Page 20 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
“I’ll start on lunch.” She moves toward the kitchen, her socked feet padding softly across the worn hardwood floor.
I follow, watching as she expertly navigates her limited options, opening cabinets and assessing dwindling supplies. Six days into this storm, and somehow, we’ve settled into an uneasy rhythm where JJ pretends she doesn’t wake up tangled with me every morning, and I pretend I don’t notice. One where she cooks and I handle keeping this place clean and from turning into an icebox while ignoring the simmering attraction beneath every interaction.
“Let me help,” I offer, reaching for an aluminum pot hanging from the rack above her small island. My arm brushes against her, and she inhales.
JJ immediately shifts to block me, her body creating a barrier between me and the stove. The kitchen feels impossibly small with both of us in it.
“I can handle lunch,” she says.
“I know you can. But you don’t have to do everything alone.”
Our eyes meet. Something unspoken passes between us—acknowledgment that these words extend beyond cooking dinner.
She exhales and shoves a knife into my hand like she’s doing me a favor. “Fine. Chop these.” A pile of assorted vegetables sits on the cutting board, remnants of her pre-storm shopping.
We work in companionable silence, the gentle scrape of knife against cutting board strangely intimate in the quiet apartment.
The next song kicks in, something older and slower—Tammy Wynette, all ache and longing. Neither of us says anything, but I catch the subtle shift in JJ’s movements.
“When I was little,” she says suddenly, “my mom would make hot chocolate during storms. She’d add cinnamon and these tiny marshmallows.” Her voice grows soft with the memory. “We’d sit by the window and count seconds between lightning and thunder.”
“That sounds nice.”
“What about you?” she asks, shifting to look at me. “Any storm traditions?”
“My mom and I built forts.” The knife pauses against the cutting board as memories surface, the sound of childhood laughter echoing in my mind. “When she got sick, we’d still try, but...”
JJ moves closer to me, facing me now. Her eyes are soft in the candlelight.
“I remember when she passed. You stayed at our house for almost a week.”
“Your parents were kind,” I say, though they feel inadequate. “My father... He shut down after she died. Couldn’t look at me without seeing her.”
“Is that why you two are estranged?”
I resume chopping the bell pepper. “He was never the same.” The knife hits the board with force and a piece of pepper skitters across the counter. “Started drinking, working longer hours. By the time I was in high school, we were strangers living in the same house.”
Her hand covers mine where it rests beside the cutting board. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Her touch eases something inside me. “Your family became mine, in a way. You, Kamal, your parents.”
JJ retrieves her hand, leaving a lingering warmth. “You had a funny way of showing appreciation. You teased me and pulled my braids.”
“You weren’t very welcoming,” I reply as I scrape the chopped peppers into a small ceramic bowl.
She raises an eyebrow. “You called me elephant ears.”
“Because you tattled on Kamal and I when we planned on sneaking out.” I meet her gaze directly. “F.Y.I. like your ears.”
She turns away quickly, but not before I catch the way she presses her lips together.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” The question shifts us to safer territory while maintaining the intimacy we’ve established.
The best negotiations progress in planned steps. Push too hard, retreat when necessary, always keep the ultimate goal in sight. And with JJ’s guard lowering, I’ve never been more certain of my target.
“I almost dropped out of my master’s program.”
This surprises me. Education is everything to her.
