Page 15 of Home to You
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
When she left a few seconds later with a quietly spoken, “Bye Jake,” I had to force myself not to ask her to stay. To never leave. To give us a second chance.
But I didn’t. I simply told her I’d be seeing her, then watched her rental truck disappear down the long, dusty driveway, my heart in my throat.
Growing up, I’d watched my parents’ love story play out in this very barn—the way Dad’s eyes would light up when Mom walked in, how they’d steal kisses when they thought us boys weren’t looking. Growing up, I figured that kind of love wasn’t in the cards for me. But then Eden had walked into my life, and suddenly I understood what Mama meant when she told me,“You’ll know when you find your person, Jacob. It’ll hit you like lightning, and you’ll never be the same.”
She’d been right, of course. I’d never been the same after Eden. Especially after she left. And I’d be damned if I was going to let this woman leave me again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I hadn’t noticedthe faint mark on my neck until I stepped out of the shower and caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was damp, cheeks flushed from the heat, and there, toward the back of my neck, was the ghost of Jake’s teeth.
I brushed my fingers over it, and just like that, the memories came rushing in—Jake’s hands gripping my hips. His mouth hot on my skin. The way he’d found that spot he used to tease me about, the one that always made me shiver. The low, broken sound he made when he came.
My stomach lurched, equal parts heat and panic flowing through me.
Back in my bedroom, I yanked open the bottom drawer of my dresser and pulled out a dark green turtleneck. Never mind that it was supposed to hit seventy-five degrees today. Better to sweatmy way through the day than show up at school with a literal hickey on display like some lovesick teenager.
I dropped my head back and groaned.
It wasn’t the mark that had me rattled. Not really. It was his silence afterward. No text. No call. Nothing. I told myself not to read into it. We were two consenting adults who’d gotten caught up in a moment—a very heated, very unplanned moment. A one-time thing. I hadn’t meant for it to happen, and I was pretty sure Jake hadn’t either. It just … had.
And it couldn’t happen again.
Still, he could’ve called.
As I poured my coffee and packed my bag, the tight, twisting feeling in my chest refused to budge.
By the time I pulled into the school parking lot, I realized I barely remembered the drive across town. My mind had been stuck in a loop of Jake’s mouth on my neck, his hands gripping my hips, the way he’d whispered my name when I rocked back against him. The way he’d buried himself in me like he needed it just as badly as I did.
And now? Nothing.
So I did what I always did when life felt like it was spinning out of control—I snapped into teacher mode and threw myself into work.
At eight o’clock on the dot, my students started filing in, loud and energized for the week ahead. Backpacks thudded against desks and sneakers squeaked on the tile. I greeted each of them with a smile that I hoped didn’t look as shaky as it felt.
Cole bounded in like he’d been launched from a cannon, dropped his backpack by his desk, and marched straight over to mine, his eyes bright. “I caught a grasshopper the size of my hand last night,” he declared. “It almost got away, but I trapped it with a paper bag.”
I laughed at his enthusiasm. Bugs really weren’t my thing. “Oh really? Where is it now?”
He screwed his face up in thought. “Uh, still in the bag, I think?”
“You should probably let it out when you get home,” I explained. “I don’t think grasshoppers were meant to survive in bags without food or grass.”
“You’re so smart, Miss James. You know everything.” He beamed at me, then wandered back to his seat.
I gave the class instructions for their morning journal entries, then moved through the rows, glancing over shoulders and offering encouragement as they settled in.
And for a moment, everything almost felt normal.
Almost.
Until Cole popped up beside my desk again about forty minutes later. I’d read his IEP, so I was prepared for him to get distracted, but in the time he’d been my student, I realized the issue wasn’t necessarily distraction. Cole Mercer was an incredibly bright and gifted little boy who usually finished his assignments before everyone else. “Hey, Cole. You’re done with your character coat of arms already?”
“Sure am!” he chirped, rocking on his toes. “My Uncle Gage said you and my dad got a strenuous workout in the barn yesterday.”
I choked on my coffee. Full-on sputtered, my hands shaking as I grabbed for tissues at the corner of my desk, heat flooding my face so fast I probably looked like a tomato. When I finally caught my breath, I croaked, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
