Page 18 of Invisible Scars
I freeze and turn to look at him, the fierce desire in his eyes burning through me, leaving a searing heat that balls at the pit of my stomach, thrumming with a delicious pulse through my center.
Jonah’s up and gone before I can fully wrap my head around the intense moment.
The rest of the evening is as pleasant as every dinner I’ve had with the Peaks, and that gaze full of all the things we aren’t supposed to want doesn’t happen again. But that short glance was all it took for me, the pent-up tension too dangerously close to the surface, making my skin feel tight, and all I can think about is getting home before it explodes.
“Nona, everything was delicious.” I hug the Peak matriarch when it’s finally time to leave, and she hugs me back with the kind of motherly affection my own mother never seemed to possess. “As always.”
“Yourlokshen mit yochwas divine today, Meidaleh.” She squeezes me hard, and I love every second of it.
How she uses the Yiddish endearment, calling me little missy with so much fondness as if I wereherlittle girl. And the way she’s hugging me with genuine warmth, the adoration pouring out of her in spades. I never knew how much I needed this until I had it, and now I never want to live without.
“Joe-Joe, take Effie home,” she orders, pushing my bag of leftover boxes into Jonah’s already full hands, and I force a smile.
The idea of sitting in a car so close to Jonah in my current state has a whole bunch of glaring red neon signs with variations of the wordsbad idea’flashing in my head. “I’m fine, Nona. I’ll catch a cab.”
“Nonsense! It’s raining like crazy, and Joe-Joe has that big fancy Jeep and nowhere else to be.” She waves me off, and I sigh, glancing at Jonah for help.
“Sad to admit, but she’s right.” He shrugs. “Plus, you know resistance is futile.”
I laugh. “That’sStar Trek.”
“I know.” Jonah’s lips form a small yet somehow sexy to-a-fault smile, and slow heat spreads through my chest. “Come on, Eff, I’ll drive you home.”
“Okay,” I concede. It’s still a bad idea, but I know he’s right, and I also know Nona won’t let up. Plus, with everything going on lately, I prefer his Jeep to a taxi. “Thank you.”
“Goodbye,mein zeeskeit.” She kisses each of our cheeks and shoos us to the garage. “Drive safe.”
“You remember the way?” I ask after we’re buckled in, and the garage door starts lifting.
“Sure do,mysweetie,” he replies with a mocking tone, and I smack his arm.
“I love it when Nona calls me that, and you should be thankful for every second you have a mom that uses endearments and means them.”
“I am.” Jonah looks at me with an unreadable gaze before shifting into gear.
I’ll never admit this out loud, but I love his car. It’s not as techy as his brother’s, but there’s something undeniably exciting about riding in a vehicle made to blaze the wild trail.
We ride in relative silence, the freak August downpour pounding on the windows as we make our way from Bexley to the Grove, the car rapidly filling with the low hum of static manifesting between our bodies. Though that may just be me, the ticking timebomb of sexual frustration.
Jonah’s the first to break the tension. “So, Mom didn’t ask about the plant.”
I snort at his acute observation. “Yeah, talking to Milly about how much she wants another grandchild is more interesting than my dead shrub, apparently.”
Jonah dares an amused glance before returning his focus forward.
“Do you feel dethroned?” he asks, and I burst into loud laughter.
“No, I feel relieved that I’m not the only girl and someone else is being badgered on procreation.” I bite my lower lip, trying not to laugh at the pink hue coloring Jonah’s cheeks. “And I love Milly. She’s great, and she and Micah are really good together.”
“They really are,” he agrees, then pauses, his cheeks turning a few shades deeper. “You, uh, let your hair down since I saw you this afternoon.”
“Yeah.” I lift my hand to touch the silky strands at my shoulders, surprised that he noticed and cared to comment. “I had that super stretchy ponytail all day. My brain was hurting.”
Jonah laughs at my explanation in a way only a man who doesn’t get the pain of a well-stretched ponytail would. The deep rumbly sound fills the confined space of the car and somehow makes it feel warmer. When the bout is over, he leans back with a satisfied sigh.
“Well, it looks good like this.”
“Thank you, Joe.”
