Page 52 of Everything In Between
While she’s shuffling around in the bathroom, I turn my attention to the floor, taking a moment to check in with myself. There’s something comforting about having Jersey here in my home, in my space. Like she was always meant to be here.
And that thought alone is enough to send my head reeling. I excuse myself downstairs to the living room while she finishes up.
Not too long later, Jersey bounds down the stairs and joins me on the couch, folding her legs under her and tilting her headas she looks at me with doe eyes. I notice she’s freshened up her makeup and straightened her hair. She’s still wearing the same clothes, cozy in her cream long sleeve sweater and black leggings. Which is fine by me. I have a feeling she’d be sexy as fuck in anything.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?”
“Whatever you want, I don’t have a whole lot planned. I figured you’d want to get settled and relax after traveling.”
She waves her hand through the air. “Oh, traveling is nothing. You know how it is. I’m on a plane so often jetting across the country, or the world, it’s just another thing. And LA to Wisconsin isn’t too far. I’m ready for anything.”
“Well, all right then.” I grin, racking my brain to come up with something for us to do this evening. “Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous,” she says, placing one of her small hands on her belly.
I waggle my eyebrows and take her hand, leading her into the kitchen. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” she asks enthusiastically.
Inside the pantry, I pull out the package of Oreos and family sized jar of peanut butter, placing them on the counter in front of her. Jersey’s face takes on an expression of awe and she wastes no time pulling open the cookies and unscrewing the cap off the peanut butter.
“Oh, how do you know me so well?” she gushes, reaching for a cookie and dipping it into the jar of peanut butter.
I follow her lead and give her a wink. “I pay attention.”
Jersey makes a satisfying moan, which makes my breath hitch. I glance at her, only to see her eyes closed in delight as she eats her favorite snack. “This is the best thing in the whole wide world.”
“It is pretty dang good,” I agree, wiping my hands off on the kitchen towel and then wrapping them around her. I bend downto press a kiss to her cheek and then settle back into my place at the counter.
“This is exactly the pick-me-up I needed after traveling today.” She nods and peruses the spread. “Good call, MVP.”
I chuckle and slide my hands into my pockets, perfectly content to watch her be so happy and carefree here in my kitchen.
My ears sharpen when I hear Jersey humming as she eats her snack. It’s not a melody I’m familiar with and I wonder if it’s a new song she’s working on.
I hate that anyone would be inclined to take advantage of her.
A sense of protectiveness floods over me and before I can stop myself, I’m stepping up to her, placing myself at her back and settling my hand over her hip protectively. I don’t know what’s come over me, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
I clock the exact moment she leans back into my touch, resting against my chest as if it’s the most comfortable place in the world. Bending my head down so our cheeks are level, I ask, “What are you humming?”
Her breath hitches, and again she seems to lean into my touch, tilting her head so hers is resting against mine. “Just some melody that’s been stuck in my head. There are no words to it yet.”
“Yet?”
She nods. “Sometimes the melody hits me before the words. I’ll probably figure out the main chorus and the verses before I start in on the lyrics for this one.”
“You’ve never told me much about your own songs.”
She sets down the cookies, dusting the crumbs from her fingers on a kitchen towel. “There’s not much to tell. The songs I record and put out with the albums are exclusively written by other artists. Callum picks them out, decides they’ll match the brand he’s trying to create for me, and then I record them.”
“What about the ones you write?”
“They never see the light of day,” she says sadly. “I still write them because it’s therapeutic for me. I have an old notebook I carry around with me full of songs. But I never get to record the ones I write. It’s not part of the deal with my label.”
“How do you write them?” I ask, leaning toward her as the curiosity builds inside of me.
“Depends on the song.” She shrugs and reaches for another Oreo before settling back against me again. “Most of the time it starts with a melody, but other times certain lyrics hit me and then I can’t rest until the rest of the lyrics come together.”
