“Not that much,” I admit.
The reluctance in my voice must be obvious, because Jack shoots me a smirk. “Disappointed, are you?”
“Only because I like money,” I protest, but we both know that the real reason is that if I was busier, I’d have an excuse to avoid the impending trip to his family’s lake house for Christmas. I tried to protest, but he’d said that it would be a good time to get to know all his relatives. His mom was growing anxious and he had to promise her a firm date to meet Anna or she would storm my metaphorical gates.
He bought me a month, and I needed it—not just to adjust to having him around, but to sort out my feelings. I never stopped loving Jack, but that doesn’t mean that my feelings aren’t bruised. This month by ourselves has been important in rebuilding a base for our little family. Still, something feels off. Like my puzzle is missing one tiny piece. I don’t know what that piece is—only that I’m not completely whole, yet.
Jack can sense this, too. He knows I’m holding back, but he doesn’t push me at all. I’m grateful for that and so I agreed to the family Christmas in return. Being together with Anna requires a lot more give and take than when Jack and I first lived together. I suppose cohabitation for two months doesn’t readily prepare you for “ever after.”
“Good thing that we’re a two-income household now,” he says cheerfully as he cuts up the waffle into bite-sized pieces since I’m feeding Anna. Without asking, he slathers the butter across the ridges and I watch as it melts into the crispy crust. He didn’t cook at all before. When I asked him about it, he said that he took up a number of hobbies to try to alleviate his stress, which the doctors had assumed was the cause of his heart problems. He hadn’t kept up with any of them, but the cooking lessons stuck.
I’m not sad about that. I fork the breakfast into my mouth while Jack washes the dishes. Since his back is turned, I allow myself to ogle him. He has such a good ass. Some men have zero butts and their jeans hang around their bums like a saggy diaper, but Jack fills his out nicely. Plus, he has those long legs and good, thick thighs. All the better to ride.
“I can feel you undressing me,” he tosses with amusement over his shoulder.
I stick out my tongue.
He shuts off the water and begins to wipe his fingers. “Don’t start something you aren’t prepared to finish,” he warns.
Since we’ve had sex every night since the water baby class, this isn’t much of a threat. But I do have some work to finish, so I tell him, “You’ll have to keep that thought until after lunch. If I don’t get this batch of pages done, I might not have any work in the new year.”
The doorbell interrupts any further response. His eyebrows shoot up and he casts a questioning gaze in my direction.
“It could be Mae,” I say.
“Or my mother,” he says grimly. “She’s been texting me daily asking about gifts and shit. Let me get it. I’ll get rid of her.”
“You don’t have to.” There’s no reason not to meet Jack’s mom today. Even though he’s been keeping her away so we can reconnect in peace, I’m not a complete coward.
“Alright.”
He sounds so pleased. With a full heart, I cuddle Anna to my chest and dig into my waffles while Jack goes to answer the door.
“Moore?” Jack asks in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
I shift in my chair so I can see the doorway. Leka Moore’s big, scary frame fills the empty space. His arm is stretched out as if he’s holding something.
“I’ve someone you’ve been looking for,” he says without even a hello. One jerk and a man who appears vaguely familiar appears in front of us. At first, I don’t make the connection because this guy is disheveled instead of perfectly coiffed, and instead of a suit, he’s wearing jeans and a baggy hoodie. His gaze skates over Jack’s shoulder and connects with mine.
Both of our eyes widen. He tries to jerk out of Leka’s grip, but there’s no escape. Jack grabs Clayton and drags him across the threshold.
“Take Anna into the bedroom,” Jack orders. The look in his eyes has my insides shriveling up and I’m not even the target.
“Wait!” Clayton Davis shouts. “This is all a misunderstanding!” He claws at Jack’s fist. “Let me explain. Your mom—”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Jack explodes. “Don’t you fucking dare bring my mom into this. She would spit on you for keeping her from a grandchild.”
If the other man could sink into the dirt, he would. It’s obvious in the sweat that’s broken out across his forehead and the trembling of his hands as he waves them in the air. “N-no, that’s not what I meant.”