Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 26: Spare Room

The sunset was cut short, or so it seemed, by threatening rain clouds that rapidly moved in and thrust the area into an early evening gloom. As the natural light faded away, my anxiety reared its ugly side and I worried about where I was supposed to sleep.

With him? That might be uncomfortable.

My phone dinged with a message from Rory. It read, "Blink twice if you need help."

I chuckled under my breath and typed back, "Everything's fine. See u Sunday." After locking the screen, I flipped the phone between my fingers, admiring its sleekness. I still couldn't believe Jacob actually bought it for me—no one had ever bought me such a lavish gift, but then again I never asked for much. A roof over my head was enough.

I felt excessively more awkward when Jacob gave me a quick tour of the second floor. He carried my luggage down a short hallway and into a pretty but quaintly decorated room. The walls were painted in eggshell white and the room housed a couple vintage country furniture pieces, similar to others downstairs. A glass vase of daisies sat atop the vanity.

"Do you like this room? There's another one if you don't, but it's smaller" said.

For some reason, having a room to myself felt just as improper as sleeping in the same room as him. Neither felt exactly right.

What am I doing here?

"I like this one, thank you. You know, your house looks like it came out of a magazine," I commented. I ran my fingers over the white washed wood dresser and slid open the top drawer—empty.

He laughed a little. "My wife actually designed most of the interior."

I sat on the edge of the bed that was pure white and marshmallow soft. He spoke kindly about his wife, which I continued to feel great sympathy regarding his loss. Jacob was a gracious man and it saddened me that he had been through that extreme type of grief.

"I'm sorry for being rude a while back. I saw your wedding band and I assumed...you were flirting with me." I fiddled with the eyelet of the coverlet.

Jacob leaned in the doorway with one hand rubbing his chin. "I've always put the band on around the time of her death—to honor her as my wife. Family means everything to me. Nothing would be like this without them."

"Them? Do you have children?"

He smiled warmly as if reminiscing. That reaction answered it for me. "Come to my room and we can talk more about that."

I gathered my phone and followed him down the hallway, not thinking about why he might have wanted me in his room. The master bedroom was so enormous that it was hard to believe it fit into the home from outside. The sleeping area was off to the left, but upon entry there was a fireplace and sitting area with a well-stocked mini library.

Jacob handed me a blanket, since there was a chill from the air conditioning. The humidity was still too high to shut it off, so slightly freezing was the only alternative from the stickiness.

I curled myself up on one of the plush chairs that was large enough to do that comfortably. Jacob sat across from me, at a mere couple of feet.

"Yes, I have children but they're all grown. One doesn't even live in the States anymore; he met a girl in Nepal and has been there for, gosh, maybe four years now. They might be getting married soon. I'd be happy about that—the third and final one to be married," he said.

"So, three kids?" I asked just to confirm. He hummed in affirmation.

"You?"

I laughed a little at the preposterous idea of myself having a child. "No way."

He tilted his head, curious. "You answer as if you never want them?"

I adjusted the blanket and folded the long end over my lap. "I could never provide for a child."

Jacob was still inquisitive. "Really? What makes you say that? You're a level-headed and hard working young woman. You never know what the future can bring."

I half smiled, trying to appreciate his sentiment. "I don't have that great a track record of taking care of myself."

He didn't respond verbally, he only cupped his hands together and leaned forward. His dark eyes beamed into mine, but I looked down and smiled. "You don't wanna know," I said.

"You can tell me," he offered. "There probably isn't a thing I haven't heard or experienced myself before."

I shifted my position and flexed my ankle out from underneath me, previously unaware that I was sitting on the injured one. It hurt temporarily but faded away faster, which meant it was (hopefully) healing.

The ache inside my heart, however, never healed, although I thought I pushed it so far into the catacombs of my being that it would magically disappear. With the confrontation upon me to confess something about my past, the ache intensified, but I was stronger than it. I was stronger than the shame.

"Have you ever dealt with homelessness?" I asked, neither curious nor arrogant, simply overt.

The query brought forth no immediate reaction from him. He took several moments to process it, blinking a few more times and staring at the beige patterned carpet underneath the both of us. The silence made time feel motionless and I would've had no sense of it if not for the grandfather clock that ticked somewhere behind me.

"No, I haven't," he responded, his voice solemn.

I exhaled as if I breathed out bad energy from the past. It was out in the open to Jacob now and I couldn't take it back. No one other than Rory knew, not even Morgan, and now this man—the man who was still somewhat of a mystery to me, yet I sat in his bedroom, the most personal space of any, and spilled my most humiliating secret to.

"For how long?" he asked.

"A little less than two years."

He gazed at me empathetically and continued, "I'm sorry if it's painful to talk about. Did this happen after your parents moved?"

If I was ever ashamed over anything else, it was my lie that was solid enough to believe. Prior to being on the street, I was the worst liar on the planet, so I never lied. I merely couldn't. But after being out there, the lifestyle hardened anyone, turning them into someone they didn't recognize. I was a better liar now, and I detested it.

"I'm sorry, Jacob," I said. "The truth is, it was just my mom. She left when she met some guy. But I was eighteen, so technically an adult." I shrugged, trying to make nothing of it.

Jacob's gaze saddened the more I spoke and for a second I felt like I wanted to erase our conversation, or go back in time and avoid it. It was bothersome for me to see someone upset by my story; I sought no sympathy. But Jacob's nature was precisely that. At that moment I realized I was getting to know him better by this confession—it was all in his reactions. He cared.

"No kid should have to go through that," he said. "I can't speak wrong of your mother, but she did not make the right choice."

I wiped away tears that formed in my eyes before they could drip down my cheeks. Jacob plucked tissues from a box and got up to hand them to me. Instead of sitting back in his chair, he crouched in front of me.

"I'm here for you, if you want me to be. Just say so."

Time stood still again. His dazzling eyes transfixed me in a way none other ever had, pulling me with each second I looked into them. His realness was on full, uncensored display and I could feel it tugging at my heart. Something inside me knew he was being sincere.

"Yes, I want that."

He flashed his perfect smile just enough and stretched himself up to kiss me. His hands ran up the sides of my face and brushed through my hair, ending the kiss with our mouths hovering over one another's.

"I want you," I said. A moderate amount of shock flashed over his expression but he covered it up with a flustered smirk.

"It's fine if you don't want to stay in your room tonight," he said.

I chuckled lightly and caressed the side of his face with my fingertips. "Just tonight?"