Chapter 127
963 Words
The January sun was surprisingly bright in the sky. After a snowy and gray holiday season, the New Year looked sunny and blue.
Chris knocked on Jenny’s door, looking up and down the street. She had a cute little house near the city centre, and the street was amazingly quiet for the location. Jenny knew all her neighbors and they knew her; Chris raised his hand to greet Mrs. Patterson as she peered out of her front window at him. She flicked the curtain shut and despite his nerves, he grinned.
That old busy-body. Nothing gets past her, huh? But man, she keeps Jenny safe… nobody would get within twenty feet of this front door without somebody around here noticing it.
The bright red door swung open and there she stood, her blue eyes so gorgeous and warm as she looked up at him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.
“Hi. Come on in.”
He stepped into her home, and as always, he took a deep breath, loving the scent. Today, her house smelled of cinnamon and sugar, and he guessed she was baking.
“What’s in the oven?” he asked, shrugging his coat off his massive shoulders.
“Cinnamon buns,” she said. “They’ll be ready in about twenty minutes, so you can take some home, if you want.”
“I’d love that.” He wandered in behind her, sat down in his usual chair next to the window, farthest from the front door.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Please.”
He watched her bustle around her cheerful kitchen, loving how happy she was there. He’d never met anyone so completely at home when surrounded by spices and bubbling pots on the stove and cutting boards, but that was Jenny. A born chef.
She was coming to him now, bringing his coffee, and he stood up to take it from her. She handed it over, backed up and sat on the sofa.
They gazed at each other, and then they both smiled.
“How was your Christmas?” he asked.
“Good. Busy with the restaurant, but I did manage to get to see my family for two days… and I didn’t even have to cook, if you can believe it. You?”
“Excellent. I went skiing with my brothers and Mom stuffed us full of turkey. I think I gained about ten pounds.”
She laughed, then fell silent. He saw her fidgeting, and he took a deep breath.
“Jenny?”
She looked up at him, and he saw the hope shining in her eyes.
“I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll help you.”
“Oh, God. Really?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Chris… thank you.”
“I’ll do whatever you need, whenever you’re ready. We’re in this together, and I’m going to be so damn careful with you. Alright?”
She nodded, tears running down her cheeks. It pierced him to see her crying, and he longed to hold her close, but he stayed in his chair.
Soon, maybe, I’ll be able to touch her. Then when she cries, I’ll be able to comfort her, wipe away her tears. But not yet; not today.
“So,” he said. “What do we do? I mean, how do we start?”
“Well, I talked to Lori about it, just in case you said yes today, and she had a few suggestions.”
“OK, go ahead.”
“She thinks you should move in here with me, if you can agree with that. Lori said that it’s best if I’m around you all the time, since that’ll get me used to having a man in my space.”
“How do you feel about that?” he said.
“Nervous,” she said quietly. “But – but I want to try. Are you OK with it?”
“Yeah, no problem for me.”
“You’d be in the guest room… at least at first.” Her face turned bright red. “I mean, depending on how things go, you might move… move to… to my bedroom. Maybe.”
Chris looked at her calmly. “OK.”
She cleared her throat. “And I guess we can start with – with sitting together on the sofa. Maybe… holding hands?”
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
He studied her. “You want me to come over there now? See how you feel?”
Right away, Jenny felt her heart speed up. She closed her eyes and counted her breaths. Chris watched her breathe deeply, trying to stay calm. He waited.
Jenny opened her eyes. “OK. You can – you can come over here.”
He got to his feet slowly, watching her face as he approached. She was so still, she seemed to have been turned to stone. He sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, settled back. Waited some more.
She took a breath, inched over to him a bit. Stopped. A bit more. His hand was on the sofa and she focused on it. Large, strong, hard. Chris’ hands were lethal, she knew; he’d used them to hit people, to hold a machine gun. These hands had killed people.
But she’d seen how careful he could be with them, too. He had handled food that she’d prepared, setting it gently on serving platters. She remembered how ridiculous the delicate food had looked in those giant hands, but she also recalled that he hadn’t ruined a single item.
She reached out to him, then lost her nerve. She pulled her hand back and tucked it into her sweater sleeve. She crossed her arms and hugged herself tightly, trying to stay in control.
- Writer
