Rory leaned her head back and sighed as warm water trickled down her scalp and sluiced down her back. She let out a soft moan as Jess repeated the process, combing his fingers through her wet hair.
"I can sit in this tub forever," she said, leaning into his hands as he massaged her scalp. Around them steam rose from the surface of the water, wrapping them in a foggy, dreamlike atmosphere.
A moment later, she felt Jess' lips on her bare shoulder. "Sounds doable," he said. "I mean, we'd eventually get pruny and would definitely have to change out the water at some point, but it sounds like a damn good way to spend the rest of our lives." He gathered her in his arms and she leaned back into his chest with a contented sigh.
They were quiet for a few tranquil moments, each lost on their own thoughts. The entire time Jess' hands slid all over her body, caressing, tracing, smoothing over her curves. She felt a little like clay and he the artist molding her to life with his talented hands.
"Jess?"
"Mmm?" he said, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
"Remember that night when you came to my dorm room in Yale and asked me to run away with you?"
He was quiet for a time. Finally, he said, "I do, yes."
"Remember what you asked?"
"How could I forget?"
She twisted around in the water until they were facing each other. "Let's do it. Let's run away and spend the next few weeks traveling and pretending we're young again. It'll be like a do-over. A relationship mulligan."
"What about Nantucket?" he asked, his eyes flickering all over her face.
She paused. In her excitement, she had all but forgotten about her grandmother. "It'll be fine. They'll understand," she said, hoping she didn't sound as uncertain as she felt.
"When was the last time you got to spend Christmas with your grandmother?"
"I don't know. Three, four years ago."
He slid a hand up the curve of her spine and let it rest on the back of her neck. Then he gazed at her for a long, quiet time, his expression giving nothing away. Just when she thought he'd shoot down her idea, he said, "How about this: We spend Christmas in Nantucket, then we leave right after?"
"We?" she asked with a hopeful smile.
"Yep."
"An editorial we?"
"Nope."
"You want to go to my grandmother's house willingly?" she asked incredulously.
"Stranger things have happened."
"Is there a gun pointed at your back that I'm not seeing?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Did you, perhaps, hit your head during the fire and are now suffering from some mild form of amnesia?"
He pursed his lips and flashed her an adorable frown. "I don't remember?"
She laughed, flicking water on his face. He retaliated by tickling her sides, making her squirm, the sound of laughter and splashing water echoing through the enclosed space. She managed to grab hold of his hands, holding them together to keep him from attacking again.
He stopped, his voice taking on a more serious tone when he said, "I know you, Rory. I know that Christmas with your family is a big deal to you."
She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You're a big deal to me."
"Besides, can you imagine the wrath that will befall me if your grandmother discovers I'm the reason for your absence during Christmas?" he asked. "Tarring and feathering may have gone out of style, but if anyone can bring it back, it's Emily Gilmore."
The visual made Rory laugh. "She is a willful one."
He extricated his hands from her grasp and held her face. "So what do you say?"
Rory gazed at the man before her—he who was willing to put her needs above his own—as her chest swelled with emotion. Sometimes she wondered if he was even real. "I want you to have a good Christmas, too."
"I will," he said with a resolute nod.
She let out a slow breath. "Christmas in Nantucket it is."
He grinned, his hands sliding down the sides of her neck and down her shoulders.
She grabbed hold of his wrists again. "Do you think you can behave?"
His eyes sparkled with mischief as leaned closer, stopping when their mouths were a hair's breadth apart. Then he tilted his head and skimmed his lips along the edge of her jaw, coming to a stop at her ear. "Never," he whispered.
An unexpected shiver racked her body even as liquid heat flowed through her veins.
"You cold?" he asked, his hands smoothing across her back and down her sides.
She shook her head and moved closer until their bodies were flush, her bare skin meeting with his. And then there were no more words, no more plans and jokes, and all that remained were Rory and Jess and the steam.
After, they lay tangled in bed until late into the night, talking about anything and everything. They discussed movies and books and music, speculated on who would die next on Game of Thrones, argued over the merits (if any) of Nickelback. By the time the sun began its rise, they were both exhausted but still fighting sleep.
"Tell me something else," Jess said even as his eyelids began to drift shut.
Rory mumbled something unintelligible beside him as she snuggled into his chest.
"Mmm?" he asked, gathering her closer. When she didn't reply, he forced his eyes open and saw that she had fallen asleep. He watched her for a few moments, a smile touching his lips at her peaceful, unguarded state. And for the first time in a long time—at the very least since discovering he'd lost all of his material possessions—he felt a calm settle over him like a warm blanket.
Because despite having lost everything, here in his arms, he still had more than any one man deserved.
"So this is Truncheon," Rory said as they walked through the main workspace, passing by desks that sat lonely and deserted for the weekend. She followed Jess through dark hallways, all the way to the back where dozens of large machines reside. She'd toured a printing press before but Truncheon was a cut above, more organized and grander in scale. "This place is massive."
Jess let out a soft laugh as he walked beside her. "It's okay for what it is."
She flashed him a dubious look. "You're kidding. I've been walking so long, I'm starting to get blisters. Pretty sure Stephen King based his first book on this tour."
Jess stopped, let out a breath, then turned his back. "Hop on," he said, crouching down.
Rory snorted. "I was kidding."
He looked over his shoulder, motioning with his head. "Get on, Gilmore."
"But I'm too heavy."
He snickered. "Trust me, you're not."
"Just remember, you asked for it." With a laugh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped on his back. He straightened, hooking his hands under her legs to secure her around his waist before starting back down the hall.
"Just so we're clear, not everyone gets to ride the big boss," he said with a smile in his voice.
"Duly noted. And appreciated." She leaned into him, relishing the feel of his muscular body beneath her. She had seen him naked, had felt the weight of him on top of her, but she still found herself marveling at the physical change he'd undergone over the years. The Jess of today was built like a brick wall, secure and solid.
With a happy smile, she set her chin on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck, surprised to feel him flinch. "What do we have here? Is Mr. Big Boss ticklish?" she asked, doing it again and eliciting the same reaction.
"It's just itchy," Jess said, tipping his head to protect his neck from further ambush. He chuckled the next time she did. "My hands are slipping, Rory," he warned.
"Then let me go."
He adjusted his hold on her legs. "Not a chance."
Jess carried her through the dark building, finally setting her down inside his office. He turned and flipped the switch to reveal an eclectic office. The room was laid out like most offices, with a desk in the middle of the room, and while it definitely had a masculine air with its leather chairs and dark wood furniture, it was also unexpectedly cheerful. The dark eggplant walls were adorned with colorful art arranged in a thoughtful way. There were original paintings on canvas, framed prints, movie posters, an antique telephone, battered license plates, vinyl albums, and sculptures. She didn't know how, but he'd managed to take many different colors, textures, and shapes and made them belong together.
Rory walked over to one wall and touched a carved wooden mask that hung between a framed subway map of Manhattan and a lithograph print of a swan. "I did not expect to see all of this."
Jess sat down at his desk and turned on the computer. "No?"
"Well, for one thing, it's not dark and brooding enough," she said. "Did Emmeline help you decorate?"
He snorted. "Emmeline's office is all glass and chrome and completely devoid of color."
"Oh." Rory continued walking around, pausing at each piece, wishing she could hear the story of each one. She'd always wondered what Jess had done over the past decade and here, right in front of her, was the answer, all of his thoughts and dreams on display. "Did you paint or draw any of these? Take the photographs?"
"No. I just collected them over the years. From art festivals, galleries, friends." He stopped and pointed to three small frames grouped together. Inside were ink drawings of buildings on heavily textured paper. "Those are from a homeless man selling his napkin drawings outside the Melrose Diner."
She looked back at the drawings, surprised to discover that, yes, they had indeed been done on napkins. "Did you keep in touch with him?"
"Yeah," Jess said with a nod. "Word is he still sells his napkin drawings, but now he has a steady job and an apartment."
She paused, looking over at Jess. "He works here now, doesn't he?"
He shrugged and forced his attention back to the computer.
She made her way to his desk and sat on his lap, unable to keep the smile from taking over her face. She said nothing, only looked at him while he typed up an email.
"What?" he asked.
"You're sweet."
He sighed through his nose. "So I gave the guy a chance, like someone else did to me when I needed a job. I was just returning the karmic favor. It's not a big deal."
"It kind of is," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
He kept his eyes fixed on the monitor, but she could see the tiny smile he was trying to hide behind the stubble. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me like you want to pinch my cheeks."
"Can't I just pinch it a little?" she asked with her finger and thumb held up.
He fixed her with a wary look. "No."
"Fine," she said, pressing her lips to his cheek instead. "You're a good guy, Jess Mariano."
He turned to her, a thoughtful look on his face. But as indifferent as he pretended to be, in his dark hazel eyes she saw traces of lingering doubt. Because even after everything he'd accomplished, despite all his hard work and good deeds, he still wasn't sure if he'd done enough.
"You are," she repeated. "One of the best I know."
He gazed at her for a long, quiet time. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he began to nod. "Okay," he said, clearing his throat. "So I've cleared my calendar for the next three weeks. I'm good to go."
"It's not too late to back out of Nantucket," she said, giving him one more chance. "Last call."
He wrapped his arms around her waist and shook his head. "Nope. I am in," he said. "Got my boxing gloves tied and my jockstrap on. It's time for a Gilmore Christmas."