Текст книги "The Will"

Автор книги: Kristen Ashley

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Amber’s comment pleased me greatly thus I turned my head back to Jake and smiled, whereupon he declared, “We were gonna miss the beginning so we’re tapin’ the game at home. My boys and me can watch it later. But now, we should watch something we all wanna watch.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed.

I had a feeling that the divide between what Amber and I would wish to watch and what Jake and Ethan (and Conner, when he returned from his discourse with his “babe”) would want to watch was such that it would be impossible to traverse.

But, I wasn’t dwelling on this.

I simply wanted to watch Project Runway.

To make this happen, I leaned into Jake and spoke cajolingly.

“Jake, you don’t understand. What they do on this show is remarkable. An artist is inspired by many things but they’re normally free to be inspired by whatever moves them. On this show, they’re given the inspiration they must utilize and it’s most difficult to create under those kinds of conditions. And they have an impossibly short time to come up with a vision and the period in which they have to create the actual garments is, well…nearly criminal.”

Jakes brows lifted as his full lips quirked and he asked, “Criminal?”

“Indeed,” I answered with the utmost seriousness. “And Tim Gunn is exceptionally talented. He has an eye the likes I’ve never seen and I’ve worked in fashion for twenty-three years. Not to mention, his manner is most appealing and his ability to communicate with emotion, candor and diplomacy is a marvel. He in and of himself is worth watching that show. However, the judges are quite savvy as well and their commentary is most illuminating.”

Jake was losing the fight with his smile and I was hoping losing the will to deprive Amber and me of our program so I leaned closer to him to continue beseeching.

But as I did so, Amber spoke.

“Oh my God,” she breathed and I looked to her. “It just hit me. Do you know Heidi or Zac?”

My head tipped to the side in confusion. “Zac?”

“Zac Posen,” she replied. “He took over for Michael Kors.”

“My goodness,” I whispered with delight. “Zac Posen is on the show now?”

“Yeah. And he rocks,” Amber told me.

This I just had to see.

Therefore, I whipped my head around to Jake and shared, “Zac Posen is immensely talented. This is most intriguing. The loss of Michael Kors is a blow but I’m very interested to see what Posen contributes to the show.”

And in order to fully communicate my point, I leaned in on my “very” and added putting my hand to his chest in entreaty.

When I was done speaking, I saw his eyes had warmed and I sensed I was going to get my way so I felt a variety of places warm on me, including my heart.

He proved me right when he murmured, “We’ll watch your show, baby.”

I smiled big.

Jake’s eyes dropped to my mouth.

Ethan exclaimed in outrage, “Dad!”

Jake looked to his son. “It’s an hour, Eath. You’ll live.”

“It’s an hour and a half,” Amber contradicted.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered, the dread in that one word unmasked and I curiously found this most amusing.

Thus, I smiled at him again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth again, another area of my body warmed and it wasn’t my heart.

“Right on!” Amber cried. I forced my eyes from Jake and looked to her. “So,” she pressed. “Do you know Zac or Heidi?”

“Alas, no,” I replied and her face fell. “Henry has, of course, taken photos of Heidi so I have spoken to her people but he did the shoot while I was at another location, preparing for him to film a video. Though, I was once at a party with Nina Garcia. But I got a headache and had to leave before I was able to meet her.”

“Bummer,” Amber mumbled.

It was. I’d quite looked forward to meeting Ms. Garcia.

I let Amber’s mumble go and settled in, turning my gaze to the TV, ordering, “Let’s begin, Amber.”

“Cool,” she said and hit the button on the remote.

I was watching carefully as they were showing scenes from the episode before since I wanted to catch up as best I could. That said, it was far from lost on me that Jake’s arm went along the couch behind me and directly curled around my shoulders so he could pull me into his side.

He was warm, the position was comfortable and in order to make it warmer and more comfortable, I leaned into him and lifted my legs to the couch at my side to curl even closer.

At this point, Conner joined us and when he did, he murmured, “What the hell? Seriously? Project Runway?”

“Shush!” Amber hissed (before I could).

I lifted my eyes to Conner to see he was not looking at the TV in disgust but at his father and I curled on the couch together and he was again doing this with speculation. His eyes moved to Amber but I was missing the show so I moved my gaze back to the TV.

Jake slouched into the couch, lifting his booted feet to the coffee table and pulling me closer.

I settled in, placing my cheek to his chest with a sigh.

And I watched Project Runway with Jake’s family, liberally conversing with Amber through it, doing this to share our opinions and commentary and surprisingly (and gratifyingly) always agreeing.

In the end, when the designer we wanted to win won, and the one who (alas) produced an unusual outfit that didn’t quite hit the mark that Amber and I both agreed should be dismissed was dismissed, she and I shared a harmonious smile.

And that warmed me too.

* * * * *

“Give us a second,” Jake ordered, grabbing my hand and moving us away from the car salesman.

It was afternoon the next day and I’d decided on a car.

A car, I could tell as I studied his profile while he was moving us away from the salesman, that Jake didn’t agree on.

He stopped us out of hearing distance and kept hold of my hand as he turned his body to face me.

“Babe, you’re not buyin’ that car.”

I blinked up at him. “But Jake, it’s a nice color.”

He stared down at me and if I was reading him correctly, it was with disbelief.

“And it’s inexpensive,” I continued, even though the cost was not really a concern.

This I’d shared with Jake earlier, which meant we’d already been to the Porsche, Lexus and Cadillac dealerships before we stopped by this used dealership on my whim. That whim being me seeing the car we just test drove in the lot and crying out, “Let’s stop here!”

Jake, being Jake, had swung into the lot.

“It’s cheap because it’s a year old and has sixty thousand miles on it,” he stated.

“Is that a lot?”

He stared at me another moment before he shook his head, looked at his boots then looked back at me. “Yeah. It’s a lot,” he told me. “That kind of mileage means its first owner drove the fuck outta it. Which, before you ask, is not good.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“Since you can afford it, you’re gettin’ the Cayenne,” he declared.

I had to admit, the Cayenne was very luxurious and the ride was exceptionally smooth.

Even so, I noted, “It’s my understanding that purchasing a new car means that when you drive it off the lot, it loses a good deal of value.”

“You wanna sell it in a month or a year, that’s a problem,” he replied. “You buy a Porsche, though, it’s a high-performance vehicle, any problem you have will be down the road and I mean way down the road and it’ll likely be about wear and tear and nothin’ else. It’ll be solid. It won’t cause you any headaches. And you can probably own it for twenty years and not have to deal with shit except regular maintenance.”

I had no idea what my future held, I just knew it held Lavender House and Magdalene. And thus, when there, I would need reliable transport. And it was highly unlikely I’d wish to engage in the onerous activity of car shopping again in six months, a year or even ten of them.

“And it’s black,” he went on and I focused again on him. “Black is hot. That Cayenne in black is hotter. You in anything, even a mini-van, would be hot. That’s just you. You in that Cayenne…” he paused and grinned big, “Smokin’.”

“I’ll get the Cayenne,” I agreed immediately.

“Good call, Slick,” he approved, grinning bigger.

I grinned back.

He then moved us toward his truck, his hand still in mine, as he turned his head and called to the salesman, “Thanks for your time.”

The salesman’s face fell.

Jake bleeped the locks on his truck, took me directly to the passenger side door and opened it for me. He also helped me up. He got behind the wheel and we started the twenty-mile drive back to the Porsche dealership.

As with everything Jake gave me, his time that afternoon had been generous.

Therefore, I remarked into the cab, “For your assistance this afternoon, I think I owe you and your family another dinner.”

“Babe, after last night’s salmon and sautéed potatoes and that un-fucking-believably good hollandaise sauce followed by homemade tiramisu, I’m not gonna say no. But just sayin’, I like bein’ with you so I got a shot at that, I’m gonna take it even if it means drivin’ all over the county, lookin’ at cars and dealing with car salesmen. So you don’t owe me shit.”

I had ceased breathing when he said he liked being with me.

It must be said, I also liked being with him. A great deal. And every time I was with him, I liked it more.

Alas, I liked it in a way he didn’t like it.

Regardless, I had liked being with Henry for years in a way Henry didn’t like and I’d lived.

I could do it again.

It wouldn’t be easy and the more I got to know Jake (and his family), the less easy it became.

But my only alternative was not having Jake (and his family) and I already knew in the short time that I knew all of them that would be worse.

So I would do it, no matter how not easy it was.

For as long as I could do it.

“Though, pointing out, my boys and I could do without Project Runway. Watchin’ that shit meant Ethan paid attention to his homework and not the TV but I think it nearly killed Conner.”

I grinned at the windshield at his quip and offered, “Next time, Amber and I’ll watch it on a set in another room.”

“Strike that, you watch it on a set in another room, you aren’t on the couch with me so I’ll put up with Project Runway.”

My grin got wider.

Yes, he liked being with me.

And I liked that.

A great deal.

We drove to the Porsche dealership in Jake’s truck.

I drove back to Lavender House in a new black Cayenne with Jake trailing after Jake drove a hard bargain.

For me.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, to turn my mind from Eliza Weaver and the alarmingly quick devastation her disease was causing, I left their house when Mr. Weaver came back from the office.

I got in my new Cayenne and backed out of their driveway with my phone in my hand.

When I was on my way, my next destination was the mall. This was not because I was running out of clothes (I flew first class and thus could have more than the normal allotted luggage, but even so, I knew how to pack and was always prepared for anything) but because I needed a different kind of clothing.

I also needed to make my daily call to Henry.

The ones for the last several days had been rushed and short, mostly because he had little time to give to me. That said, I’d made them and he seemed to be mollified.

So I made today’s call on the go and multi-tasking.

“Josephine,” he greeted with a smile in his voice.

“Hello, Henry,” I replied with one in mine as well since I was smiling.

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Fine,” I answered. “Busy. There’s much to do. As I said I would do, I did manage to buy a new car yesterday, which is good. That said, the search for it and paperwork, which is most time-consuming, not to mention annoying, ate up the afternoon and I need to get some clothes as there’s more work to do in the garden and to see to that, I shouldn’t be wearing Versace.”

“Work in the garden?” Henry queried.

“Yes,” I stated, hitting the turn signal and slowing for an upcoming stop sign, thinking while feeling the smooth deceleration, Jake was very right about this vehicle. It was sublime. “And I need to get to the mall and home and do it quickly because Jake phoned,” I carried on. “He has a lock on someone who’s interested in buying Gran’s Buick so I need to be back at Lavender House to meet Jake there so we can be there when the buyer arrives.”

“Has a lock?” Henry murmured strangely then went on with, “We?”

“Indeed,” I confirmed, making my turn. “Obviously, I have no idea how to sell a car so Jake’s going to negotiate the sale for me. And tomorrow, the cable people are scheduled to come to the house to set up Internet and, of course, Amber’s grounding is done so back to the mall we go, as I need to buy her some makeup. I’m also helping out by starting to look after Ethan for Jake after school, but this time, Amber will be with him seeing as we’re going to the mall.”

“Amber and Ethan?”

“Jake’s children,” I explained then went on to share, “There’s also Conner. He’s the oldest. I don’t see him as often since he works in town at Wayfarer’s and has a variety of babes who take up his time.” I drew in breath and asked, “So, how are you?”

Before he answered, my phone beeped.

“One second, Henry,” I murmured, looked at my phone quickly then put it back to my ear. “So sorry,” I went on. “That’s Jake. I need to take the call. It might be about the Buick.”

“Jose—”

“I’ll phone tomorrow,” I said swiftly so I didn’t miss Jake’s call. “But I hope you’re doing well. Take care, Henry.”

Before he could say a word, I accepted Jake’s call and put the phone to my ear, greeting, “Hello, Jake.”

“Hey, Slick. You good?”

“I am,” I answered then shared, “Eliza isn’t.”

There was a moment’s silence then, “Fuck. She gettin’ bad?”

“Her deterioration day to day is distressing.”

“Baby,” he said softly and that one two-syllable word didn’t heal the concern I had for Eliza Weaver but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a balm for it. “Worried about you doin’ that,” he continued. “She’s goin’ downhill that fast, you’ve got a lot on your plate and that might be too much.”

“I’m fine, Jake,” I said quietly. “It’s Eliza who isn’t.”

“I get that and that sucks for her in a big way. I feel for her, for Weaver, but I don’t know them. I know and care about you.”

He cared about me.

He was so lovely.

“Really, Jake, it doesn’t feel good to watch her decline but it does make me feel good to be there for people Gran cared about and do my bit to help.”

There was a pause before he replied, “All right, honey.”

I took us away from that unhappy topic and asked, “Are you calling about the Buick?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Conner’s been spreadin’ it around at the store that the Buick is on offer and we got another bite. I asked the other buyer to come about half an hour after the first. If he’s interested, he’ll know someone else is interested and hopefully that’ll help us get you a good deal.”

“Excellent,” I replied.

“Yeah. So see you at your place at four?”

“Yes, Jake, see you there,” I confirmed.

“Right, Slick. Later, babe.”

“Later, Jake.”

For some reason, he rang off chuckling.

As for me, for reasons I knew very well, just having spoken to Jake no matter what it was we were talking about, I rang off smiling.

* * * * *

Four hours later, I stood in the lane at Lavender House with Jake watching the Buick drive away, two cars following it. One, the man who bought the Buick for his wife, the woman currently behind the wheel of Gran’s car. The other, the disgruntled loser of the negotiation that Jake made a passing attempt to moderate but it got so heated they upped their own offers, haggling amongst themselves without any input from Jake or me.

Indeed, it got to the point where it was ridiculous. Not knowing one thing about cars, I still knew this as the wife grew openly alarmed when the discussion carried forward to become not about two elderly gentlemen wishing to own a ten-year-old Buick but two elderly gentlemen wishing to best one another.

Regardless, in the end it would seem this served me quite well.

Therefore, when we lost sight of the last car, I looked up at Jake and noted, “I think that went well.”

He burst out laughing but did it turning to me and pulling me in his arms for a tight hug.

That felt so lovely, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back.

When he was done laughing, he looked down at me and remarked, “You crack me right the fuck up, babe.”

I took that as confirmation the negotiation on the Buick went well but more, I liked that I amused him so I smiled at him and replied, “Good.”

His arms gave me a squeeze and his face changed to what could be nothing but disappointment (and it must be said, I looked hard to read something else in his features and saw only that) before he announced, “Need to get home, get the kids dinner, make sure they’re not killin’ each other.”

I was suddenly disappointed too, but had no choice but to agree.

“All right.”

He gave me a squeeze.

I forced another smile.

Then he bent his head and my breath caught when, this time, he brushed his lips just half an inch from the side of my mouth and then, before moving away, he brushed his nose against the side of mine.

I fought to get my breath back. Winning that fight, I then had to fight to modulate it as he pulled away and whispered, “Talk to you later, Josie.”

Unable to speak, I nodded.

He gave me another squeeze, then let me go and moved to his truck.

I waved as he pulled away and saw through the back window as he lifted his hand and flicked it out, indicating he saw my wave.

I watched Jake’s truck out of sight and moved back to the house thinking that for the first time in days, there was nothing scheduled, imminent or otherwise that would mean I would see or even hear from Jake again.

And this made me feel unusual—distraught and downhearted.

But I knew from experience of caring for Henry in a way he didn’t return, with my relationship with Jake, it was a feeling I would need to get used to.

Thus, I sighed deeply as I closed the door to Lavender House behind me thinking a word these days I thought frequently and knew I would continue to think with regularity when it came to Jake Spear.

And that was…alas.

Chapter Ten

Showing Me How It’s Done

I felt something tickle my nose and, mostly asleep, I brushed it away.

It went away but came back and I felt my brows draw together as I kept my eyes closed and batted at whatever was disturbing me.

It went away again but then came back so I lifted my hand again to stop the sensation and sleepily caught the offender.

It wasn’t such as an insect.

It was a hand.

A hand!

My eyes flew open and slid sideways to see Jake was sitting on the side of my bed, leaned into me, one arm on the other side of me, hand in the bed, one hand in my face holding a lock of my hair with which he obviously had been tickling my nose.

I shot up in surprise, did this fast and thus slammed my head into Jake’s jaw. Luckily, through this, he released my hair. Unfortunately, the crack to my head (and his jaw) was hard and caused a sharp pain but it was thus and it went away almost immediately.

So I scooted so that my back was to the scrolled iron headboard and stared at Jake who had not moved except to lean back a few inches.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Is your jaw okay?”

“It’s fine, babe. Serves me right for freakin’ you out.”

I said nothing.

Then it occurred to me I was the one apologizing but he was in my bedroom for reasons unknown first thing in the morning.

Therefore, I asked, “Um…what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. He was busy and what he was busy with was that he seemed rather taken with examining the entirety of the vicinity of my head.

“Jake?” I called when this lasted some time, and his eyes came to mine.

“Hair looks good down, honey,” he said softly and his tone was not one I’d ever heard from him before. It was quite low and very rumbly. Indeed, it was so much of both it had a physical effect on me that was not good when Jake was sitting on the side of my bed in all of his big man beautifulness. “Real good,” he went on and that sounded like an actual growl.

Oh my.

“Well…thank you,” I whispered.

We stared at each other, me finding it difficult to breathe. I didn’t know what Jake was experiencing.

Finally, I forced myself to speak but the only thing I could get out was, “Uh…”

“Right,” he stated, his voice now sounding hoarse. He cleared his throat and went on, “Before you’re off to the Weavers, I’m takin’ you to the gym to work out.”

I blinked at him.

Then I asked, “Work out?”

“Yep,” he answered.

“I…well…” I stopped talking because I didn’t know what to say.

Jake didn’t have the same problem.

“First, we gotta get food in you so we’re gonna do that and then you’re comin’ with me to my gym to work out.”

I belatedly saw that he was wearing a pair of navy track pants with one wide white stripe down the side and a white long-sleeved shirt made of breathable material that fit snug to his shoulders, chest, arms and abdominals.

At this vision, my mouth went dry.

“You got something to wear to work out?” he asked.

Although there was much I would do with Jake Spear just to be with Jake Spear, for instance, watch football while partaking of a dip that was made from Velveeta and, say walking to the ends of the earth and jumping off hand in hand, working out was not something I wished to do with Jake or…ever.

Therefore, I latched onto the excuse given to me quickly.

“No, Jake,” I replied. “I don’t have workout clothes.”

“Then how do you keep that body?”

“Well, I walk,” I informed him and usually I did. Quite often. Most specifically after an evening meal. I hadn’t been doing that lately because I was out of my normal schedule but I did it because I enjoyed it but also because it helped me to stay active and increased my daily energy levels.

“Today, you’re gonna do more than walk,” he returned.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the attire to do this, Jake.”

He grinned, bent to the floor at the side of the bed and I heard rustling. The rustling continued as he straightened and dumped a plastic grocery bag filled with clothes on my lap.

“Amber got a wild hair last summer that she wanted to get fit. Mostly, she wanted another reason to buy clothes. So she did. Figure what’s in that bag’ll fit you and doubt any a’ that has even been worn.”

I stared down at the offending bag in my lap and this was a mistake.

It was a mistake because my hand was seized as was the bag and, not paying attention, this came as a surprise. The bag was dumped by Jake on the bed beside me and my hand was tugged by Jake, so I had no choice but to come to my feet at the side of the bed.

When I was standing, I looked up at him to see he was looking down at me and that would be down…to my nightie.

I looked down too, taking in the midnight blue silk with its simple bodice and deep hem of delicate smoke-gray lace.

“Fuckin’ hell, Slick,” Jake muttered, his voice holding a nuance of how it sounded earlier and I looked up at him to see an unusual look on his face that could be displeasure or possibly, and strangely, acute pain.

“You don’t like it?” I asked stupidly because it didn’t matter if Jake liked my nighties or not. I’d never have the opportunity to wear one for him in one of the particular ways nighties were designed.

At my words, his eyes sliced to mine and he replied, “Babe, a man tells you he doesn’t like that nightie, he’s either gay or lying.”

I had no earthly idea what to do with that other than to feel relief (and other things) that he liked my nightie.

He let my hand go and ordered, “Suit up,” as he began to walk to the door.

I searched for any excuse not to go work out with him and if not that, at least delay so I could find an excuse not to go work out with him. This was difficult seeing as I was enthralled with watching his shoulders move in that tight white shirt as he sauntered away.

I finally found an excuse and called, “I need coffee before I do anything in the morning, Jake.”

“Then it’s good there’s a cup of it on your nightstand,” he returned as he disappeared out the door.

I looked down to my nightstand and saw a cup of coffee, its color black, like I took it at The Shack.

I would need milk and sweetener.

I moved my eyes to the plastic grocery bag, finding myself oddly intrigued with the idea of discovering what kind of athletic apparel Amber had chosen.

Therefore, I decided to peruse what was in the bag before I went to prepare my coffee.

Ten minutes later, I found myself in said apparel (skintight black capri leggings with a thin piping of lavender down the side, a skintight tank top in lavender that had a built in bra and a racerback, a rather attractive zip up jacket with gathers at the bottom side seams and at the bottoms of the long sleeves as well as Vs made of netting along the shoulders and coming up from the back hem, and I’d added my walking shoes).

I also found myself carrying my coffee downstairs to prepare it.

But when I did, I did this in a travel mug.

* * * * *

“What d’you want, Slick?”

I tore my eyes from the wall of donuts on display and looked up at Jake standing at my side.

“You eat donuts before you work out?” I queried.

“Not every time, but do it occasionally to remind myself why I’m workin’ out,” he responded.

This was absurd but I had to admit, it also made an absurd kind of sense.

“Josie, need to get to the gym to open it,” he told me and prompted, “What d’you want?”

I looked back to the wall. There was a large variety and donuts were donuts. It was impossible to make a split-second decision when donuts were on offer.

“Um…” I mumbled.

“Fuck it,” Jake mumbled back, then louder and to the counter assistant. “Two Boston creams. Two glazed. Two cinnamon twists. Two maple glazed. Two chocolate glazed. Two buttermilk.”

“You got it,” the counter assistant assured and moved to the back, grabbing a box.

“Is it necessary for us to have that amount of donuts?” I asked and Jake looked back down at me.

“It’s necessary for me to open my gym which means it’s necessary for me to get you to get a move on, so yeah. You got choice. And what we don’t eat, the boys will.”

“Oh.”

He tipped his head to the travel mug I was still carrying with me, holding it like it was a lifeline, even though we’d entered an establishment that served coffee and he asked, “You need that warmed up?”

I absolutely did.

I nodded.

His lips quirked and he looked back to the counter assistant. “And my girl here needs a warm up.”

His girl.

Oh my.

“No problemo,” the clerk assured again and dropped the box of donuts on the counter in front of us.

I got a warm up.

Jake just got a coffee.

I ate a Boston cream in his truck on the way to the gym.

* * * * *

“Right, now, skip rope,” Jake ordered and I stared at him.

Donut consumed, travel mug sitting on a ledge beside where we were standing in his gym, I stared at him.

Suffice it to say, my perusal of his gym from my car through a dreary day was not thorough. I knew this when we entered it from the back ten minutes ago and I looked around, taking off my jacket, while Jake walked around, turning on lights and unlocking the front door.

It was much larger and that was to mean cavernous.

There were not two boxing rings but three.

There was also a good deal of equipment. Further, there was an office at the back that was several steps up from the main floor and was made mostly of windows so you could see the gym from there. Beyond the office were doors that had words on them that I assumed described what was behind them, one declaring it was the Locker Room, another declaring it was Equipment and the last that it was Utility.

And finally, on the walls in the gym proper in very big script quotes were painted, including:

“Life is like a boxing match. Defeat is declared not when you fall but when you refuse to stand again.”

And “Champions aren’t made in gyms. Champions are made of something they have deep inside them—a desire, a dream a vision. They have to have the skill, and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill. – Muhammad Ali”

And “I can show you how to box. I can teach you every technique and trick I know, but I can never make you a fighter. That comes from inside, and it’s something no one else can ever give you. – Joe Lewis”

And my favorite “Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing. – Muhammad Ali”

I had no time to share with Jake that I thought his inclusion of these quotes was quite clever. He took my coffee, set it aside and gave me a jump rope. I noted he had another one in his hands.

This was when he ordered me to use it.

“You wish for me to skip rope?” I asked.

“You gotta warm up,” he informed me. “You also gotta work off that donut.”

I stared at him some more then asked, “By skipping rope?”

“Babe, not much you can do that’ll burn more calories than jumping rope. Also gets the heart beating, increases stamina, challenges agility and works the entire body.”

“Skipping rope?” I asked incredulously.

He grinned at me and commanded, “Josie, just do it.”

I studied him a moment before I prepared my rope and started skipping and I did this by literally skipping over the rope, one foot and then the next, like I learned decades ago on the playground at school.

Jake watched my feet and he did this smiling big then he looked at my face and he was still smiling big.

And his voice was shaking with humor when he ordered, “Stop.”

I stopped.

He kept ordering by saying, “Now watch.”

I watched.

Jake started skipping rope but not like me. I was pretty certain my lips had parted in wonder as the rope went so fast it whistled through the air and he jumped on the balls of his feet, sometimes lifting one but an inch to jump on one foot, then moving to the other, then using both of them.

He ceased doing this and asked, “Can you do that?”

“Absolutely not,” I answered truthfully because I…could…not. I might kill myself and this was not an exaggeration. Me, rope, speed and jumping was not a good mix. I knew this about myself completely.

He was smiling again when he noted, “Slick, it isn’t hard.”

“Jake, I think it isn’t lost on you that I’m not the most graceful of females,” I pointed out.

Or males. Or any being with legs.