I smile at his boyish face, those cute dimples in his cheeks. “You’ve already helped me by renting part of this place, and doing the fixing up you’ve already done.”
Jake Black rents the apartment above the garage attached to my old two story Cape Cod home. I inherited the place from my mom when she passed on, and it was a lifesaver, since my husband of fifteen years picked that time—right after my mother’s funeral—to leave me with two boys to raise. Preston and Michael are eight and twelve.
Jake is undeniably handsome. He’s got a mix of boyish good looks and rugged male, with his bright green eyes and rounded face, work roughened hands from days spent as a carpenter, and a five o’ clock shadow that’s just as red as the hair on his head. But we aren’t together. I’m just not ready for that yet. It’s only been six months since I lost mom and went through the divorce.
That being said, there have been hot kisses and much more, but we haven’t had sex yet. I don’t want to lead Jake on, or confuse my own currently messed up head and heart. Still, when he moved in here to help me and the kids out, it was a blessing I was entirely grateful for.
“There’s a lot more I could do for you,” he says, standing to walk behind my chair and feather a few kisses up my neck.
I try to make a quip about this. “Two redheads shouldn’t sleep together. The results could be catastrophic.” His tiny kisses make me shiver.
Just at that moment, my boys decide to run into the kitchen. Preston, my youngest, holds a paper in his hand and his eyes are wide. “Mom, can I please sign up for hockey this year?”
I don’t know what to say to that sweet, freckled face. His brown, puppy-like eyes beseech, but we simply can’t afford it. Not ready to break his heart, I say, “We’ll see, hon.”
He prunes his face and makes a minor protest, but Jake distracts them both with the proposition of some two on one road hockey, out in the dirt alley that runs between our place and Mrs. Granger’s. I’m thankful for the time this gives me to think.
And that’s when I see it. An ad in the employment opportunities section catches my attention. I already work on an assembly line building slot machines for a living, but that wage barely covers the bills. It sure won’t fix the roof and the other repairs this old home needs, and it won’t cover hockey fees for Preston either.
But the job notice I stare at, the amount indicated, certainly would. So long as the hours don’t conflict with my other work, I could take this, should I get it, and finally get this house spruced up, give my kids some money for recreational activities that they’ve been dying to join.
The notice says: Woman between 20 - 35 needed to test innovative new designer products. Must have an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex. Apply in person with resume at Suite 001-353 Bloominfield Blvd.
And the monthly income it cites makes my eyes widen. I can do this, I think. I’ve got an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex. For the income offered, I’ll dance naked on tabletops at this point.
But when I show the ad to Jake after I join him and the boys outside, he gently takes my arm, gives me a concerned expression, and ushers me to the side of the house.
“Are you crazy, Carrie?” He looks angry as well as concerned. “This could be a setup. You could get raped or killed.”
I shake my head at his protest, cross my arms over the front of my spring cardigan. “I’ll be fine.” When he frowns deeper, I put an arm around his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze. Close to his ear, I whisper, “I’ll take protection with me, and I’ll text you as soon as I get to the place and once I meet the interviewer to let you know I’m safe. How’s that?” I’m registered to carry a handgun, and I’m a very good shot, too. Years of target practice with my dad, now also passed on, gave me an eagle eye and aim.
“You should let me come with you,” Jake says, still wearing that deep frown that barely crinkles his smooth, pale face.
“Someone has to take care of the kids,” I protest, feeling a bit guilty for asking his to be a last minute babysitter yet again. “I’ll pay you.”
He shakes his head at me, then a smile spreads, bringing out his adorable dimples. “You don’t have to pay me for watching the kids. Don’t even think about it.” Then he wraps his arm tighter around my shoulder, swipes a quick kiss over my lips before saying, “Please be careful.”
I swat at him playfully. “Don’t mother me, for cripes sake. I’ll be fine.” Then I quickly give him another kiss before adding, “Thanks for watching the kids again.”