Heather had moved to lemonade. Sad drunk wasn’t fun, and she wasn’t ready to head home alone yet.
Velma had put on a rom-com, but Heather was only mildly watching from the periphery, bundled on one end of the white leather sofa. Claire was curled up on the other end. Mostly, Heather was planning how she could go through life with as little contact with Jase as possible.
It’d be easier that way.
She toyed with the edge of the blanket, the movie soft in the background.
“Heather,” Jase said her name.
She glanced up over the edge of the sofa. The world pressed pause on her heartbeat.
Jase stood in the doorway, Brek holding the door wide.
She’d never even heard him knock.
But he didn’t just stand there. No, he stood there in his Navy dress whites, his hat under his arm, a stack of papers in his other hand.
“Holy crap,” Velma said.
“Whoa.” That was Claire.
Heather’s heart ached just looking at him. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Couldn’t bring herself to move at all, because this was obviously a hallucination.
“Heather,” he said again. “Hey.”
He shifted the cap under his arm and strode toward her with a military precision that seemed so appropriate with his uniform.
“I’m working on a project,” he said when she didn’t say anything. “I was hoping you might hang a poster for me.” He set the stack on the edge of the sofa and tapped the top copy.
“Jase…” she said.
God, this killed.
“It’s for a dance I’m helping out with. Planning,” he continued.
She glanced to the stack. Jase and Heather Love Dance was written in black Sharpie, the date, time, and details underneath.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. Why couldn’t they just be done? Why did it have to hurt so bad to look at him?
“The thing is, I think it could work out between us.” He pushed the stack toward her.
She gripped the blanket tighter, unable to do this. Not again. “No, we tried it, it didn’t.”
“Then let’s try again.” He set his hat on the sofa and braced his arms there. “And again. Until we get it right.”
If he wanted to play, she’d have to play. It didn’t matter; the game they’d played to start this whole thing always ended with heartbreak. But if he wanted to do it once more…what the hell. “Your family would get involved. Things would get messy. We’d both end up resenting each other.”
He, apparently, wasn’t going to let it go so simply. “See, my grandmother might get involved. But she’s kind of fun and she’s got a good heart.”
“And she’d crash her Buick into my cookie delivery van.” In a fit of elderly, misplaced rage.
His expression gentled. “It’s okay, I’d promise to buy you a new one.”
“Then she’d decide she’s going to work for me.” Despite her best efforts, Heather’s chin trembled.
Dammit, she didn’t want to change any of this. And yet, she wanted to change all of it.
“And you’d take her to lunch at Pistol Polly’s.”
“You’d be furious.” Maybe she should look at the posters. She pulled them to her. He’d drawn a little drawing of two stick figures next to the words he’d printed.
“I’d get over it.” He didn’t touch her, but his hand inched toward where she sat.
“This is the sweetest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” Claire said to Velma.
Velma shushed her.
“Then we’d end up at a casino with her and her boyfriend.” Heather only had eyes for Jase. The outside world didn’t matter, it was just the two of them.
“I think we should skip this part.” The edges of his lips twitched.
“We’d end up at your apartment.” Her body warmed, like a switch she’d turned off earlier flicking back on.
“That’s when the fun would start.” His hand crept close to hers.
She released the blanket. Sat taller. “After which, you’d be ready to break up with me.”
“But I wouldn’t, because I’d realize what I had was worth fighting for.”
Did he mean that?
“Then your family would get involved again and everything would go to hell.” She glanced to the hardwood. This was where it would end. This was where things would fall apart.
“After my family fucked everything up, I’d politely tell them to fuck off. Then I’d come to you in my dress whites and ask you to forgive me for being an idiot.”
Her breath caught. He’d told his family to fuck off?
She kicked her legs over the edge of the sofa, her head in her hands. “I know you think I’m strong, but I can’t keep doing this. I want forever, but I want it with someone who wants what I do.” A tear trailed down her cheek. Twice in one day. What the hell? She batted it away with the back of her hand.
“If you aren’t ready to hear it, and you aren’t ready to do it…” His voice went husky. Effectively breaking her heart and her resolve. “I’ll ask if I can come back every day until you are.”
She hiccupped.
“And if you tell me it’s really over, I’ll turn and leave. Because that’s what you want.” His voice broke on the last word. “Please tell me that’s not what you want.”
“It’s not what I want,” she whispered.
“Then we’ll work through this, because I love you.”
He loved her? She glanced to him then.
“And eventually, we’d get married,” he continued. “Or we can just live together. I’ll be good with whatever you want.” He took a long breath. “And if you want kids, we’ll have kids. If you don’t want kids, I can live with that, too.” He paused. “Because I’ll be the luckiest man in the world if I get to sleep next to you every night.”
“Oh my gosh…” Claire said, reminding Heather they weren’t alone.
Brek shushed her.
“And we won’t break up?” Heather stood, facing him, letting the blanket drop to the floor.
“Not as long as you’ll have me.” He trailed a fingertip along her jawline.
“Okay.” She nodded. They’d do this. All of it.
He kissed her then—lips and tongue and heat and fire.
“Why the uniform?” she asked when he broke the kiss. “I thought you didn’t wear it anymore?”
“You said you liked a guy in uniform, and I figured it’s time to stop running from my past.”
She touched the air over one of the medals attached to the jacket, afraid to actually place her hand on it. “But isn’t this breaking the rules? It’s not a wedding or a funeral or an important event.”
“Heather.” He pulled her hand against his heart, pressing her palm against the medal she’d admired. “Convincing you to give me another chance definitely counts as an important event.”
She gulped, her throat suddenly thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.
He lifted a shoulder. “Also, figured since you are into uniforms, I could use all the help I could get.”
She buried her face in his chest. “You’re such a goober.”
“Yeah.” He raised his hand to the back of her neck, holding it there. “Your goober.”
He was hers.
She traced the line of his abs through the poly-cotton blend. Yes, abs like the ones on Jase Dvornakov definitely made her reconsider swearing off men.
“I love you, Jase.”
“That’s what I was counting on.” And he kissed her again.