Cabin Fever(60)

 

His chin drops to his chest. “It’s too late for that.”

 

“Too late? Are you kidding? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s never too late to make things right.” As I found out recently when I went back to a friend who’d I’d left in the dust. Thank goodness Leah is so forgiving. I wouldn’t have met Jeremy if it weren’t for her kind heart, and I already know that would have been a tragedy. Even if he leaves tomorrow, I’m still a better person having spent this time with him.

 

Jeremy’s upset. “You said they already took custody away from me. That sounds like too late to me.” He walks away and sits down on the couch.

 

I follow closely behind, suddenly desperate to get him to understand. “No, it’s not like that! They just did it as a temporary measure in case she needed medical care. I guess she got really sick one week and they worried the hospital wouldn’t take their treatment decisions without something legal to back them up. And they couldn’t find you. They tried really hard. Jana told me they drove all over the city, going to every place they knew you went to before.”

 

“Sick?” Jeremy’s head jerks sideways to look at me as I come around the couch. “How sick?”

 

“Nothing bad, but for a couple days they were worried about her fever.” I sit down next to him and take his hand in mine, resting it on my leg. “Please go back home. Please go back and see your family.”

 

He looks down at our hands and then up at me. “Why do you care so much what I do?”

 

My heart is beating too fast. I’m afraid he’s going to figure out that I’m panting after him like a dog in heat. I try to pull my hand back, but he grabs my fingers and holds on tight.

 

“Tell me,” he says, his eyes now smoldering where before they were full of anger and pain.

 

“Ummm, because I want you out of the cabin so I can paint in peace?” I try to sound firm about it, but it comes out like a question.

 

“I don’t think so,” he says.

 

We stare at each other for a long time. I hold my breath until I start to see stars swimming around his head.

 

“I want to kiss you,” he whispers. “I haven’t wanted to kiss another woman in years. Since I first met Laura.”

 

I let out my breath in a loud huff. “Don’t.”

 

The two of us kissing feels like a really bad idea. I know me. As badly as I want to feel his lips on mine, I know I won’t recover from this one as easily as I’ve recovered from bad hookups in the past. This one will really hurt. Jeremy’s not like other guys. Not even close.

 

“Why not?” he asks, his eyes showing hurt now.

 

I want to answer honestly, but I have no answer that makes sense. “I don’t know,” I finally admit.

 

He leans in and puts his free hand gently on my cheek. Only his fingertips are there, sending electric shocks and shivers down my face, my neck, and across my body. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. He smells like sticky-sweet maple syrup.

 

My eyes are drifting closed and I’m thinking about all the ways I’m probably going to regret this, when suddenly a loud bang, a yelp, and a crash yank me out of the moment and away from Jeremy’s touch.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

 

 

 

MY PAINTING IS ON THE floor and the cloth that was covering it is halfway across the room. Jaws is under it and trying to escape, dragging it around with his struggles.

 

“What the hell?” I scramble around the couch to get to the alcove before Jeremy does.

 

By the time I get there, Jaws has lost his attacker-sheet and is hiding in the corner, looking like he’s afraid he’s about to be kicked or something the way he’s cowering and shivering. He’s knocked the easel over and spilled an entire paint-can of brushes too. Thank goodness I’d emptied it of dirty water this morning before I went to bed, otherwise the painting would be destroyed.

 

I wrestle the easel back into place and then bend over to grab the painting. Jeremy is standing there to help, but freezes when he sees the image on the canvas.

 

I walk over and grab the sheet without a word. As I start to throw it over the painting, his hand on my wrist stops me from completing the motion.

 

“I’m sorry …,” he says absently, “…I didn’t mean to look.” He’s still staring at it, his eyes scanning every inch of the images there.

 

“Never mind,” I say, pulling away from him and gathering the sheet up so I can throw it over properly. “It’s not your fault. Jaws is the guilty party.” I raise my eyes to my furry friend. “Look at him. Have you ever seen anyone look so guilty?”