CHAPTER 18

  Bridget had no idea when she’d fallen asleep the night before, but she had been nestled in Jerica’s arms and it must have been early. Because it was barely five in the morning and she was wide awake—as if someone had given her a large dose of caffeine—and ready for the day. Slipping from the bed was easier than expected. Jerica had moved in the night and faced the other direction.

  Grabbing her crutches, Bridget went as quietly as possible to the bathroom upstairs and relieved herself. Then she stood awkwardly in the vertex between the kitchen and living room, trying to decide which would be better. Her ankle barely ached, luckily, so she made a hard left and crutched her way into the kitchen. She could make breakfast for the both of them before Jerica had to go to work again.

  She leaned her crutches against the counter and then stood at the refrigerator, attempting to figure out what to even cook. Usually she was an eggs or only coffee kind of morning person, but since living with Eli, she’d gotten used to far more elaborate breakfasts. She wasn’t quite sure she could pull any of what Eli managed, though, especially when only cooking for two.

  Next she tried the cabinets, opening and closing them carefully so she wouldn’t make too much noise and accidentally wake Jerica up. Pressing her lips together hard, Bridget debated. There were eggs, and she could make those, but she had no idea how Jerica liked her eggs—something she was going to have to ask about. She could equally make a casserole, but that would involve way more food than only the two of them needed and would easily last a week.

  Nixing that idea, Bridget moved on to the next. Pancakes. It wasn’t exactly her specialty, but they couldn’t be that hard to make, could they? Except Jerica didn’t have pancake mix, but she did have the ingredients to make them from scratch. Sighing, Bridget reached into her pocket for her phone and researched a quick recipe.

  She could do this. She could surprise Jerica with breakfast before she went to work for the day, and then she could hang out, clean up, and do nothing all day while Jerica worked. Bridget frowned. She sounded absolutely lazy. She had to keep reminding herself that she was injured and recovering and that was her job, but it still felt lazy.

  Bridget was used to being up early, going in to work, spending ten to fourteen hours working, easily, and barely being at home in general. When she wasn’t working, she was volunteering for things, like going down to the school in a professional capacity, running the funeral lines from churches to the cemetery, or even coaching basketball. Still, she hadn’t done anything in two months now, and it was killing her.

  She really should see if she could at least coach basketball when spring hit. She missed her girls, and while she might still be on light duty and not able to run the courts, she should be able to yell and coach from the sidelines. Making a mental note to talk to the head coach about that, Bridget pulled out what she would need for the pancakes.

  Snapping a quick picture of it, she sent it to Eli with the words, “Who would guess? I’m up in the morning making breakfast for a woman.”

  Eli simply wrote back, “It’s about time, and don’t burn it!”

  Bridget ignored the jibe and pulled up the recipe on her phone again. She very carefully measured all the ingredients she would need, leaning against the counter if the pressure on her ankle was too much. She grabbed a whisk and hobbled back over to the counter next to the stove and began mixing, making sure to get all of the lumps out. She had just finished when she realized she was supposed to leave at least some lumps, wasn’t she?

  Panic welled in Bridget’s chest, that she’d already messed up before she even got to the cooking part. Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure Jerica wasn’t anywhere near her as she attempted to search via her phone if she was supposed to have lumpy pancake batter or not, and mostly coming up with the results that lumps were a good thing.

  Cursing under her breath, she debated whether or not to remake the entire batter, but at that point, she didn’t have much time to cook before Jerica’s alarm would be going off and it would be time for her to head into work. Pursing her lips, Bridget decided to just go for it. She moved the cast iron skillet to the stove top, turned on the electric burner—which she hadn’t cooked on in decades—and waited for it to heat up.

  With butter finally sizzling, Bridget dropped batter onto the skillet and stared at it, hoping it would cook the right way. When there were no bubbles, panic welled in Bridget’s chest again. She was going to fail this breakfast hard. With her jaw tight, she slid the spatula under the pancake and tried to flip it, but it melted all over the sides of the spatula and flopped onto the skillet.

  Cursing, Bridget attempted to scrape it up and toss it into the trash, but she couldn’t maneuver well enough for that. Instead she grabbed a clean plate from the cabinet and put it on there. Taking a steadying breath, she had to try again. With her second dollop of batter on the skillet, she was determined to let it sit there and cook properly this time. While that was happening, she took the plate to the trash and scraped it before rinsing it in the sink.

  Bridget leaned over the stove top and stared at the pancake, as though by just looking at it she could make it cook faster. It didn’t work like that, much to her frustration, even though she knew that was going to be the case. She almost texted or even called Eli to see if she could walk her through it since apparently making pancakes was not in her skill set any longer. It had been ages since she’d made breakfast, only helping Eli, and even lately she’d taken to just not going upstairs for it since she slept in so late.

  As she let that pancake sit, Bridget stepped to the fridge again and pulled out some fruit Jerica had stashed in one of the drawers. As she was cutting that up, she decided it was probably time to flip the pancake still in the skillet. At least this time it didn’t melt on her spatula, but it was completely burned on the other side.

  Instead of repeating the disaster of pulling off an undercooked side of a pancake, Bridget let it sit and continue to cook. She was halfway through chopping strawberries, when warm arms wrapped around her middle and a gentle kiss was pressed to her cheek. Bridget relaxed immediately.

  “Morning,” Jerica murmured.

  “Morning. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Jerica kissed her again on the cheek and then backed away slightly.

  Bridget checked over her shoulder as Jerica leaned over the skillet and frowned.

  “Did you make coffee at all?”

  “Shit, I knew I forgot something.”

  “It’s fine, Bridge. I can make it. My brain is still a bit slow.” Jerica went through the motions of making the coffee while Bridget continued to chop fruit and stare warily at the clearly burned pancake.

  She would eat it. It would be fine. She would smother it in syrup and strawberries and she would survive. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? As soon as Jerica set the coffee pot to run, she grabbed the spatula and pulled the pancake off, dropping it straight into the garbage.

  Bridget sighed, failure flooding into her chest. She couldn’t even manage to cook her girlfriend breakfast, and this time, she couldn’t even blame it on her injuries. Jerica deftly added more butter and then more batter to the skillet and waited.

  “Sorry, I don’t cook breakfast much.”

  Jerica gave her a pitying smile. “You don’t have to cook for me, you know.”

  “I wanted to. Since you have to work all day and I’m stuck here doing pretty much nothing, I figured this was the least I could do.”

  Sighing, Jerica moved in against Bridget’s side. “You are doing something, whether it feels like that or not. Healing is very important, because when you are fully healed, I expect you to be your spritely self for other adventures.”

  Jerica pinched Bridget’s ass before cupping her left butt cheek. Bridget groaned, rocking into the counter as she shot Jerica a dirty look.

  “How do you even know I’m energetic when I’m healed? You’ve only known me since I’ve been injured.”

  “While you might have a calm personality on the outside, Bridge, you’re a Sheriff. And one doesn’t just become a Sheriff before they’re thirty by sitting on the sidelines and doing nothing. I strongly suspect you work more hours than you’re supposed to, especially being in a small town, that everyone calls you even if they don’t have to, and you show up. Because that’s who you are. You help people. You’re there for people, and it doesn’t even make a dent in how exhausted you are.”

  Jerica moved to flip the pancake while Bridget gawked at her. How on earth did she know that from barely even knowing each other, and never while Bridget was actively on duty? Pressing a fist into her hip, Bridget narrowed her gaze. “Are you a fucking siren?”

  Jerica snorted. “Hardly, but I am an observant person. And remember, I got to talk about you to Eli and everyone else out at the house when you weren’t around. All I had to do was listen to what was being said and what wasn’t being said.”

  “So are you a little energizer bunny too?”

  Shaking her head, Jerica moved in and pressed a hand to Bridget’s chest as she slid between Bridget and the counter. “Probably not as much as you, but I’ve heard people call me energetic before.”

  “Have they now?” Bridget raised an eyebrow, dipping her chin to capture Jerica’s lips in a slow, tantalizing kiss. If only Jerica could be late for work, she would take that challenge and test just how much energy they both had.

  “They have.” Jerica kissed her again, this time sliding her tongue slowly against Bridget’s.

  Bridget fell into the kiss, completely forgetting the undercooked and then overcooked pancake. If this was breakfast every day with this woman, she would take it. She loved this. In fact, she was finally ready to admit that she loved Jerica. Only two short months since they had met, and it wasn’t exactly the easiest two months of her life, but Jerica had been the highlight of it, and Bridget was pretty sure that the feeling rolling around in her chest every time she thought of Jerica was going to continue and not fade away, at least not any time soon.

  Jerica broke the kiss and finished making the pancakes while Bridget set up the table for breakfast. It was a quick meal while Jerica scarfed down her food so she could get ready for work. Before Bridget knew it, she was cast into the silence of the house, left to her own devices for the day.

  As soon as Jerica got home that evening, Bridget had dinner ready—ordered, but ready—as it sat on the dining room table. If she had to play the role of the housewife for a few more weeks, she would do her damnedest to be the best recovering housewife possible.

  Except, Jerica didn’t go to the dining room. She interrupted Bridget’s attempt to stand up from the couch by straddling her, bending down, and kissing her as though both their lives depended on it. Bridget gripped Jerica’s hips, her fingers digging into her flesh as she held on tightly. Jerica didn’t stop. The heat in Bridget’s body went from cool to steamy, and she wanted nothing more than to get her hands on Jerica.

  Breaking the kiss, Jerica closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to Bridget’s. She took deep steadying breaths before she spoke, and Bridget lived into the silence, letting Jerica take whatever time she needed.

  “I need a shower. Will you join me?”

  “I uh…can I take a shower and get my foot wet?”

  Jerica sat up, her shoulders straightening. “You should be able to. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”

  “He might have, but that medical speak kind of goes over my head.”

  “It’s been seven weeks since surgery, right?”

  Bridget nodded. “But I have to keep it dry. I do remember that.”

  “Yeah, but we can dry it after. Come on.”

  Jerica climbed off her and held out a hand to help Bridget up. With her crutches, they maneuvered into the bathroom. Jerica dropped her scrubs quickly, plopping them into the wicker laundry basket before she started to undress Bridget.

  With steam filling up the small bathroom, Jerica threw her hair up into a messy bun and opened the curtain to slide into the spray. Bridget’s heart thumped wildly. She’d only been naked with Jerica once before, but she’d thought about it so many times before and after that. She had to keep her cool.

  “Bridget? You coming?”

  Groaning as quietly as possible, Bridget stared at the shower curtain. This was either going to be a disaster or amazing. She still wasn’t feeling super steady without her crutches, and adding in a slippery wet floor and woman weren’t going to make that any better, but Jerica…naked…wet and naked.

  Pulling aside the curtain, Bridget stepped over the side of the tub to get into the shower. Jerica grinned at her, already soaped up from neck to feet. “Sorry, I had to get the day’s work off me. It was…you don’t want to know what ended up on my scrubs today.”

  “I’m sure I don’t.” Bridget’s voice sounded so terse, but it wasn’t because of anything Jerica said, it was because she had to focus so hard to say anything.

  Jerica turned around, rinsing in the hot water. Bridget took it as her chance and moved in, sliding her hands along the soft curves at Jerica’s sides to her hips and back up. She stepped in again, cupping Jerica’s breasts and playing with her nipples. Jerica hummed and leaned back into Bridget’s chest.

  “I missed you,” Jerica whispered as she reached up behind Bridget’s head and lifted her chin so their lips could connect. “I thought about tonight all day, and it was one of the few things that got me through the day.”

  Bridget said nothing as she rubbed their mouths together tenderly. She wanted to entice Jerica to think about something else, but at the same time, she wanted to give her the space to talk about whatever she needed.

  “Bridge?”

  “Hmm?” Bridget moved and nibbled on Jerica’s neck, small water droplets hitting her face as she allowed herself to be completely enamored with Jerica’s body.

  “Touch me already.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bridget didn’t wait as she slid one hand away from playing with Jerica’s dark nipples to between her legs. She started slowly, making delicate circles against Jerica’s clit. This was going to be slow, torturous if they could manage, although Bridget had very little patience in general, so as soon as Jerica started keening, she’d probably do whatever Jerica asked.

  Jerica rocked her hips in time with Bridget’s hand, her eyes fluttering shut. Bridget kept the pace, not dipping lower, but keeping everything as rhythmic as possible. Jerica’s lips parted, and if they were facing each other, Bridget would have taken them with her own. Instead, she kissed Jerica’s cheek and shoulder, the small amount of skin she could reach.

  “I’m close,” Jerica whispered. “I’ve wanted this all day.”

  Bridget hummed, keeping everything as soft and tender as possible. She wanted this to be a sweet moment, where she was finally given the chance to take care of Jerica in whatever way she needed.

  “Bridge…” Jerica’s voice was lost in the spray of the water.

  As she orgasmed, she gripped Bridget’s head, her body twitched, and her eyes fluttered shut. As Bridget moved her hand, Jerica spun around and kissed her sweetly, deeply. Everything felt so settled, in a way Bridget had never quite experienced before, as though it was normal for Jerica to come home all worked up and needing to be taken care of by the one person who could.

  Breaking the embrace, Jerica smiled. “Why don’t you finish up and then join me in the bed. We can eat later, or rather, eat food later.”

  With a wink, Jerica was shifting out of the shower. Bridget was left speechless. How the woman could go from needing care to flirtatious in two milliseconds flat was beyond Bridget’s ability. She always lingered in her feelings far longer than that. Sighing, Bridget grabbed the body wash and lathered herself up. She made sure to clean around her ankle since she hadn’t done it with more than a washcloth since surgery. Wrinkling her nose at it, she gave it a second clean just to be sure.

  As soon as she stepped out of the water, Jerica was there waiting for her with a dry towel in her hands. Bridget awkwardly made it halfway to the bedroom with the towel semi-wrapped around her chest and her crutches before she gave up, dropped the towel and moved far more freely into the bedroom. Jerica picked the towel up after her and threw it onto the floor of the bedroom before climbing onto the mattress and straddling Bridget again.

  “I like you under me.”

  Bridget chuckled. “I can tell.”

  “Thank you.” Jerica leaned down and pressed their mouths together again. “I really needed that.”

  “I could tell something was up.” Bridget skimmed her fingers against Jerica’s cheek. “Just tell me what you need, when you need it, and I’ll find a way to do it for you.”

  Grinning, Jerica shook her head. “And that’s why I love you.”

  Bridget stilled, not quite sure if she’d heard correctly, but her heart told her she had. Then she backtracked, not sure if Jerica had meant it that way or only as a turn of phrase. Confusion filled her and she swallowed hard, trying to come up with a way to dig deeper into that without completely ruining the mood.

  Jerica, however, was brilliant as always and bent down, pressing kiss after kiss into Bridget’s bare skin. “I do love you. I think I have for a while now, but I wanted to say it, and I wanted you to know it.”

  Letting out a shuddering breath, Bridget cupped Jerica’s cheeks and brought her up for a long, deep kiss. She tried to let her actions do the talking, but as she slowed the embrace, she realized that she had to say the words, too. There was nothing that would make those words have less of an impact than not saying them.

  “I love you, too,” Bridget whispered.

  Jerica grinned. Her eyes watered, and the pure joy reflecting from her gaze was exactly what Bridget had needed to see and feel. This was the best moment of her life. It was one of the few times where someone told her that and she actually felt it, not to mention, it was one of the rare times someone told her that at all. Dragging in a breath, Bridget tried not to cry—though at least this time it would be tears of joy.