Fast Escape No-Bake Cheesecake—
topped with fresh raspberries and a red wine reduction that I’ll probably spill
The icy wind billows the slitted skirt of my red dress and pulls strands of my hair across my face. I yank my coat tighter, ducking my chin into the collar, anxious to get away from this benefit. So when Jake’s headlights finally move across the steps of the inn, I fly down them, grabbing the door to his pickup truck as it rolls to a stop.
Jake gives me a knowing look. “Making a fast escape?” he says cheerfully as I jump into the passenger seat, closing the door behind me.
“Something like that, yeah,” I admit, yanking my seatbelt harder than necessary. But the air is warm and toasty in the cab, relaxing my muscles. I reach my hands toward the vent and a little of the tension thaws out of me.
“Better or worse than that time you brandished a keg hose as a weapon?” Jake says with a chuckle, referring to the period where I did a bit of spiraling while Jake and I dated. As he finishes speaking, Wilder exits the inn, alone and seemingly pissed off. He makes eye contact with me through the truck window and stops so fast you’d think he walked into a screen door. I guess he didn’t expect me to still be here, which I suppose I wouldn’t be if I could have justified spending money on a cab.
For a flash of a second, I think he’s going to come right up to Jake’s truck, and so I avert my gaze, putting a kibosh on whatever Wilder’s thinking. Jake takes note of my reaction and then of Wilder staring at us. And just like that, his grin fades. He hits the gas.
“So, Wilder . . .” Jake starts as we pull onto the sleepy street, and I hear the disdain in his tone. I know their friendship fell apart around the time we started dating, but I didn’t realize they still had friction all these years later.
“Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?” I ask a little embarrassed, shifting in my seat. “I’m hoping to forget this cringeworthy episode of Maddi interacting with the locals ever happened.”
“No problem,” he says, unclenching his hands on the steering wheel. “I’m just happy you called.”
“Are you?” I say like I can’t quite believe it, turning to look at him. His grin has returned and he leans his elbow on the console between us.
He laughs. “Yeah, yes I am. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, Maddi.” And now he’s turned on his charming voice, the one that once made teen girls faint up and down the coast.
I raise an eyebrow. “You know you’re always welcome to visit California. Spence would be excited to see you,” I say, reestablishing the boundary between us.
“I’d like that,” he replies. “Maybe I can come in the spring.”
I nod, even though I doubt that will ever happen.
Jake turns down the road, heading for my house, and as we get closer, I sense the inevitability of my mother grilling me about my early exit, demanding to know what I did and how embarrassed she should be by my behavior. As if she knows I’m thinking about her, my phone rings and lights up with her name. I shove it back into my purse.
“Uh, Jake?” I say, not sure I want to prolong our time together, but also certain it’s the lesser of two evils. “Are you hungry?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yeah, not so much,” I say with a chuckle. “I am, however, trying to avoid my mother. And well, I didn’t actually get to eat before I ran out of that benefit.”
“I’m starving,” he says, his enthusiasm infectious, something our son definitely inherited from him. “How does Bella Luna sound?”
My stomach growls at the suggestion of handmade ravioli, but my wallet protests louder. “I was kinda thinking we could drive over to Middleton and grab burritos?” It’s cheap, it’s delicious, and between the drive and the eating, I’ll hopefully get home after Mom goes to sleep.
“Absolutely,” Jake agrees without hesitation.
I exhale in relief and pull out my phone to text Spence.
It only takes a second for him to reply.
I smile at the text, at my funny kid, and at the relief I feel that I won’t have to face my mother tonight.
“Thanks, Jake,” I say with all sincerity.
His eyes twinkle. “Anytime, Maddi. Any. Time.”
In a way, this is what Jake has always been good at—mellowing the serious. Which is needed when you’re seventeen and hurt or likewise when you’re twenty-seven and toppling wine at fancy dinner parties, but not so great when you’re dealing with the everyday practicalities of raising another human. That’s fine, though, because I don’t need him to do the heavy lifting tonight. I simply want an hour and a half of burritos and nonsense, and that’s Jake’s specialty.