He turned away from me, but not before I saw a hint of a smile flash across his face.
“I saw that.”
He paused to kick off his boots. Just when I thought he’d fall into bed, he looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked.
“You said you were going to put me to bed. I’m wondering what all that entails.”
Tingles raced up my spine, and heat burned my cheeks. I cursed my pale skin for the millionth time this summer.
My hands found my hips, and I gave him what I hoped was an intimidating side-eye, though the smile growing on my face was probably giving mixed signals. “I’m learning that you’re kind of a flirt when you’re out of your head. I don’t want you to do something you might regret.”
“I don’t regret anything.” He held out his arms. “Now put me to bed, woman. I’m tired.”
“How do I do that?”
“Help me get this shirt off. You’re always trying to get me out of it for your dang pictures, I thought you’d jump at the chance.”
My eyebrows shot upward. “All of a sudden, your arms are broken?”
“They’re just so tired.”
“Liar.” I shook my head while my heart rate spiked. “If I do that, you’ll go to bed?”
“Yup.”
“Is this some flirting test I’m supposed to pass or something? Coach?” I ventured cautiously.
He didn’t respond, but he held my gaze with interest while I walked toward him. The only explanation for his actions was that he had caught some sort of second wind. I knew he couldn’t have gotten much sleep with me around the campfire, because he was up so often stoking the fire. I was guessing he’d had very little sleep at the hospital. He wasn’t in his right mind, which meant I needed to tread carefully. I was moving in three weeks. The last thing I wanted was for my heart to be lost to some flirtatious, unavailable cowboy.
So, in a very business-like manner, I gripped the bottom hem of his shirt and yanked it up past his stomach, where it got stuck at his chest. He maneuvered his arms and head out of the shirt, allowing me to pull it off of him. With two fingers, I held it out in front of me before dropping it to the floor, next to a rumpled pair of jeans.
“I’m assuming this is where your dirty clothes go?”
We stood eyeing each other, toe to toe. We were so close that I could feel the heat emanating from his bare stomach. I could only be proud of myself for not venturing my gaze downward to see it.
Something in Jake’s demeanor had changed. Was it a distraction he needed? From his dad? Or his mom? This summer, he’d been relaxed about his teasing and even histouches, but this seemed more like…Jake unleashed. It was a bit disconcerting–in a spine-tingling kind of way.
As if he heard my thoughts, with a face rimmed with mischief, he raised his arms out wide again.
“I don’t sleep in pants either.”
With a flourish, I pushed him backward onto his bed before scampering past him, closing the door to his room at the sound of his deep chuckle.
I hadno idea what to do with a four-year-old. Last night with Sophie had been relatively easy. There was an obvious schedule. After dinner, it was pajamas, a movie, snacks, and bedtime. But now, just after breakfast, the day ahead of us seemed looming and unnecessarily long.
But it turned out, Sophie always knew exactly what she wanted to be doing.
She decided she wanted to go on a princess walk outside so she could teach me how to wave like one before we got distracted by butterflies, chasing them around until Sophie became deeply preoccupied by an injured dragonfly lying on the grass. After determining she needed to save him, she stuffed his semi-lifeless body into a mason jar before poking a few holes in the lid. She then added a gigantic leaf for food and was satisfied she had done a great deed. I was less satisfied, but by then, we were swinging. And just as quick, she was finished outside and absolutely starving and needed a snack or else she would die.
When she told me that her dad always let her eat the marshmallows out of the cereal box for lunch, I decided I needed to put on my nonexistent maternal instinct and say no, for the first time all day.
As it turned out, Sophie was not a big fan of that word, but thankfully, I was able to distract her with the promise of a hot dog—along with the marshmallows for dessert after she had eaten her lunch. It was all about balance, I told myself as she reluctantly agreed.
After lunch, we sat on the couch because she insisted her dad always let her eat on the couch, and she munched on her small bowl of marshmallows. Marshmallows I had painstakingly retrieved one by one from the cereal box.
“Want to know a secret?” she asked, turning to face me with a melodramatic air.