I’ve only just met this man, and somehow he sees me clearer than people who’ve known me all my life.
Jake holds my gaze for a long moment, and for once, the silence between us doesn’t feel heavy. It feels warm. Like something sacred has passed between us, quietly anchoring us to one another.
Then, just when the weight of it starts to settle too deep in my chest, he shifts and picks up his fork again.
“Alright,” he says with a glint in his eyes, “enough of the heavy stuff. Let’s talk about something less likely to make me want to kiss you senseless out of sheer emotional overwhelm.”
My mouth falls open in a laugh, caught somewhere between scandalized and swoony. “That’s oddly specific.”
He shrugs one shoulder, his smirk doing dangerous things to my ability to stay seated. “Just calling it like it is.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re something else, you know that?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slices a perfect bite of pie and leans forward, holding the fork toward me.
“Try this.”
I arch a brow. “You’re seriously trying to feed me right now?”
“Sunshine,” he drawls, “I’m a man who can handle heavy machinery in wildfires. I think I can manage a fork. Open up.”
The absurdity of it makes me laugh again, but I lean forward anyway and take the bite. My lips close around the fork and…holy crap.
“Oh my god,” I murmur around the mouthful. “That’s insane.”
“Right?” he says proudly. “Milly’s secret ingredient is nutmeg. Just enough to make your tastebuds ask questions.”
“Are you trying to seduce me with food now?”
“I don’t need to,” he says smugly, “but I figure every little bit helps.”
He scoops another bite, but I snatch the fork from him and load it up with my grilled cheese.
“Your turn, hero. Let’s see if you can handle some gooey perfection.”
Jake lets me feed him, letting out an exaggerated moan as the cheese stretches from the sandwich to his lips. “Damn,” he says through a smile. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I never joke about cheese,” I say solemnly.
Our laughter mixes with the soft clinks and chatter of the diner. Everything feels lighter. Warmer. Like we’ve stepped into our own little snow globe world, one where things like grief and guilt don’t hang over us like thunderclouds.
“You’re cute when you laugh,” he says suddenly.
I glance at him, cheeks heating. “You’re a menace when you flirt.”
“You like it.”
“…Maybe.”
Jake leans back in the booth, stretching one arm across the top of the seat. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“You mean because I collect snow globes and eat like a five-year-old?”
“I mean because you’re fire and softness rolled into one, and I can’t decide if I want to tease you, kiss you, or wrap you in a blanket and never let you go.”
Oh.
I can’t think of anything to say to that, mostly because my brain just exploded.
