Love with Me (With Me in Seattle 11)

“Okay,” Charity replies, waving us off as we walk back out to my car. We’re quiet on the drive home, and when I pull into the garage, I glance over to find that she’s asleep.

I walk around the car, open her door, and lift her into my arms, carrying her inside. She wakes up and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face near my shoulder.

“I’m taking you to bed,” I inform her.

“I can’t have sex right now,” she says, kissing my shirt. “I’m too tired.”

“No sex for you. Although watching you work might be the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes spring open, and she stares at me as I set her on her feet by the bed.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah.” I swallow hard, willing my dick to calm the fuck down. “You’re amazing, Joy. Your skill, your professionalism. Jesus, it was . . . fascinating.”

“It was just a C-section. You should see me reconstruct a knee.”

“I’m serious.” I pace the room as Joy sits on the edge of the bed, watching me. “I’ve always known that you’re excellent at your job, but witnessing it is something else altogether.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, a smile tickling her lips. “That means a lot, Jace.”

“I’m proud of you.” The words are pouring out of me now. I walk back to her, pulling her into my arms. I can’t stop touching her.

I don’t ever want to stop touching her.

“I’ve loved you for almost half my life,” I say into her hair. “But Joy, I’m in love with you.”

She stills in my arms, and I simply wait. My Joy is a thinker, and sometimes, she needs to process things.

But when I hear a sniffle, I pull back to look into her tear-soaked eyes.

“Joy?”

“I’m in love with you, too,” she whispers and looks away from me. She fiddles with the necklace she wears and stares at my neck.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes move to mine again.

“Why does it make you sad?” I ask tenderly while wiping a tear away with my thumb.

“I’m not sad,” she says and sniffs, making me smile. “I’m surprised. And I have a confession.”

“Seems this is the time for them.” I brush another tear, then lift her again and sit in the chair in the corner of my bedroom with Joy in my lap. She’s a petite woman and fits perfectly against me, whether we’re having sex or just sitting like this.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

I stare at her in surprise, then frown. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

She cocks a brow and gives me the don’t-be-dumb look.

“Because we’re in the friend zone.”

“Were,” I correct her.

“Right. We were in the friend zone. And I didn’t want to screw it up because you’re my best friend.”

“Likewise,” I say with a sigh. “But we’re not screwing it up, Joy. It’s way better, and I didn’t think it could get better.”

“I know,” she whispers, burying her face in my neck. She’s exhausted, and I should put her to bed, but I’m selfish. Having her in my arms is heaven. “I love you, Dr. Crawford.”

She yawns, and I smile, my heart beating double-time. “I love you too, Dr. Thompson.”

“We need the following,” Joy says as we walk into the grocery store. I reach for a small cart, but she shakes her head and points to the big one.

Apparently, we’re buying out the store.

“Salad stuff, including kale, chicken breasts, Brussels sprouts, squash, a case of water, non-fat milk, yogurt, eggs, mushrooms, ground beef, and anything else I see that I have to have.”

“That list is all over the place,” I inform her. “Don’t you write your list by category? Like, all the dairy together, all the produce, and so on?”

She shrugs a shoulder as she leads me to the produce section. “I wrote this a little at a time, so I jotted things as they came to me.” She reaches for a bag of green beans. “Would you rather have green beans over the Brussels sprouts?”

“Either is fine. I’m going to go grab a couple of apples.”

“Okay,” she says, not even glancing my way as I walk to the display of fruit.

I prefer the Honeycrisp, grown here in Washington. I check for bruises and place them in a bag, then turn to fetch a couple of bananas.

“Hi.”

I glance up to find a woman grinning at me. She has dark hair, cut short. Her face is pretty, and she’s curvy in all the right places. At another time in my life, I would have been interested.

“Hello.”

“I’ve seen you in here a few times,” she continues. “You must live nearby.”

“Uh, not far, yeah.”

She nods. “I’m Lisa.”

“Hi, Lisa, I’m Joy.” The woman I love is suddenly standing next to me, her hand in mine, and a bright, fake-as-fuck smile on her face aimed at Lisa. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Lisa’s smile falls. “Have a good day.”

“You too, Lisa!” Joy waves at the other woman as she pushes her cart out of the produce section, then gives her retreating back the stink-eye.

“She was a friendly woman,” I comment, knowing full well that Joy is irritated. I can’t blame her. If some dude started flirting with her over the kumquats, I’d lay him out.

“You’re not allowed to shop by yourself,” she says, not looking me in the eyes as she bags a bunch of kale. “In fact, just leave the shopping to me.”

“Joy, I was just kidding.” I laugh when she tosses the kale into the cart harder than she needs to. I can tell she thinks it’s funny too as she’s trying to suppress a grin. “I wouldn’t dare flirt with another woman when you’re in the store.”

She glares at me, and I laugh harder. I bury my fist in the hair at the back of her head and pull her to me for a long, deep kiss. I give zero shits that we’re in the middle of the produce section.

“I only have eyes for you, babe.”

She grins. “I know. But that was kind of fun.”

“I wasn’t squirming,” I inform her.

“And I wasn’t actually mad,” she replies. “You’re hot. Girls will flirt with you.”

“And if you’d been five seconds later, you would have heard me tell her that I have a scorching-hot girlfriend.”

“As it should be,” she says with a nod, making me grin. “Now, we need the meat department.”

“I’ll show you the meat department,” I murmur in her ear, making her giggle.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

She shrugs a shoulder, then nods. “Okay, I do. I love you and your ridiculousness.”

An hour later, I’m hauling groceries from the car to the kitchen. We got everything on Joy’s list, along with about fifty things that weren’t on her list.

“I thought the point of this was for us to eat cleaner,” I say, pulling out a bag of Oreos from a grocery sack.

“I’ll eat like three of those a day,” she says with a frown.

“And I’ll eat the rest of the bag in one sitting.”

“Then I’ll hide them from you.” She bats her eyelashes at me and unboxes the disposable Tupperware containers she bought for the meal prep portion of this operation. “I’m going to make individual salads, so all we have to do is put dressing on them. I’m also going to grill up a bunch of chicken breasts, mushrooms, green beans, and so on. So there will be a complete meal in each container.”

“Okay, Rachael Ray, let’s do it.”

For the rest of the afternoon, we chop, sauté, grill, and assemble our meals for the week. My house smells amazing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done this much cooking in this kitchen,” I say as we seal the tops on the last of the containers.

“This space is gorgeous,” she says with a sigh. “It should be cooked in often.”