Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LAINEY

Jake and I spend the rest of the day answering emails on the Love Fixers account and then we work on erasing every last breadcrumb of "Droopy Dave"—Jake's nickname for him because of his resemblance to a basset hound—from his former fiancée's social media accounts.

I laugh and melt when I read the responses he wrote by himself that morning. He gets it. He understands. He enjoys doing this too.

And when I look at him, I feel a raw, aching want in my chest. I don't need anyone to tell me it's an unsafe feeling. Jake's not going to stay. He has one reason to be here: to steal a very expensive necklace that I can't let him keep. Once we acquire the necklace, he's going to leave, one way or another, and I'll never see him again.

I'll never see him again.

I swallow down the fear that rises up in the wake of that thought, telling myself I'm being ridiculous. I barely know Jake. And if I feel like he understands me better than most of the people I've known my entire life, maybe that's just a sign that I need to be more forthcoming.

Maybe it also means I should let myself enjoy him fully, for as long as I do have him.

"You look deep in thought," Jake says, nudging my shoulder from his chair as he pulls up another photo on Droopy Dave's fiancée's account. "Are you plotting someone's ruin?"

"Not at the moment," I hedge. "But that could change. Would you like to be ruined today?"

His lips tip up. "Maybe."

He's still sitting close, his proximity seeping into me, but I don't move. Neither does he. He doesn't look away either, and that fear creeps back in. I glance away, looking at the photo drawn up on his screen, and he averts his attention to it too.

"Hey, is that him?" he asks, pointing to a yawning dog in the corner.

"You're terrible," I say with a grin.

"Nah, he's terrible. His resemblance to a dog is the best thing about him."

I glance at him and find him staring at me, his gaze appreciative. He's smiling again. I know he's enjoying this—he's enjoying this thing I've made for myself—and I have the urge to lean in and kiss him. To show him I appreciate him too.

But Nicole strides into the room without knocking, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "What have you been doing in here all day?"

I glance out the window and am surprised to see the sun's going down. It passed in a blink.

"Kicking ass and submitting cookie orders," Jake says, making me laugh.

"We're keeping Claire busy," I confirm.

"Good. She needs someone to keep her in line."

"What's with the bag?"

"I'll be back in a couple of days." She gives us a salute and turns to go, clearly not intending to explain anything.

Before Nicole can stride off, I ask, "And where, pray tell, are you going?"

"I'm going to stalk Emma Rosings Smith," she says, turning back toward us. Then she points to each of us in turn. "Your job is to stalk Anthony and work the old lady angle." A sly smile crosses her face. "Work her hard."

"Sure," I say, ignoring the innuendo. I'm a little befuddled by this sudden change. She's leaving. Damien is God knows where. Will Jake and I be alone together?

Do I have the strength to stay here with him without pulling him into my bed?

Do I want to have that strength?

I clear my throat. "Where's Damien?"

"He's working on something else. He might be gone all week."

She's always appreciated the power of a good cryptic phrase, but I understand what she's not saying. He's following up on the watch, on Jake.

I feel a stab of guilt.

Here Jake is, giving me his time, and I've told some of his secrets to people who will use them to unearth more. He may have expected me to do it, but part of me feels like it was wrong.

You didn't look in the bag, I remind myself. You could have, and you didn't.

"I assume you don't need any help containing the prisoner?" she asks with a smirk. Her smile shifts to Jake. "You've seen what she can do to a bat, and she did that to her own car. You don't want to know what she'd do to someone who pisses her off."

"Send them baked goods," he says with a perfectly flat expression.

A delighted laugh escapes me, even though my heart is beating faster and my mind is a mess of thoughts. Most of them of tangled sheets and Jake's body .

"Pole-ax them with kindness," Nicole says, waggling her brows. Then she grins, salutes again, and is gone, leaving behind a house that's empty other than me, Professor X, and Jake.

But I didn't need to worry much, because before we've gotten through another half a dozen photos, a knock lands on the door.

I glance at him, and he shakes his head. "The people I know are more of the door kicking-in type. Plus I heard from Roark this morning. He's been texting me this daily countdown, like an advent calendar, except my brother's bloody hand will be in the last door."

I scrunch my nose. "We're not going to let that happen." He's got a dark, serious look, and I've learned humor is a tool for him, the same as it is for me, so I add, "I refuse to let you ruin advent calendars for me forever. Peanut butter cups have already been destroyed."

He smiles at me as the knock lands again, and I reach in my bag for the pepper spray I carry around everywhere. Just in case. I'm ninety percent sure it's Claire, and in all likelihood, everyone who lives in the house next door. Knowing Nicole, she told them to check on us the second she stepped out the door.

Nicole is protective, in her own way. She partially trusts Jake, but she also wants him to know that I'm not the only person he has to win over. There are people watching, and they may not all be equally sympathetic.

"Peanut butter cups were already destroyed for me too," Jake says, running his hand through his hair as he moves to get up. "My brother's one of those people who blows up if there's a peanut in a mile radius. Which is weird because we're—"

He cuts himself off, because the front door audibly cracks open. Relief twines through me when I hear Claire's cautious, "Hello?"

I'm relieved it's her and not some potentially dangerous lurker. I'm also relieved I'm not going to be alone with Jake right now, because I feel myself wanting something I know I can't have. Wanting more than the release I know he is more than capable of giving me.

I need to believe I'll be okay when he leaves—not like the world is dimmer and less exciting without him.

"Hi," I call out, jumping up from my chair. I reach for Jake's hand, and his eyes widen with surprise as he gives it to me and accepts the boost he obviously didn't need.

You're looking for reasons to touch him, a voice in my head informs me.

The voice is smugly correct, and I release his hand and lead the way into the wood-lined hall so I don't have to see the look on his face.

I might have been okay with him thinking cat-having, period-embracing Elaine was crazy, but I don't like the thought of him thinking I'm crazy.

Then again, he stood by my side while I destroyed my ex-fiancé's bat and damaged the car I'd stolen from my parents. If that didn't put him off, then maybe nothing would.

Claire, Declan, and Rosie are hovering by the front door in the living room. There's a big smile on Claire's face, and Declan is awkwardly holding an enormous, foil-wrapped tray of what smells like lasagna. Rosie has a salad in a glass bowl, and Claire, thank the lord, is double fisting two bottles of red wine. "We brought dinner!" she announces unnecessarily.

"You really shouldn't have," I say sunnily, but I'm not actually upset. We don't have to cook now.

And we won't be alone together yet.

"I'm going to go put this down," says Declan, but even though he's spent plenty of time in this house, he waits for my nod to do it. He's at least six foot four and broad, but he's not the kind of guy who'd impose on other people. So coming over to dinner uninvited—even though they've brought the food—would be well beyond his comfort zone. Still, he's already proven he'd do anything for Claire.

It's yet more proof that in addition to men like Peter, who cheated on his pregnant wife, there are also good men. Faithful, devoted men.

I glance at Jake, thinking about last night. About how he's put the ball in my court, again and again. About how he's spent all day helping me, and he enjoyed it.

"Hi," Rosie tells him brightly, playing with the purple streak in her hair. She looks both tired and hyped up—like she hasn't been sleeping, but it hasn't put a damper on her personality. "We saw each other at the engagement party. Hope you're hungrier tonight than you were then."

He smiles at me before glancing back at her. "That depends. Did you tamper with the food?"

"Why does everyone always assume people are tampering with other people's food?" Claire says, shaking her head. "Am I the only one who takes food safety seriously?"

Declan returns from dropping off the lasagna and ignores the salad in Rosie's outstretched hands, instead taking the wine from Claire. "You're the one who takes it the most seriously," he says, kissing her forehead. Then he nods to Jake and says, "Hi, Jake, I'm Declan. My sister Rosie is the one who might or might not have spat on your food, and Claire is my beautiful girlfriend."

Rosie laughs at him, one hand on her hip, the other barely managing the salad. But Jake sees the writing on the wall, and he relieves her of it before it falls to the wooden floor to get investigated—and then inevitably rejected—by Professor X.

"What?" Declan asks. "Why are you laughing? That was a perfectly reasonable thing to say."

"It's just… girlfriend . It makes it sound like you're both twelve, and you spend all day holding each other's sweaty hands."

"Excuse you," Claire says. "Your brother never has sweaty hands, and I'm perfectly content to be known as his sweaty-handed girlfriend." She puts her arm around him but keeps her gaze fixed on Rosie. "I know what you're doing, by the way. You're trying to make us happy you're moving out."

"You're taking the apartment?" I ask, surprised but not. Yes, Joy may be in the octogenarian set, but I actually think Rosie will fit right into that building. I can see her and Joy making tea together. Maybe we can convince them to make some sort of empowering tea for our clients.

"I'm moving this week," Rosie says, glancing at Jake with open curiosity. "Into your old building. So I guess I have you to thank for that. I went with Lainey the other day when she went to grab your stuff."

"You did?" he says, his expression closing down, but it's a millisecond too late. I saw the look of betrayal that crossed his face.

Maybe Rosie saw it too, because she immediately follows up by saying, "She wouldn't let me look at any of it." Jake gives me a grateful look; she rolls her eyes. "For future reference, she's probably the least fun person to bring along on a break-in."

"You sure about that?" he says, his eyes dancing as he starts to lead the way down the hall toward the kitchen as if he lives here. I guess, for the next week and a half, that he does. "Because I have marks on my back from where she tackled me on Saturday."

"I was trying to prevent a robbery," I insist.

I give his back a shove, and he dramatically turns around, salad raised in his hands. "There she goes again. Honest to God, Lainey, I wasn't trying to take off with the salad, but if you want it, I'll give it to you."

I laugh and shake my head. "You're not going to get out of being a packhorse that easily. Declan already did the hard work."

"Caught me," he says, and winks. Then he carries the salad off in the direction of the kitchen, Declan close behind him, and I fall back with Claire and Rosie.

Claire gives me the look. "I haven't been holding out on you," I say as we slow down, then stop, no longer making any pretense of following them. "Much."

"Was he there when you beat the shit out of your car last night?" she asks in a pointed undertone.

I glance at Rosie, who doesn't pretend to even consider joining her brother in the kitchen.

Then again, she's our friend too, and maybe there's no point in being circumspect.

"Yes, as it happens. He helped me with your pink umbrella."

"Oh, I was looking for that." Claire glances around the foyer as if she'll find it propped up.

"Sorry, it was very much destroyed."

"And the bat? Can we send Todd the splinters?"

I smile. "It would add a twist ending to his thirty minute story about buying it at auction. Also. Way ahead of you. I saved the pieces, and I'm going to box them up tonight."

Rosie shakes her head. "I have no idea what you two are talking about, but what happened after you messed up your car? Claire told me about that, obviously, and with all that adrenaline pumping… Don't tell me nothing happened. I mean…this guy is so much hotter now that we know he's not a real therapist, and there's definitely something vibing between you. I saw it at Smith House the other night."

"What's wrong with therapists?" I hedge.

I can feel Claire staring at me. I can feel her knowing .

Rosie shrugs. "I have issues with men who understand me better than I understand myself."

I laugh—at myself—because I've never felt in danger of that happening…until now.

I take a step toward the kitchen, but Claire catches my arm. "Rosie asked you a question."

I shrug. "I like him, but he's not going to stay. So what does it matter?"

"The present is the only thing we're guaranteed." She squeezes my arm. "So it does matter."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say.

Part of me wants to fully confide in Claire about the way I keep pulling back at the last moment with Jake. But I'm not ready to get quite that forward with Rosie, and I'm too confused about what's going on in my own head to try sharing it.

"I'm in desperate need of wine," I add.

"Amen, sister," Rosie says, and this time we all head down the hall together, to find Jake and Declan talking as if they've known each other their whole lives. I roll my eyes at Jake, and when he grins in response, I feel a gush of warmth.

"Hey," he says, taking a step toward me. "Is your friend going to be able to fulfill all of those cookie orders?"

His obvious pride is— sigh —adorable.

I turn toward Claire. "We need to have them before two so we can mess up Peter's meeting and hopefully destroy his hopes and dreams. It's all Jake's fault."

She laughs, her eyes sparkling as she glances back and forth between the two of us, obviously making all kinds of conclusions. "Well, we wouldn't want Peter to find any kind of happiness and fulfillment."

"We may also need a cake that says, He has herpes ," Jake says, his eyes twinkling. "Pending confirmation that it's true. I know Lainey likes to play fast and loose with the law, but I don't want to risk her getting sued."

I walk over and bump his shoulder with mine. "Thanks, sidekick."

He puts his arm around my waist, sending a gush of shock and yes, yes, yes through me—along with a healthy dose of fear.

Wine. I need wine.

Declan, bless him, must have poured us glasses of wine before they started talking, because there are three of them waiting on the table. I squeeze Jake's hand and pull away.

The five of us settle around the small table in the kitchen, Jake next to me on one side, Rosie on the other. We drink. We talk. We eat lasagna.

As the night progresses, the warm feeling in my stomach grows. Jake gets along with my friends. They like him, and he likes them. That feels stupidly good. My friends were never good enough for Todd, and my parents, who would have loved to worship the ground he walked on, were an embarrassment.

We're having another glass of wine after dinner when Claire asks for an update on the necklace.

It's a bit like being splashed with cold water, but I fill her in on everything, from Mrs. Rosings's request to the high tea scheduled for Sunday.

Rosie, who's had more wine than anyone else, smacks the round table with her open palm, making it wobble on its uneven supports. "You need to hire Joy to cater the tea. She's so great, so great, but she needs more confidence. I'll come along and help her. It'll be perfect."

"Um, Anthony is technically holding the tea," I say, caught off-guard. "Plus, Joy thinks Jake's a therapist."

Jake shrugs, his knee glancing off mine under the table, sending awareness shooting through me. My whole body feels attuned to him—like it's waiting for him to finish what I've kept him from doing.

"So does Anthony," he says. "If anything, it supports my cover, and I've always liked Joy. She loves giving out free medical advice. Following it would probably kill me, but I appreciate the effort." Nodding to Rosie, he says, "I'll text him about it."

She smiles. "You won't regret it."

I'm not so sure about that, but Rosie looks lighter than she has in days, so I let it go.

"You up for doing the dishes, Declan?" Jake asks. Claire looks at me from across the table and pats a hand over her heart.

My friends head out not long afterward, Claire promising she'll have the cookies ready in time to give Peter his terrible surprise.

And, just like that, Jake and I are alone together again.

After the front door closes behind them, he reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear, the way he did earlier.

"Thank you," I say. "Thank you for being so great with them. It…" I feel choked up all of the sudden, emotion pushing up from the well of my stomach. "It means a lot to me."

"You don't have to thank me," he says, his hand cupping my jaw. His thumb moves softly over my skin. It feels deliciously good, and I want to scream at myself. Why did I stop him again last night? Why have I been torturing both of us? It may only have been a week since the first time I cut us off, but it feels like seven desert-dry months rather than days.

"I like them," he says. "And even if I hadn't, I would've kept it to myself because you like them."

"So maybe you were lying," I say, then immediately regret it when a hurt look crosses his face and he lowers his hand.

"I want you to trust me, but I know that's probably impossible because of who I am."

"I don't even know your last name."

He peers at me in the dim lighting of the foyer. "I don't know yours."

I laugh, amused by this—by how much has passed between us without even the most basic information changing hands. "Catlan."

His gaze narrows. "You're joking."

More laughter spills from me. "I'm not. And Professor X is the first pet I've ever had. My parents wouldn't let me get one because they thought animals were a bad investment."

"Charming."

"Right?" I pause, waiting for him to offer up his name.

He shakes his head. "Do you think you'd know me any better if I told you the last name of the mother who abandoned me?"

I suck in a breath and grab his bicep, feeling a soul-deep need to comfort him. To show him that I'm here, even if our lives are only destined to intersect for this strange, stolen blip in time. "I'm sorry. I guessed it was something like that, but I didn't really know."

"It doesn't matter," he insists. This time I can tell he's lying, but he shakes it off and adds, "It's like I said. I had Ryan, and we went to the same foster homes. It was fine."

"Still. I'll send her some cookies if you change your mind."

He laughs humorlessly. "I'm not sure even Nicole and Damien could find her."

"They can find anyone," I say, but the look in his eyes suggests he doesn't see this as good news.

"I wouldn't want them to."

He presses his hand over mine, still planted on his arm, and then he tugs it away, softening the sting by lifting it to his lips and kissing it. It's a soft kiss, his lips landing just below my knuckles, nothing like the fever that took hold of us last night, and there's something sad in his eyes.

"Goodnight, hellcat." He brushes his thumb over my knuckles and then releases me. "It was a good day. One of the best. Let's kick its ass with tomorrow."

If this were a cartoon, my mouth would probably drop open as I watch him turn and walk to—and then up—the stairs without turning around.

Disappointment threads through me, but maybe it's for the best if he's given up. Maybe there are only so many times a man will try to give a woman an orgasm before he decides it's not worth the effort.