and he wasn’t home, he had a landscaping company that would come by and plow our driveway and take care of our walkway—a service I continued to use until we moved.

I suddenly feel entirely incapable. Like, how am I an adult who has always lived somewhere with snow, and I have no idea how to operate a snowblower? I’m afraid that Jameson is going to ask the same question, but all he says is “It’s not that hard. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

I turn toward him. “Thank you—for being here with Ivy and Iris today, for cooking dinner, helping me clear the snow tomorrow. I ... I feel like I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”

He fully turns toward me, puts his hands on my hips, pulls me a step closer to him, and stares down at me with a look that’s some combination of fondness and lust.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Lauren.” He leans down and kisses my forehead, just like he did last weekend when he told me I wasn’t ready.

But ready for what? I want this man, and he wants me. Is he waiting for me to be strong enough—mentally and emotionally—that a one-night stand wouldn’t absolutely wreck me? Because I’m not sure I’ll ever be in that place.

I lean forward, resting my forehead on his sternum like I did this at the ice rink when he helped me overcome one of my biggest fears. He’s been such a solid, steadying presence for me these past few months—I’ve come to depend on him, and his friendship, maybe more than is healthy.

“The only thing about you staying here tonight is that I don’t have another bed to offer you—”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” His voice is insistent, his words final. He’s not looking to share my bed with me tonight, which is both a relief and a disappointment.

While I’ve certainly spent plenty of time lately thinking about Jameson in my bed, it’s always been part of a fantasy—I’ve never allowed myself to believe that it might actually happen. It shouldn’t happen. It can’t.

“Why don’t you take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m much smaller than you, so it’ll probably be more comfortable for me.”

“I’m fine with the couch. So what do you normally do once the girls go to bed?”

I pull back and look up at him. “Clean up? Read? Watch TV? Catch up with my friends?” Man, my life sounds boring.

“Well, we’ve already cleaned up, and it’s only”—he lifts his wrist and glances at his watch—“eight o’clock. You want to watch a movie or something?”

We settle into the couch and decide on a movie, and we’re about fifteen minutes into a rom-com I can’t believe I convinced him to watch when Petra’s text comes through.

Petra

Hey, Morgan and Paige are staying with me because all flights into Boston were canceled. How are you doing with your first big snowstorm?

I glance over at Jameson, who’s still focused on the TV, and then back down at my phone. Holding it in one hand on the opposite side of my body, and hoping he can’t see my screen, I type with my thumb to respond.

---