July 29

I’m making dinner for Jack. Haven’t used my oven all summer, but looks like I’m going to tonight. I texted him from work asking what his favorite meal was, and after he questioned why and I said I was just asking and he responded with how he didn’t want me to make him anything and I replied that I was going to regardless so it might as well be something he likes, he finally gave up and told me.

Macaroni and cheese—the homemade kind that’s creamy but crispy on top. With cut-up hot dogs in it. And applesauce—the kind that’s chunky and too sweet to have any health benefits whatsoever.

I texted back, You seem to be into textured foods. That are bad for you. And also, how old are you—twelve?

Eleven, he replied. Except when I’m having sex with you. And then I’m seventeen.

So I rearranged my schedule, told Angie I was leaving a little early, avoided Jordan’s raised eyebrows when I told her my contractor needed to confer with me about the renovation, and went to the grocery store before heading home. I usually loathe grocery shopping, but this time, even pushing a cart with a rebel wheel, I’m enjoying it—like I have a purpose. Shopping for two is much more pleasant than buying for just me. I’ve got to be careful—it isn’t like I have a boyfriend, although the fluttery feeling I have makes me feel otherwise.

I’m smiling as I put my bags into the car, thinking about Jack and his juvenile food choices. Which gives me an idea. 

I’ll stop at Target on the way home.

I haven’t seen Jack for a couple days. He was working at another client’s on Monday (he made a point to tell me it was an older man—and I have to admit I was relieved) and yesterday I had to put some final touches on a listing which made me late getting home—so no Ford pickup in my driveway. And I really, really wanted to see that Ford pickup.

And its driver.

Naked.

About that. Oh, my God. The sex was unbelievable. Looking down at that tousled hair, seeing his head between my legs, and then how he entered me: slowly, with that big, rigid tip, sliding that huge cock into me…

I reach toward the dashboard to flick on the AC. Jesus, I need to focus on my driving before I get pulled over. No, officer, I wasn’t drinking and driving or texting and driving...I was distracted because I’m reminiscing about the hottest sex I’ve ever had. And do you have an extra set of handcuffs I can borrow?

To climax—twice—was amazing, but it was so much more. The way he teased me, kissed me...his scent, his warm tongue, how he held me.

How he held me. That was one of my favorite parts—that he put his arms around me while he made love to me. Although can you really call it making love, when we have this “alliance” thing going on? Probably not. But it was more than just fucking—there was a connection beyond sex. I felt it, and I’m quite sure he did, too. I saw it in his eyes and on his face, and it was pretty obvious by the way he got right off the bed afterwards that he was a little unsettled. I don’t want him to think I want more than what I agreed to.

Even though I already do. Needy of me, but it’s true.

I’m almost to Target when I hear my ring tone. I go from excited to apprehensive in about two seconds flat—first thinking it might be Jack, then thinking it might be Jack telling me he’s not staying for dinner. I pull into a parking space between two minivans and reach for my purse on the passenger seat. Taking out my phone, I see the contact name at the top: Vienna Sausage (my latest moniker for my ex-husband). Just the idea of him intruding like this, in the midst of my daydreamy thoughts, makes me feel resentful. And also, why the hell is he calling me? Did he not get the message when I didn’t send a message the last time he texted?

I wait, thinking he’ll just hang up, but my voicemail notification chirps. Shit. Might as well get this over with before going into my happy place. I tap the play button and raise the phone to my ear.

“Madeline. Hi. I wondered if we could talk sometime. I wanted you to know I’m not with Claire anymore.” (Pause.) “I’m not sure if that even matters, but I would like to talk to you. Give me a call. Thanks.”

I’m pissed, hearing his voice. And pissed is much better than cringing, which has been my usual reaction. Cringing feels weaker, more like I’m flinching and he has some power over me. I actually like feeling angry. How could he ever think I’d want to talk to him after what he did, or that it would ever matter to me about him being “available” again? This time, I decide to text back and make my stance clear. I have nothing to say to you. Don’t contact me again.

There. Freshly empowered, I drop my phone back in my purse and get out of the car to go pick up a few things that are guaranteed to make Jack smile.

* * * *

No sound of power tools or hammering when I come in, but he’s here. Tingles shimmy up and down my spine as I set the groceries and Target bag on the kitchen counter. Murphy is yowling and ready to eat. I’ll feed him first or else I’ll be tripping over him, and then I’ll start dinner. It’s about 4:00, so I should have enough time to get everything ready.

Kicking off my pumps, I go to the bottom of the stairs and call up to Jack. “Hey...let me know before you come down here, okay?”

“Callaway.” Annnd cue the dampness in my panties. God, his deep voice. “Are you planning something?”

“Just dinner...but I like to have things set up. It’s all about presentation.”

“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble—I enjoy this. See you in a bit.”

I bustle around the kitchen, spraying and wiping the counters and table, getting out my L. L. Bean apple corer/peeler/slicer. I’ll do the applesauce first—it’ll smell so good cooking on the stove while I get everything else ready. It’s a couple months away from apple season, so these Macs aren’t local, but homemade is always better than out of a jar. Plus, I can make it chunky, the way Jack said he likes it. Water, quartered apples and a little lemon juice go into the saucepan. While that’s simmering, I get a pan to sauté some onion, then the big pot to boil the elbow noodles. I’m humming to myself, loving the smells of bubbling apples and sizzling butter in my kitchen...loving that I get to make a meal for someone I really, really like and will (hopefully) have sex with later.

I’m stirring the sugar and cinnamon in the pot of applesauce when I hear Jack call from upstairs. “Callaway...ready or not, here I come.”

Come. Mmm… “Oh, I’m ready, Decker.”

Jack enters the kitchen, and I catch my breath. He is wearing just what he always wears—t-shirt and jeans, leather belt, workboots—but there is something about this man that every time I see him, it’s new all over again.

I have an intensely major urge to hug him right now.

He raises his chin and sniffs deeply. “Wow. I thought it smelled good from upstairs.”

“Thanks. I hope it tastes as good.”

He goes over to the sink and washes his hands while I take the opportunity to look at his muscled backside. I already know what I want for dessert.

He glances over at the stove and casserole dishes on trivets beside it. “Mac and cheese, applesauce, and green bean casserole? I didn’t even mention that last one, but somehow you knew.”

“That wasn’t difficult to figure out. Kids like it.”

Bursting out in laughter, he shakes his head. “Touché.” Suddenly, he’s at my side, pulling me into him. “Mmm,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. “The food isn’t the only thing that smells good.” 

I look up at him, my heart thumping, as he threads his fingers in the back of my hair and brings his lips down to mine for a deep kiss. As his tongue fills my mouth, any thoughts of dinner vanish like the steam curling up from the casseroles. Jackson Decker is the only nourishment I need.

A warm rush begins in my core and starts to spread through me. I feel his excitement through his jeans, and at this moment, I am perfectly fine with him taking me against the counter, or on the kitchen table. But he breaks our kiss, releasing me reluctantly. “Got to stop before I can’t, Callaway.” He winks. “Just wanted to remind you that I wasn’t just a kid.”

“I know,” I murmur, swallowing. “And thank you.”

I watch his expression as he turns around and sees the table. His mouth breaks into a huge, heart-melting grin. “No waayyy.” He’s looking absolutely delighted, like I hoped he would be.

“You like it?”

Raking a hand through his dark hair, Jack is chuckling as he goes to sit down. “Uh, yeah...you could say that. You are too much.”

I decided to make his place setting reflect his kid-themed dinner. Courtesy of Target is a plastic Spiderman plate, matching napkin and a small container of one of the happiest childhood scents on Earth.

“Play-Doh? You got me Play-Doh?” Immediately, he opens the lid and inhales. “Brings me right back. This is the best. I used to eat this stuff.”

“Oh! I almost forgot. Your drink.” I go to the refrigerator for it and hand it to him, smiling.

He’s chuckling again. “A juice box. Of course.”

“Don’t worry—I do have adult beverages in there, also. This was purely for effect.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only woman who could get away with treating me like I’m five. And making me like it.” He snaps off the plastic straw, pokes it into the pouch and sips. I start giggling, but something tugs at my heart. Seeing this big man drinking out of a juice box is surprisingly touching.

“I believe you enjoy being teased.”

“I’m not the only one. I think I remember a certain beautiful woman who enjoys it, too.”

Jesus Christ Superstar. I’m blushing like hell and trying to come up with a witty retort when he continues.

“It was this blonde I used to date,” he muses, his expression thoughtful. “She really liked it.”

“What? Are you—” I’m spluttering as he bursts into laughter. “You are absolutely incorrigible.”

He flashes his panty-dropping grin and then holds me in his warm, smiling eyes. “You’re right—I’m sorry; I couldn’t resist. I really do love teasing you, Madeline. In several ways.”

And just like that, he melts me. I’m amazed at how quickly my feelings change with him. I ricochet from turned-on to amused to exasperated—like I’m a billiard ball and he’s the pool cue, only a lot thicker—and then all of a sudden he does something...like smiles or looks at me, or let’s be honest, breathes, and boom, I’m in the pocket.

His pocket.

“It would be wise not to bite the hand that feeds you. Just saying.” I wink as I take his plate to get his food.

“Sage advice, Callaway.” He puts his Spiderman napkin across his lap as I set the full plate at his place. “This is seriously so awesome of you. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in I don’t know how long.” He pokes his fork into the mac and cheese. “You even remembered the hot dogs.”

“They’re actually veggie dogs...healthier, and I don’t like eating pigs.”

He chews thoughtfully, nodding. “Fair enough. Charlotte’s Web was one of my favorite books as a kid, so I’m good with that.”

I get myself a plate, put my Bose Wave radio on the local soft rock station, and sit down. I’m relieved that he is a quiet chewer, even when he is very obviously enjoying his food. I’m hoping he doesn’t see me sneak glances at him, but I can’t help myself. Everything this man does is sexy, including eating. The bulge in his triceps as he brings his fork to his mouth. His lips parting as he brings his fork to his mouth. Everything.

God, I am in such serious trouble. The thought of just how much trouble makes me shift to harmless small talk. “How did things go today with the bathroom?”

His eyebrows lift as he nods enthusiastically. “Really well. Got the sheetrock all sanded and I’m ready to start building the shower.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have to see it later.”

“You’ll need to pick out tile pretty soon. Fixtures, too. I’m pumped to see it starting to take shape.”

“You really enjoy what you do, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. It’s a good feeling to leave something better than I found it.”

“Does that also apply to women?”

He grins, and something uncurls inside of me. “Ha! Never thought of it that way, but I hope I do in that regard, too. After working for a company, I like working for myself. I like to be in charge and call the shots.”

“That also definitely applies to women.”

“It does. This applesauce is amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you. There’s plenty more.”

“You’re spoiling me, Callaway. I’m not used to being taken care of like this.”

Let me take care of you. The words come from way down deep inside me, nestled in my well of secrets. I don’t say it, of course, but I think it hard.

“Your pouch looks deflated,” I tell him, smirking, as I point to his juice box. I get up to pour us some Chardonnay and set a glass in front of him. “So you don’t have any regrets about leaving the company?”

“Tricky question. I have regrets, yes, but it was the right decision to leave.”

“Was it risky, going out on your own?”

“Not really. I’m fortunate to work because I want to, not because I have to.”

“Oh.” I don’t know quite how to respond to this. So he’s well-off financially. This is a bit of a surprise. Not that it matters to me, given that I’m well-off financially.

“Where did you used to work?”

He dodges my question by asking me one. “What about you? It seems like you’ve done well for yourself—owning a realty company.”

“Yes...thanks. It wasn’t my plan to be sole owner—I’d expected to keep growing the business along with my husband, but he had other ideas.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He had an affair with one of our clients and left me.”

“I’m sorry. I know that kind of betrayal.” Jack’s jaw muscle flickers as he sips his wine. He’s studying me intently, and between the wine and what his eyes are doing to me, I’m feeling quite warm. I’m just about to ask him for more details when his face suddenly becomes relaxed and easy. “But enough of our sad stories.” He lifts his glass and grins. “To happy endings.”

I burst out laughing at the double entendre but raise my glass and clink it against his, trying to ignore the pang I feel at the word ending.

Jack tells me about the widower he’s working for, his eyes lighting up and revealing a side of him I haven’t yet seen. “Ed’s a little eccentric, and he’s obviously lonely. But I’m also coming to the realization that he’s got a hell of a lot of wisdom. So I make sure to listen.”

“I bet that means a lot to him.”

“I hope so. He’s a great guy.”

We’re just starting on the chocolate pudding cake and I’m thinking of what might happen after dessert when “Back in Black” starts playing from Jack’s belt. He puts down his spoon, reaches into the holster to silence the phone and then goes back to eating.

“You could have answered that, you know,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t want anything to distract me from the chocolate heaven in my bowl. Or the company, because that’s pretty delicious, too.”

His words go down as easy as the wine. How many times has he used this type of line on other women? Too many to count, probably. But at this point, I don’t care. Because right now, his words are for me.

Jack’s phone rings again. He sighs and reaches for it, and as he looks at the screen, his face seems to darken. “I might have to get this.”

“Of course.” I watch as he pushes back from the table, the chair scraping loudly against the tile. He walks into the living room, and I hear him answer in a low tone. I begin to clear the table, anticipation rippling through me as I think about being with him later tonight.

Not more than a moment later, Jack comes back in the kitchen. His face looks somber, and I’m instantly concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“My father’s had a heart attack. He’s at Maine Med. I’m sorry...I’m going to need to drive down there.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jack!” The urge to offer to go with him is strong, even though the hospital is at least two and a half hours away, and it’s a work night, and it’s not like I’m his girlfriend. At all. But still. “You’re okay to drive?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just had one glass of wine.”

“Would you like me to ride down with you?”

“No. Thanks, though. I appreciate it, but with the distance and my family dynamics, it’s better I do this by myself. I’m sorry—I hate to leave you with the clean-up.”

And I hate for you to leave.

“Absolutely no worries. Please drive safely, and let me know how your dad is doing, if you get a chance.”

“I will. Thanks again for dinner.” His face looks like carved marble. Unexpectedly, he reaches out and strokes my cheek, and just as unexpectedly, my hand comes up to hold his against my face. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I don’t have to wonder if he feels this magnetic pull between us, because his eyes tell me he does. Then he’s gone, and as full as I am from dinner, I’m left feeling…

Empty.