The Will (Magdalene #1)(62)
Author: Kristen Ashley

It was then I watched Amber’s face change, turn radiant with a hint of hopeful and I felt a lovely feeling gather tight around my heart as she smiled at her father.

He bent in and kissed her cheek and that feeling around my heart tightened brilliantly.

When Jake let her go, she turned her smile to me and said, “Thanks, Josie.”

“It was my pleasure, lovely girl,” I replied.

She kept smiling when she declared to both her dad and me, “Gotta get to the Taylors. Later.”

“Later, babe,” Jake returned.

“Have fun tonight, Amber,” I said.

She grinned at me then turned her head toward the family room and yelled, “Later, runt!” to her brother.

“Don’t call me runt!” Ethan yelled back.

I smiled at Jake when he did.

Jake returned my smile but his wasn’t about the engaging way his children teased each other. His smile was different, deeper, filled with gratitude and something else I didn’t completely understand but knew was meaningful in a way that was gravely important and also very good.

It said he liked the way his daughter looked. Very much so.

And he liked that I gave her that.

Very much so.

And I liked that.

Very much so.

Not only for Jake, but for Amber.

Feeling the lovely feeling Jake’s smile gave to me, I kept pretending when he took us to Weatherby’s Diner in Magdalene for dinner. I pretended I belonged to him and Ethan as we walked in, Jake’s hand holding mine. I pretended that the looks we got were looks I deserved, the women’s eyes going to Jake then going to his hand clasping mine and turning despondent.

I continued pretending when Jake slid in the booth beside me.

I kept at it when he slid his arm across the back of the booth, fantasizing this was done in an act of not only affection but also possession when it was more likely that he was a big man and it was simply more comfortable for him to spread out in this manner.

Even knowing this, I didn’t let go the fantasy. I was enjoying it too much.

And it was the only thing I’d ever get.

Therefore, I carried on pretending when we left the diner and Jake drove us to the high school football field as Ethan chattered animatedly (something he also did during dinner making Jake and my participation in our dinner conversation mostly responding to Ethan or smiling at him because we couldn’t get a word in edgewise).

Combat Raptor was the main topic, his enthusiasm that his wait was finally over as well as an in-depth description of the characters and actors who played them and how he felt about all of that.

I continued to pretend when Jake again took my hand at his truck and we walked through the parking lot and into the stadium.

I persisted in doing it as we made our way to our seats and more glances came our way. Some from people I didn’t know but Jake did and he lifted his chin to them. Some from people I’d made the acquaintance of and I smiled at them or gave them a brief wave. And then there were the others, from men who looked at me then to Jake and their faces closed down. The women who did the opposite but with the same final reaction.

I enjoyed doing it so much I got lost in it when Jake choose our seats and I stood in the bleachers watching him spread a thick woolen blanket across the metal bench. But before he did this, he shook something from the blanket. And once the blanket was arranged, before we sat on it, he turned to me.

I held my breath as he wrapped a long maroon wool knit scarf around my neck and tied it at my throat, doing this murmuring, “Gotta keep my girl warm.”

His girl.

Oh, how I wished.

The night was chill and overcast and Jake had remembered my scarf that morning we had breakfast at The Shack.

Oh yes.

How I wished.

Even though the scarf didn’t quite match my outfit.

I was forcing myself to breathe when he lifted his eyes to mine as he lifted a hand to my jaw and informed me, “Lydie knitted that for me three Christmases ago.”

Gran had made it for him.

The soft wool at my neck got warmer and instantly I felt my eyes get wet.

I said nothing mostly because I couldn’t.

Jake didn’t miss it and I knew it when he bent slightly toward me and stated, “Looks good on you, baby. But it bein’ from Lydie, I’ll want to keep it close.”

I nodded and forced out, “Of course.”

His smile was slight—it simply tipped up his lips and softened his eyes.

But it was beautiful.

So beautiful, I leaned into him. When I did, his eyes changed completely. They went from soft and warm to intense and something else.

Something that looked darker.

Heated.

Even more beautiful.

I was trying to understand that reaction when Ethan broke the moment, crying loudly, “Dad! There’s Josh and Bryant! Can I hang with them?”

For a moment, Jake’s gaze held mine captive even as the pads of his fingers dug into my jaw.

Then he unfortunately dropped his hand and turned to his son.

“Not out of my sight, bud,” he ordered.

“Got it,” Ethan confirmed, jumped on the empty bench in front of us and dashed along it to the steps. He raced down the steps to two boys who were standing by the fence by the field.

“Sit, Slick,” Jake invited.

I looked from Ethan to him and I sat.

He sat next to me, curved an arm around my waist and pulled me the mere inches that separated us so that we were hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

Oh.

My.

I took in a trembling breath and looked about the space.

The field was bare as were the player’s benches. The away crowd bleachers were filling up fast but not as fast as the home crowd’s section around us. There was a lot of yellow and blue, which I knew were the school colors.

I saw the cheerleaders milling about behind the team bench, preparing for their work that evening. The air was very chilly and the spectators were suited up to battle the chill in hats, scarves, heavy parkas and jackets and even gloves. And there were many children and young adults about, the young adults not nearly as prepared to face the cold evening, as it was clear they preferred their peers to see their fashion selections and not to cover them with heavy coats that would keep them warm.

It was then it occurred to me that the last sporting event I attended was a football game at my own high school decades ago.

And it also occurred to me that back then for a brief period of time, I’d loved football.

My clandestine boyfriend Andy played thus I never missed a game. I never even missed a play. I was enthralled by watching him on the field. And I looked forward every Friday night to going to the game with my girlfriends, watching my boyfriend play football then sneaking in a date with him after, and after that, sneaking in kissing him for as long as we could do it before it became too dangerous to continue and we’d have to stop so I could get home.