Choosing Henley(33)

“I can see that,” she snaps, clearly annoyed by his vague answers. “Why is she here with you?”

He looks at me over his shoulder before turning his attention back to her. “Because she’s mine.”

Whoa. Hold up. Pump the brakes. What did he just say?

Instead of clawing out his eyes on the spot, she seems to ignore the statement all together. “I’ll forgive this little lapse of judgment, Jamison,” she croons, tossing her yellow hair over her shoulder. Yellow hair and orange skin—classy, bitch. Real classy.

I’m trying to keep my expression schooled while wanting to pull out all her hair and feeling stunned by Jami’s forward statement. It’s turning out to be harder than I expected.

She starts to walk away, stopping when she’s standing next to him. “I’ll call you later, bae.” She kisses him swiftly on the cheek before clacking away down the aisle.

He turns toward me quickly, rubbing the lipstick off his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m fine,” I answer, turning my attention back to the jars on the shelf. I have no idea what I’m even looking for. I’m just hoping that he’ll drop the conversation. Seeing them together made me feel uneasy.

“Okay,” he says, not sounding convinced. “Let’s get home then.” He picks up a small jar of the sun-dried tomatoes, putting them in our basket and carrying it over to the check-out.

We don’t talk that much on our way back to the house. The run-in with Kelsey seems to have made things super awkward between us, and I’m not really sure what to say. It’s not even four o’clock yet, so this is going to be a long night if this tension doesn’t ease up soon.

Jami helps me out of the Jeep, picking up the bags of groceries from the back seat before heading up to the front door. Martha is eagerly waiting for us when we go inside, and I can’t help but smile at her.

“Would you mind letting her out back while I put this stuff away?” Jami asks.

“Sure,” I say, following Martha through the kitchen to the back door. She seems to know exactly what’s happening.

I pull open the sliding door and step out onto the covered portion of the back deck. It’s a little chilly, so I probably should have kept my coat on instead of taking it off when we came in, but oh well. As Martha runs around the large, fenced-in yard, I take the time to look it over. There are large trees surrounding the edges, and it’s incredibly private. A beautiful children’s playpen is situated in the far corner, covered in snow. Well, that’s interesting.

“It was here when I bought the house,” Jami says from behind me.

“It’s stunning.” I tell him, looking at it again. It seems to be two stories with a fireman’s pole in the front, wooden horse swings coming out one side, and a slide out the other.

“A family lived here before. The dad made it himself. You should see in the inside.”

“I would have loved that when I was younger.” I sigh, fighting the memories threatening to make an appearance. These ones are good memories, but they still feel tainted, so I choose to keep them buried as well. “Are you going to sell it?” I know he’s been here for less than a year, but I can’t imagine he would have any use for a children’s playpen.

“No. I’d like to have kids one day, so I thought I’d keep it.”

The answer surprises me a little. I didn’t really expect that from Jami, the ultimate not-a-one-woman guy, would keep a massive playpen around for when he settles down.

Martha comes jumping back up onto the porch, shaking the snow off her back.

“All done, sweet girl?” Jami asks her as if she can answer him. He kneels down in front of her, taking a towel and wiping off her paws. “All right. In you go,” he tells her, opening up the sliding door.

I shiver as a gust of wind blows through the yard and Jami runs his knuckles down my arm.

“Same goes for you, beautiful. You’re getting cold.”

I nod my head, following him back into the kitchen. “So, are you finally going to tell me what we’re making?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“And ruin the surprise?” he teases.

“You’re killin’ me, smalls.” I drop the old Sandlot movie line, and he laughs.

“Only because you can quote Sandlot, I’ll tell you.” He grins at me, my traitorous heart fluttering in my chest.

“Well, go on then. Tell me,” I say, leaning over to rest my elbows on the island.

Something flashes in his chocolate eyes and they darken. He’s staring at me from across the marble countertop when it hits me. I’m lying over the same part of the counter I was on that night. He not so subtly adjusts himself, coughing awkwardly to try to distract from the movement. I give myself a little mental high five. At least I affect him too.