Page 20 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
Left over stew, followed by tea and a pile of fruit scones slathered with butter and sweet strawberry jam, married with the warmth and crackle of the wood burner, it was enough to push Ru into sleep. The clatter of the curtain rings on the rail brought him back.
He stretched and yawned. At some point he’d slipped into lying down on the sofa, cushions under his head and the fleece blanket tucked around him. The last vestiges of sleep slipped aside and he sat up. Had Jake settled him down, and tucked him up? The thought made him smile. Goldilocks, Jake had first called him, when he’d been caught sleeping, even if it hadn’t been in Jake’s bed. He rubbed the thought away as hard as he rubbed his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Jake came and stood in front of him, hands on hips as he peered down.
“Good, thanks. How long was I asleep for?”
“About four hours.”
Ru’s mouth fell open. For months, he’d barely slept four hours a night, let alone in the middle of the day.
Jake laughed. “Don’t look so horrified. You obviously needed it. I kept an eye on you,” he added, his gaze slipping from Ru’s,“from time to time, that is, just to make sure everything was as it should be.” He clamped his palm to the back of his neck and squeezed before letting his arm fall to his side.
Ru folded the blanket and set the cushions straight. “Honestly, I feel better than I have in ages. Thanks for letting me sleep. In fact, I feel so good, I’m up for making the decorations.”
“They can wait.”
Ru huffed in frustration. “Then what was the point of going out? It won’t take long.”
It was a standoff, and one Ru was determined to win. He glared at Jake as hard as Jake glared at him.
“Okay, have it your way.” Jake raised his hands, palms out, conceding defeat.
Ru tamped down on his victory grin.
They carried their harvest to the kitchen table, where Jake produced twine, wire, and scissors without being asked. “For making arrangements,” he explained at Ru’s surprised look. “Unless you planned to just pile it in corners?”
“No, this is perfect. I was about to ask if you had anything we could use.”
Jake shrugged, the movement drawing Ru’s attention to the breadth of his shoulders, and the way his shirt stretched across them.
“I used to do this years ago, making wreaths and garlands I mean.”
Ru’s brows arched in surprise. Did Jake, the rough, tough, grumpy ex-soldier possess an artistic soul? But then Ru recalled the photos mounted on the walls, each shot with thought for composition, balance, and artistry. Whoever Jake Whitby was, it was so much more than the hardened survival expert and former fighter.
As they worked together on the decorations, Ru found his hands slowing, his attention drawn more to Jake than to thearrangement he was supposed to be making. Jake’s hands moved quickly and with confidence as he crafted the wreath, completely at odds with the gruff, no-nonsense exterior he usually presented.
The artist in Ru couldn’t resist. He needed to capture this moment and record on paper this contradiction of the man.
“Don’t move.” Ru set down his holly arrangement and rushing to retrieve his sketchbook from his bag. He always carried it with him, a professional habit he couldn’t break even when fleeing London.
“You’re going to draw me?” Jake said when Ru returned, wariness replacing the relaxed concentration on his face.
Ru could see the discomfort in Jake’s posture, the slight stiffening of his shoulders. “Yep. You and your wreath. It won’t take long.”
“If you must, but I’m not posing.”
“Don’t need you to,” Ru assured him, already settling into a kitchen chair, pencil poised over paper. “Just keep working. Act natural.”
Even as he said it, Ru could see Jake becoming more self-conscious, his movements less fluid as he returned to the wreath. Ru began sketching quickly, wanting to capture the essence of what he’d seen before Jake’s awareness erased it completely.
The kitchen lights fell perfectly across Jake’s face, highlighting the strong angles of his cheekbones, the slight furrow of concentration between his brows. Ru’s pencil moved swiftly, tracing the broad shoulders, the large hands that worked with such unexpected delicacy. It was those contradictions that fascinated Ru, of strength and gentleness coexisting side by side.
He continued working, occasionally glancing up to refine details, noting the particular way Jake’s fingers held the twine,the tilt of his head as he examined his work, the hint of softness around his eyes that appeared when he was absorbed in his task.
Ru became lost in the familiar motion of sketching, the outside world falling away as it always did when he drew. This was his element, observing and translating what he saw onto paper. He could feel himself relaxing into the soothing, familiar process as his pencil moved over the page.
“Almost done,” he murmured, working on the final details of the texture of the holly leaves, the shadow cast by Jake’s hands, and the particular way the light caught in his eyes.
