Chapter Twenty-Eight

Who knew that crying like a lunaticin Jake's arms would get us to where we are now? I don't know if it was always bound to happen or if my pathetic display triggered his protective instinct, but I'm thankful for the turn of events.

Although it was a joke, we did spend the weekend naked, aside from a few outings at the dog park or to eat out on Saturday evening. It was strangely liberating to stay bare, as if we had nothing to hide from one another. I did find it a little exhausting, though. Jake truly is a sex machine. He spent the weekend eyeing me with hunger, looking like he could pounce on me at any moment. Which he did quite a few times.

But between sex sessions, we delved into deep conversations that fulfilled my soul even more than the naked intimacy. He listened to me talk about Victoria and asked many questions, desirous to learn more about my lost sibling. Some part of him must have sensed that I needed to let it all out because he was sweet and patient the whole time.

Even though I had to catch up on a couple of things at work, I got to see Jake a few evenings throughout the week. He officially has a toothbrush at my place, and I relocated the spare cup to the back of a drawer. The joy I feel every time I see our toothbrushes hanging out together is ridiculous. My obsession with the man seems to come from a bottomless well, and no matter how much I give into it, I still come up with more.

Tonight is date night, and I know that whatever he has planned will feed that insane infatuation. That is, if I can decide on what to wear.

I got off work early just to get ready for it, and I've tried eight different outfits so far, none of which were good enough. The only thing I have figured out is the lingerie—a strapless balconette bra with a coordinated cheeky, as well as thigh high stockings. I need help with this because I'm clearly unable to handle it alone. So now, I'm sitting in my underwear in my dressing room, anxiously waiting for Hana to pick up the phone. It's been ringing for over thirty seconds now, so I'm about to hang up when something finally happens.

My friend appears on the screen, and I let out a sigh of relief. "Hey, babe," she greets me with a smile.

"Hi! Oh my God, I'm so glad you picked up."

"Is everything alright?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I need your help. Do you have a moment?"

"Sure! I just fed this little milk addict, so we're good to go," she explains, angling the phone away so I can see Lucas thrown over her hip as she holds him there with her free arm.

He looks adorable with his chubby cheeks and big smile. Hana and Tyrone really created the most perfect baby, with his warm brown skin, beautiful eyes, and a head full of tight curls.

"Hey, baby boy!" I cheer. "You're growing so fast!"

Although he's far from speaking, Hana excitedly tells her infant son, "Say ‘hi' to Auntie Genny. Can you say that for me, my sweet prince?" When he replies with nothing but gurgling, she sighs and gives him a kiss on his tiny dark-haired head. "One day. And remember that if you say ‘Dada' before ‘Mama' I will drop you at the nearest orphanage." I laugh incredulously at her savage joke, which brings her attention back to the phone. "So tell me, darling. How can I help?"

I scan the extensive wardrobe surrounding me, feeling stupid for not finding one good thing despite my plethora of choices. "I'm meeting with Jake," I explain, "and I can't figure out what to wear."

"Does it really matter? You'll end up naked in five seconds, won't you?"

I wince. I've been waiting for the perfect opportunity to tell her, and this is it. "Tonight is actually a date."

She freezes so hard that I think it's a connection issue at first. But then she echoes, "A date?"

"Yes."

"A date-date?"

"Yes-yes."

Her shock is almost comical, but I hold back from chuckling. Her gaping mouth turns into a huge grin, and she shakes her head incredulously. "You're a terrible godmother; I almost dropped my child. Are you and Jake seriously dating?!"

When a broad smile tugs at my lips, I feel like an infatuated teenager—especially when I sense my cheeks warming. "We are. I told you I left my parents' gala and went to his place, but I didn't tell you everything."

"You sneaky, sneaky hoe. What happened?"

"Well, I cried—probably enough to fill a bucket."

"You did?"

"Yeah. And he was so… Hana, I swear, he's so perfect. He was gentle, and patient, and tender… He comforted me while I confided in him and then held me the entire night. And in the morning, he made love to me in a way I've never experienced before. It was like we were one being, like we began and ended with one another."

"Oh my God, Gen. I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"I know, I'm sorry. You've been such a vocal advocate of Jake, I suppose I wasn't ready to share yet. I needed to sort out my feelings by myself, you know?"

"I get it, babe. I can be very pushy at times, especially since you can be so stubborn. Have you figured out how you're feeling?"

"Oh, I'm falling for him. Hard."

"Of course you are," she says, nearly squealing with excitement.

I sigh, overwhelmed by the mere thought of Jake and tonight. "He's so perfect, you know? And he makes me feel like myself. I don't think I've felt that way since Victoria died, and I'm like, alive, and free, and so damn happy every time we're together." My eyes scan the room around me and the clothes hanging on their racks, and frustration overwhelms me. "And now we're having our first real date, but it won't be perfect because I can't find anything to wear."

"Oh come on, that's impossible. Show me what you've tried so far."

For the next five minutes, I settle the phone against a console and show her the outfits I've tried and dismissed. She agrees some don't work but calls me irrational for a few others.

"But I really want to wear the leather jacket he got me," I insist, showing it to her again. "And those colors don't match."

"Hmm, I kind of see what you mean, yes. You know what would be perfect with it?"

"Obviously not, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," I mumble cynically.

"Remember that black dress you had at Harvard? The one with the lace?" It doesn't take long for my brain to picture exactly what she means. Oh, she's good. She's really good.

Leaving the phone where it is, I sprint to a closet on the other end of the dressing room. There, I hoard the clothes I probably won't ever wear again but refuse to give away. It takes a full minute for me to find the black lace dress—settled on a hanger inside protective plastic wrap. I'm pulling the zipper down as I return to the phone. Thanks to a freshening sheet in there, the dress smells flowery and clean when I take it out.

"Oh my, it'll be so perfect," Hana excitedly says from the other end of our call.

"I hope it still fits."

"Bitch please, you look as good as when I met you eight years ago."

I grimace, thinking of how my mother would disagree with that one. My hands are slightly trembling with anticipation as I hold the first part of the dress down and step into it. It comes up easily, and the zipper barely resists.

"God, you look so sexy," Hana supportively approves.

The silk under-dress is way too bold and, yes, definitely sexy. The strapless bodycon barely covers anything, with a sweetheart neckline that hugs my breasts together tightly and a skirt that ends high on my thighs. It's tighter than I remember, but it isn't too constricting.

I pick up the lacy second half of the dress and slip it on from the top, then slide my arms into the sheer long sleeves as it comes down.

This time, the zipper that goes from my lower back to my nape resists a little more. I adjust everything and step to the side to observe myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I was right to think my best friend would solve everything.

The lacy part of the dress is more reasonable, with a round collar tight around my neck, sleeves that reach my wrists, and a skirt that goes just below my knees. The design of the lace is beautifully intricate, delicate, and very, very sheer, exposing the skimpy under-dress in an elegant manner. The whole thing is skintight, and I know without a doubt that Jake will love it. His tongue might even roll out like that Tex Avery wolf.

"Try it with the jacket!" Hana demands. I don't need to be told twice.

I grab the beautiful leather garment and put it on, making sure none of the rivets or zippers get hooked into the lace. Once it's settled on my shoulders, I admire the perfect result.

"Forget Jake, I'm the one taking you out on a date," Hana jokes.

I smile at the phone, adjusting my wavy hair to perfect the look. Whatever Jake has planned for us tonight might end up being shorter than intended.

Lucas begins to stir at Hana's side, so while she's busy soothing him, I walk up to my wall of shoes and grab a pair of shiny black Louboutins. "I hope he's not picking you up on his bike," she points out.

"I'm meeting him at his place. He offered to pick me up, but since he planned something in Brooklyn, I thought it would be simpler to go to him."

"Smart. Then you guys can take an Uber to wherever."

"Exactly."

The dainty gold watch on my wrist informs me that I have less than ten minutes left before the ride I scheduled arrives. "Can you think of anything I can improve?" I ask Hana, twisting around to inspect my back in the mirror.

"No, I really like it. You can't wear a necklace with this dress, and those studs are perfect."

"Thanks," I say with a smile, reaching up for the earrings my brother got me last week.

She must notice how my hands slightly tremble because she asks, "Are you stressed, hun?"

"A little. I really, really want this to work out. But I'm also aware that I'm putting a lot on the line. My parents will never approve of him, and it'll make everything with them so much more complicated."

She sighs, momentarily looking away as she tries to figure out what to say. "My parents really didn't like Tyrone at first, remember?"

I nod, aware of that. It was hard on Hana, and she was a mess for months. Her parents wanted a nice Korean man for her, with a well-paying job and prospects. Seeing their daughter end up with a struggling artist wasn't in their plans. They began warming up to him when he had his breakthrough, thanks to Constance, who recognized his immense talent and exhibited his photographs in her gallery. Now, they know that their daughter is the happiest she's ever been, with the love of her life by her side and their baby boy.

"He grew on them eventually," she reminds me. "And he isn't as charming and social as Jake. No, my awkward introvert of a man still won my parents over. I'm not worried that Jake won't do the same."

With all my heart, I want to believe her. My parents, while strict and prejudiced, can be reasoned with, I think. And the ease with which Jake made his way into my heart proves how good he is at winning people over.

While it would be easier, I'd never wish for him to be more like me or the people in my world. There isn't a single thing I want to change about this man, no matter how complicated it makes everything.

Little Lucas fusses again, and Hana offers me an apologetic wince. "Sorry, I think the little prince needs to be changed."

"It's alright, Hana. I need to do some makeup touch-ups, anyway. Thank you so much for helping me out. I was really desperate."

"Girl, that was purely selfish. I need Jake to knock you up fast so our kids can be best friends."

An incredulous laugh rips out of my chest. "Jesus Christ, don't say things like that. This is literally our first date."

"You two have had plenty of evenings together before. Even spent a whole weekend cooped up," she retorts with a roll of her eyes.

She's not entirely wrong, but still. Tonight is meaningful and feels more official than anything we've ever done.

Hana and I stay on the phone for a few more minutes, then we mutually decide it's time to hang up. I'm reapplying a layer of red lipstick when I receive a notification. I expect it to be my ride, but it's a message from Jake instead.

Wombat Guy

When's the driver picking you up?

Me

In five minutes. Why?

Wombat Guy

Just making sure :)

I make my way to my bedroom to throw the last of my toiletries into my overnight bag. After one last look in the mirror and an approving nod for myself, I exit my apartment, heels clicking on the marble floor.

The notification that the car has arrived comes when I'm in the elevator, so I seek a sleek black sedan once I exit the building. It's easily located, as well as the driver standing beside it, his hands professionally folded together in front of him. But my attention is swiftly drawn to what's parked right in front of it. The deep green vintage sports car is undoubtedly a beautiful sight, but it's nothing compared to the man leaning against it. In my stupor, I stare at a very handsome, very mine, Jacob Clarke, grinning with pride like a cat that got the cream.

He's wearing all black, and the crisp shirt that hugs his broad torso has a few buttons undone at the collar, and the sleeves are rolled up, which exposes some of his tattoos. I thought I did a good job getting ready for tonight, but dear Lord… he absolutely nailed it.

I'm still processing what's happening when the driver of the sedan steps to the side and opens the door for me. My heart flutters, my eyes stuck on Jake's handsome face.

"Miss Kensington," the driver says, gesturing for me to enter.

"Sorry, but I won't—I won't be needing your services," I say to the driver, finally ripping my gaze from the mesmerizing sight.

"Miss?"

"I'll pay the fees and whatever. Sorry again."

Without another word, the driver offers me a nod and returns to his car to drive off. I return my attention to Jake, whose cocky smirk never wavered.

"You were ‘just making sure?'" I say, failing to contain my cheerfulness at seeing him. Pleased isn't adequate to express how his unexpected presence makes me feel. I'm elated.

"What kind of man would I be if I let another bloke service my woman on our first date?"

I'm so entranced by his gorgeousness that I almost miss the fact that he called me his woman. Already, I know that I'll want tonight to last forever.

As I stare into Jake's jade eyes, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"Is it cheesy if I admit I came because I couldn't wait to see you?" he asks, half joking, half embarrassed.

I laugh at his blunt admission. "Definitely. But you're in luck because I love cheese."

We grin at one another like two enamored buffoons, and I step closer to him. His eyes take me in, raking up and down my body with nothing but appreciation. "Fuck, red, you look stunning," he praises once I'm by his side. "But how am I supposed to kiss you with those lips?"

The evident frustration in his voice makes me giggle, and I twist my face to the side and present my cheek to him. He mumbles, "That won't be enough," but still bends down to kiss me there, wrapping an arm around me to hold me close. I should have expected it, but it still surprises me when his lips slowly travel from my cheek to that tender spot behind my ear, then down my neck, dropping eager and amorous kisses on my shivering skin.

Ripping himself away from me, he gives me one last longing look before saying, "Alright, let's go before I start undressing you in the middle of the street to kiss your other set of lips."

Like a proper gentleman, he opens the passenger door for me and takes my overnight bag. "This is quite the car," I say, admiring the beautiful design of the vehicle.

"I know. Ever heard of an old show called Stingray?"

"Never," I admit as I lower into the car, helped by his steady hand.

Once I'm safely tucked in, he closes the door and walks around the car. He sits down on his side and twists around to set my bag behind us. "When I was a kid, I became obsessed with this obscure TV show from the eighties. This guy called Ray was some kind of shady but good guy," he explains before turning the engine on. The sound of it is just as vintage as the look. "He was a badass who drove a 1965 Corvette Sting Ray."

"Same as this one?"

"Yeah, but black."

I chuckle, amused by how sentimental he is sometimes. He easily drives out of the parking spot and puts us on our way to whatever he planned for tonight. "You used to watch a lot of weird stuff as a child, didn't you? I checked out what Mulligrubs is, and dear God…"

His lopsided smirk isn't lost on me. "I'd blame it on Australia's TV network, but I think I actively looked for that shit. Mum worked a lot, and TV was an easy and cheap babysitter. I don't blame her for it though. Those weird shows made me who I am, in a way."

"I definitely appreciate them for that."

The not-so-subtle compliment and evident appreciation of his mind earn me a quick look, as well as one of his signature smirks. His hand comes over to my thigh, resting on the lace of my dress, and his thumb mindlessly grazes back and forth.

"Did you have a good day at work?"

"Eh, things have been tense on my floor since I demanded that the gossip stop. And I think my boss is annoyed that I keep skipping the Friday after-work drinks."

"Shit. Maybe we should start relocating our time together to Saturdays or Thursdays."

"No way. I want you on Thursday evenings, Friday evenings, and Saturday evenings."

"Greedy, are we?" he says with a chuckle.

"With you? Always."

Because I really don't want to talk about my work and bring the mood down, I ask him about his day instead. Some über-famous soccer player—whose name doesn't ring a bell because I know next to nothing about sports—wants a tattoo from him, so Jake has been sketching a lot all week, trying to find the perfect idea. I'm so distracted by the conversation, entranced by the passion I can hear in his voice, that I pay barely any attention to the streets outside. It's only when he stops in front of the wide door of an underground garage that I look around.

"Wait," I start, confused, "isn't this your building?"

"It is." The door is now open, so he drives in.

"Are we having a date at your place?" I genuinely don't mind if that's the plan, but he told me it would be something special, so I didn't expect this.

"Not exactly."

The garage has a few more cars, and I spot his bike, as well as a couple others. He parks the car in a wide and free spot and then cuts the engine. I'm still a little confused when he makes his way out with my bag and comes around to open my door. His hand helps me out, and he guides me toward a flight of stairs. It leads to the hallway of his building, which I'm familiar with by now. I'm still not sure what he has in mind when we step into the old elevator and ride it up to his floor.

"Let me just put your bag in the flat, and we'll be back on track," he explains.

I wait, standing by the elevator as he does so, taking slightly longer than I expected.

"Alright, sweetheart," he says once he's back, taking my hand in his warm one, "stairs again, and then our evening can start."

It's only when he leads me to the staircase and up that I understand. I know the roof has some accommodations because he's mentioned it in the past. I've never been up there though, so I have no idea what to expect. There's a heavy metal door at the end of the stairs, and he lets go of my hand to open it. We step outside, and I take in the space he has created there while he uses a latch on the wall to secure the door open.

A sense of wonder washes over me, and my eyes widen at the beautiful setting. The early evening sun casts a warm, golden glow across the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. There's just one building higher than Jake's, giving me an unobstructed and splendid view of Brooklyn's beauty.

What truly captivates me is the lush, verdant paradise that surrounds us. Dozens of plants of various sizes and species create a miniature forest that fills the rooftop with life and vibrancy. It's like a hidden oasis in the heart of the city. Garden furniture is arranged—a lounge area, sunbathing chairs, and a sumptuous round bed that looks like something from a dream. A hot tub is nestled in a cozy corner, and on our left, a small outdoor kitchen area. In the middle of this haven, a table is set for two beneath a pergola adorned with fairy lights. This must have taken hours, and I can't help but be filled with excitement and gratitude for his efforts.

"Do you like it?" he asks, slipping a tender hand around my waist as he returns to my side.

"I absolutely love it. Are you telling me there's been this lush oasis up here the whole time, and you never showed me?"

"We were usually busy doing other things," he reminds me with amusement.

"Still, Jake, this is beyond beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it." He lowers to kiss my temple and silently encourages me to take the three steps down to the exotic wood decking.

As we walk up to the table and closer to the kitchen, a mouth-watering smell reaches my nostrils. That's when I see white smoke twirling out of a large smoker's chimney. The kitchen is more equipped than I first thought, and I notice an oven, a small fridge, and a griddle.

"Do you use this space often?"

"As much as we can every summer. We've been a little busy this year, but ever since I bought this place, we usually spend our evenings here as soon as the weather is mild enough until far into autumn. Eli likes to climb up the emergency stairs to sunbathe. I've caught the fucker as naked as a worm more than once."

I smile at that, continuing my exploration of the magnificent space while he follows a few paces behind. "Who handles the plants?"

"I used to, but I don't have enough free time anymore. I only do the ones in my flat. I set timers to water everything, and a guy comes once a month to clean up and take care of the plants."

"I see." My hands graze the green leaves of what looks like a Juniper.

When I reach the hot tub, I dip my fingers in the clear water. It's cold, which I suppose is expected as they probably only heat it before use.

"Want me to turn it on?" he offers, as if reading my thoughts.

"Not tonight, but we're definitely doing this soon." As I say that, I send him a very suggestive side glance. He catches it, of course, and something naughty appears on his dashing features.

"I don't recall sex in a spa being on your list, red."

"We'll say it's on my personal list, then."

Appreciation flickers in his gaze as he pulls me closer, plastering my front to his muscular body. "And how long is that one?"

"Oh, way too long to write down and ever-growing."

"Music to my fucking ears."

He apparently doesn't care about the lipstick any longer because he claims my mouth earnestly. I, too, forget about it and answer with matching intensity, allowing our tongues to mingle the way they crave to. His hands are all over me, pulling me into his embrace like he wishes we could be just one being.

When he pulls away, I'm panting and heated, aware that my face must be flushed with smudged lipstick all over—just like him. "Oh no, we made a mess," he lets out, his tone suspiciously unbothered. Holding back a proud grin, he pulls out something from his back pocket. "Good thing I snatched the makeup wipes when I dropped your bag."

So that's why he took longer than expected. Torn between amusement and surprise at his cunningness, I take the wipe he offers before he pulls one out for himself. We clean up and then do damage control on one another. I can't shake my entertained grin the entire time.

Something rings in the kitchen, and Jake reacts to it. "Ah, that's the scalloped potatoes," he says before taking off.

I follow him to the kitchen and watch as he deactivates the alarm on his iPad on the counter. With expert motions, he takes out a dish filled with perfectly golden potatoes, which are thinly sliced and bathed in a creamy sauce.

"That looks delicious," I appreciatively note.

"This is my signature dish, so get used to it, love."

Once the potatoes are returned to the turned-off oven, he moves on to the smoker and opens it to check the meat. The smell when he lifts the lid makes me salivate, and I find myself wondering if I really deserve such a man. An artist who cooks, has a heart of gold, and fucks like a god? It's like I'm cashing in all of my karma points at once.

As soon as his inspection is over, he returns all of his attention to me. "Alright, love. I have champagne, or I have a fruity red from the Napa Valley. The red's for the meat, but if you want a glass now, it's been decanting for over an hour, so it should be perfect."

"The wine sounds great. No need to open two bottles, wombat." The nickname really grew on him because his face lights up when I use it, and he can't help but give me a kiss, like a little reward.

"I truly don't mind opening the champagne."

"Red's perfect."

"Heck yeah, she is," he cleverly retorts. "Great to see you're catching up, sweetheart."

I think my ovaries react to his words because I feel something swell and pulse deep inside me. Maybe Hana wasn't wrong, and I should get pregnant. Baby trapping this man sounds like the greatest idea I've ever had.

He sends me to the lounge area with our glasses of wine and then joins me with a beautiful board full of various finger foods. "You must have spent the whole day cooking," I say, overwhelmed.

"Just the afternoon. I started on the meat yesterday, though, and it's been slow cooking all day."

"I need to make sure this evening is all worth it, then."

"Oh, I have the feeling it will be, red."

I hand him his glass, and before we drink, he raises it, his gaze locked on mine. "To our first date," he toasts.

I tap my glass with his and repeat, "To our first date."

And to many, many more to come.