underbelly of the worst part of Brentsville, three days before she and Blake were supposed to leave for New York City to precipitate Jules’s decision would only make it hurt worse. And even though she hadn’t meant to, Jules had hurt him enough already. She couldn’t tear his family apart, too.
So she nodded. “Yes.”
“Come here.” But rather than gather ing her close, Blake took her hand, guiding her down the hallway and over the sun-strewn floorboards of his kitchen until he shushed to a stop in front of the pantry.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the door with a gentle incline of his head, and— not knowing what else to do— Jules palmed the knob to swing it open.
“ Oh .” The hot tears she’d been able to blink away a few minutes ago redoubled their efforts, breaching her eyelids. She ran her fingers over the achingly familiar jar of orange marmalade and the day-old loaf of brioche, and oh God, there were three different jars of honey and a skillet on the shelf, too. “Why did you get these?”
“Because.” Blake thumbed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t want to miss another single chance to have breakfast in bed with you. I don’t care what your past looks like, or where you grew up. I don’t want us to hide things from each other, ever. I’m done not living out loud. I want all of you, Jules. You can’t see yourself as good enough, but I can’t see you as anything but mine.”
Blake leaned in, pressing his mouth over hers in a reverent kiss Jules felt from her bones to her belly. “I want us to be honest with each other, no matter what. I want to be with you, Jules. Tell me you’ll stay.”
She kissed him back with matching need, her mouth seeking and finding all at once. His fingers knotted in her hair, holding her close as he tasted her lips, parting them easily with his own. Everything about him, from his hot palms on the back of her neck to the intoxicating hope in his words, sustained Jules from the inside out, and when Blake carried her to his bedroom with clear and vivid intention, she knew she’d never be the same without him.
“I’ ll stay, Blake. I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER NINE
Jules balanced a stuffed-to-the-gills grocery bag on each hip of her black pencil skirt, side-stepping a pair of nurses on her familiar path toward Brentsville ER’s main triage desk. With five weeks’ worth of committee meetings under her belt, she no longer felt like an interloper in either dressy clothes or the hospital’s hallways, although she’d had to get creative with her wardrobe choices this week. After all, there were only so many times a girl could rotate the small handful of appropriate items in her closet before having to raid her best friend’s stash of skirts and suits.
“Oooh, is it Thursday again?” Dr. Cross, who had eased up significantly on the cocky-factor since their first meeting last month, tipped his head at the load Jules’s arms in a wordless may I? as he fell into step next to her.
“Hel lo to you too, Dr. Cross,” she teased, although her shoulder muscles were secretly relieved when he took one of the bags from her grasp. “I take it you’ve been eagerly awaiting breakfast.”
“Since about Monday afternoon.” He gave up a laugh, and huh. He was actually pretty handsome when he went the genuine route. “How’s it going with the last-minute prep for the carnival? Anything I can do to help out before Saturday?”
“You’re already letting us sell off a night of your life at the bachelor auction,” Jules reminded him. “It’s really nice of you to donate a date.”
“ It’s not exactly a hardship to be bid on by a bunch of Brentsville’s prettiest,” Dr. Cross joked, his confident air making an appearance in his grin. “But really, it’s for a great cause. Plus, you and Dr. Fisher have worked really hard to pull the carnival together for the hospital. Donating a
So she nodded. “Yes.”
“Come here.” But rather than gather ing her close, Blake took her hand, guiding her down the hallway and over the sun-strewn floorboards of his kitchen until he shushed to a stop in front of the pantry.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the door with a gentle incline of his head, and— not knowing what else to do— Jules palmed the knob to swing it open.
“ Oh .” The hot tears she’d been able to blink away a few minutes ago redoubled their efforts, breaching her eyelids. She ran her fingers over the achingly familiar jar of orange marmalade and the day-old loaf of brioche, and oh God, there were three different jars of honey and a skillet on the shelf, too. “Why did you get these?”
“Because.” Blake thumbed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t want to miss another single chance to have breakfast in bed with you. I don’t care what your past looks like, or where you grew up. I don’t want us to hide things from each other, ever. I’m done not living out loud. I want all of you, Jules. You can’t see yourself as good enough, but I can’t see you as anything but mine.”
Blake leaned in, pressing his mouth over hers in a reverent kiss Jules felt from her bones to her belly. “I want us to be honest with each other, no matter what. I want to be with you, Jules. Tell me you’ll stay.”
She kissed him back with matching need, her mouth seeking and finding all at once. His fingers knotted in her hair, holding her close as he tasted her lips, parting them easily with his own. Everything about him, from his hot palms on the back of her neck to the intoxicating hope in his words, sustained Jules from the inside out, and when Blake carried her to his bedroom with clear and vivid intention, she knew she’d never be the same without him.
“I’ ll stay, Blake. I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER NINE
Jules balanced a stuffed-to-the-gills grocery bag on each hip of her black pencil skirt, side-stepping a pair of nurses on her familiar path toward Brentsville ER’s main triage desk. With five weeks’ worth of committee meetings under her belt, she no longer felt like an interloper in either dressy clothes or the hospital’s hallways, although she’d had to get creative with her wardrobe choices this week. After all, there were only so many times a girl could rotate the small handful of appropriate items in her closet before having to raid her best friend’s stash of skirts and suits.
“Oooh, is it Thursday again?” Dr. Cross, who had eased up significantly on the cocky-factor since their first meeting last month, tipped his head at the load Jules’s arms in a wordless may I? as he fell into step next to her.
“Hel lo to you too, Dr. Cross,” she teased, although her shoulder muscles were secretly relieved when he took one of the bags from her grasp. “I take it you’ve been eagerly awaiting breakfast.”
“Since about Monday afternoon.” He gave up a laugh, and huh. He was actually pretty handsome when he went the genuine route. “How’s it going with the last-minute prep for the carnival? Anything I can do to help out before Saturday?”
“You’re already letting us sell off a night of your life at the bachelor auction,” Jules reminded him. “It’s really nice of you to donate a date.”
“ It’s not exactly a hardship to be bid on by a bunch of Brentsville’s prettiest,” Dr. Cross joked, his confident air making an appearance in his grin. “But really, it’s for a great cause. Plus, you and Dr. Fisher have worked really hard to pull the carnival together for the hospital. Donating a
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