He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “From your lips to God’s ear. Come on.” He pushed the door open and tugged her through. “Let’s get you dry.”
The house was pitch dark, but Jesse lit candles before going to the back porch and returned with an armload of firewood. Crouched at the hearth, he poked the kindling until flames rose, then sank onto the floor, his elbows on his knees.
In the spirit of making herself useful, as well as avoiding the awkward silence, Gemma fetched towels from the hallway closet. “Here.” Shivering, she knelt and blotted his dripping hair. “Want me to get you some dry clothes?”
“In a minute.” He stared into the fire.
A gust shook the windowpanes. The old house creaked under nature’s assault.
Finally, with a huge sigh, Jesse turned and met her eye. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I know.” She reached for the buttons of his shirt. “You have every right to be. I have a bone to pick with you too. But for now, can we please dry off?”
“Fair enough.” He slowly unfolded his large frame and tugged her to her feet. They trudged to the bedroom, where he flicked on the overhead lamp.
“Electricity’s back?”
He snorted. Goddess, she’d missed that sound.
“Propane generator. Fired it up when I got the firewood. We’ll have lights and running water, at least. Here.” He rummaged in his dresser and tossed her a flannel shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and thick woolen socks. “You can change in there.” He pointed to the bathroom, turned his back, and stripped off his dripping shirt.
“Jesse, you’ve already seen every inch of me.”
“Well, I don’t want to see it now.”
Her heart shriveled.
With a grunt, he slammed the drawer. “Don’t need lust clouding my judgment. That’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”
In the bathroom, she shed her wet garments, blotted her sopping hair, and pulled on Jesse’s clothes, warm and soft against her bare skin. The plaid flannel shirt nearly reached her knees, but since he was so averse to seeing her body, she stepped into the sweats and cinched the waist tight. The socks were ridiculously large, too, but better than padding through the cold house in bare feet. Borrowing his comb, she unsnarled her mane before stepping into the bedroom.
“Jesse?” No sign of him, but a fire crackled in the fireplace.
“How freakin’ romantic,” she muttered, bitterness sharp on her tongue.
She found him in the kitchen stirring two mugs of hot cocoa. When she approached, he turned and wordlessly held up a bottle of Jameson.
“Yes, please.”
He added a generous glug to each mug, handed her one, and beckoned her to the living room, where he sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him.
Nerves wound tight, she sat and curled her legs beneath her.
He wrapped the worn sofa quilt around their shoulders, then gave her a long, narrow-eyed stare. His jaw muscles worked. She could almost see the wheels turning in his skull—tick, tick, tick.
He crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge. Unfair—how was she supposed to concentrate?
“My gramps had a saying about how people are like tea bags. You don’t find out how strong they are until they land in hot water.” He reached for his mug.
She did the same, taking a big gulp of sugary liquid courage before twisting to face him. “Look, Jesse. I am what I am. Flawed, impulsive, insensitive.”
Jesse nodded, his expression solemn.
Throw me a crumb, will you?She took another sip and plowed ahead. “And you’re flawed too. Jealous when there’s no need, stubborn, and far too Netflix and chill for my taste.”
“Hmmph.” His lips quirked to the side.
She laid her hand on his knee. “But here’s the thing—I’ve felt more alive, more myself these past weeks with you than I have in a long time. Flitting from place to place scratches an itch in my soul. I don’t know how to reconcile that with loving a man who’s deeply rooted to one place—even if it’s a town as magical as Trappers Cove.”
