Daydream: A Novel (The Maple Hills Series Book 3)

I HAD EXPECTATIONS OF WHAT my adult life might look like.

It was going to be sophisticated and full of adventure. I’d meet interesting people and do interesting things, and I’d be hot and happy.

It certainly did not involve me lying on my living room floor on a Tuesday evening with a slightly stale bag of chips and a pile of tissues because listening to “Marjorie” makes me miss my Nana and I can’t stop crying. But I also can’t stop listening to it.

I lifted my legs to rest them on the couch twenty minutes ago while balancing my laptop on my stomach, and I’m comfortable enough to stay here forever. Joy likes our floor life, too, and has taken to pawing her way across my hair in an attempt to make herself some kind of bed.

I’m supposed to be studying for my finals. I’m supposed to be hanging out with Henry. I’m supposed to be helping Gigi. I’m supposed to be baking for book club and finalizing the questions because I promised to still hold the session for people in town for the holidays. I’m supposed to be cleaning. I’m supposed to give Mrs. Astor a ride to the grocery store. I’m supposed to check in with Cami when we’re not at work. I’m supposed to look up Maisie’s science project. I’m supposed to plan the vacation. I’m supposed to find Mom’s Christmas gift from all of us right now even though I have a month because my siblings are useless and impatient. I’m supposed to be writing.

God, I’m supposed to be writing so much, and like everything else it’s a complete lost cause.

After declaring, with all the determination of a woman with actual life goals she intends to see through, that I was going to put myself first, it appears that I have failed miserably. So, so miserably, and when I realized that I’ve been reading the wrong book for book club, because I forgot I said it would still happen and then confused my months, and that I couldn’t read it and do all the other things, I had to lie on the floor.

It’s hardly the life I imagined for myself, but in a kind of near-delusional state, I’ve accepted it pretty quickly. My floor angle gives me the perfect view of the front door, so it’s easy to see Henry walk in and take one very long, very confused look at me before walking over and lying down beside me.

I’m sure this isn’t what he was expecting when he finished practice and asked if I wanted to hang out.

Joy quickly abandons her hair bed and climbs onto the center of Henry’s chest, purring happily as he strokes her. He turns his head to look at me. “Did you fall over?”

“Yes.” I reach for my phone and turn down my sad Taylor music playlist because Henry’s just gotten through his funk, and he doesn’t need to see me bawl my eyes out if “this is me trying” comes on.

“Why are you sad, Cap?” he asks.

“I’m not sad,” I lie. “I’m a ray of sunshine like I normally am.”

“You’re not a ray of sunshine,” he says casually, lifting his legs to rest on the couch to mirror me. “You’re the period of calm after a storm or, like, I don’t know, a well-fed panda.”

I snort, and I’ve given up pretending that snorting isn’t a thing I do, because it apparently is in Henry’s company. “How poetic of you. I’ll put it in my bio. Halle Jacobs: Aspiring author. Professional people pleaser. Calm like a well-fed panda.”

“Halle Jacobs: Actual author. Excellent baker. Calm like a well-fed panda. Best ass in LA.”

I hate that he’s making me laugh when I really, really just want to have a totally overdramatic and chaotic meltdown. “Okay, now I know you’re making fun of me.”

“I’ve seen a lot of asses. I can confirm yours is my favorite.” I scowl at him while he lifts himself to stand. Henry is clearly a man with a plan and I watch his every move as he takes my laptop from my stomach and puts it on the couch. My phone goes next, then my e-reader, and when the nest I’d built around myself is clear, he picks me up from the floor and drops me onto the couch. Sitting beside me, he drags me toward him with ease, and pulls my leg across his hips to maneuver me on top of him. It takes a little effort, since I’m being uncooperative, but he manages it, and I have no choice but to rest my chin against his chest as I straddle his lap.

He tucks my hair behind my ears and sighs. “Why are you so unhappy?”

“Because you haven’t given me enough bamboo, clearly,” I mumble, refusing to look up.

He tucks his finger under my chin, tilting my head back so he can look at my face. “What’s wrong, Cap?”

Out of all the things I could possibly start with, I start in the most unreasonable place first. “Do you call me Captain because I’m in charge? Because I don’t want to be in charge of everything. I’m tired of being in charge of everything, and everyone, and having to be the leader. I don’t want to be the captain or the family manager. I’m so tired and it’s all falling apart.”

“So when I don’t want to be captain everyone has a problem, but when you don’t it’s fine?” I think he’s using humor to lighten the situation, but I’m too miserable to laugh. Henry lowers his finger from my face and wraps his arms around me to pull me tight to his chest. He strokes my hair, and after having Joy prance through it, it feels nice. “Maybe at first, but now it’s because we’re our own team and we’re equals. Being captain feels better if I think I’m doing it with you. I’m sorry that you’ve been doing the bulk of the leading; I’ll try harder for you.”

I feel like my insides crack. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“If you don’t want me to call you Cap anymore, I’ll stop. There’s no shortage of nicknames I could give you. Panda rolls right off the tongue.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” I admit. “I want to be in a team with you.”

“Now that you’ve hit me with your most pressing issue, what else made you cry on the floor?”

I, in the calmest and most well-structured-and-not-at-all-tearful way, explain that everything has snuck up on me and collapsed, and now I feel like I’m buried beneath the weight of everything and everyone.

All the plates I keep spinning all year to make sure everyone else is okay are starting to drop to the ground and smash. And it’s when I realize how much of other people’s lives I take on that it suddenly makes sense why I miss Nana, the one person who never made me feel burdened. I leave out the part about my book, or lack of book more appropriately, because I know that he’ll put it down to experiences, which isn’t the problem.

I’m the problem. My lack of commitment to something very important to me is the problem. Henry not taking me on dates because we spend our time doing other stuff isn’t the reason I’m in this mess. Him asking me how it’s going and me saying great when things aren’t great is a problem I’ve created for myself.

If I tell him the truth, he will think he’s letting me down, something he already battles with because of hockey pressure, and I can’t face seeing him beat himself up over another thing that isn’t his responsibility.

“Okay. To start, I think you should stop listening to that song about the grandmother,” Henry says firmly. “And you need to start saying no to people. Me included.”

“You make it sound easy. It isn’t easy, Henry,” I mumble, head still firmly buried in the warmth of his chest.

“It is. I say no all the time. Ask me to leave.”

“No, I don’t want you to leave,” I say, sitting back to look at him in what feels a lot like terror.

“See? Look how easy saying no is. You just did it. You’re so smart.” He uses both of his thumbs to wipe under my eyes and cups my face. “Crying people make me feel stressed, so you have two more minutes to get it out of your system and then we’re going to fix everything, okay? You’re allowed to have an off day, Halle. You’re a human being, not a robot.”

I shake my head. “No, I need at least five.”

“See? You said no again. Keep it up, champ.”

Instead of crying, I spend my five minutes clinging to Henry and letting him stroke my hair. His steady heartbeat is soothing, and he’s quick to reach for my phone to skip when the familiar notes of “Marjorie” start to play again. When my five minutes are up, he forces me to stand. I can’t lie; the desire to lie on the floor again is still there.

Henry stands, too, positioning himself in front of me in a way that would realistically stop me from dropping to the floor. “Get changed into something comfortable. Wait, shower first and wash your face, because you have black eyes from your makeup. Then come back down.”

I head toward the hallway to immediately do as I’m told, and jump when he slaps my ass. When I look back at him over my shoulder, he’s smiling. “I told you. Best ass in LA.”

I turn to head toward him, and his hands scoop under the backs of my thighs to lift me as I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips. “I like you.”

He kisses me gently. “I like you, too.”

I unwrap myself and head upstairs, and when I finally come back down looking and feeling significantly better, Henry is on the phone with someone in the kitchen.

“Can you do it or not? Yes, I understand. No, I don’t care. Yes, I’m sure she thinks it’s sexy. Yes, I’m contributing. Just email it to her when you’re done. Do you have her number for the voice note? No, she doesn’t want pictures of you reading it. Okay, thanks. Bye.”

My eyes scan across the work surface in front of him where there’s ingredients everywhere and my oven is on. “What’s happening?”

Henry grabs an apron from the hook on the wall and pulls it over his head. “I’m baking your cookies for book club tomorrow. I’ve watched you do it a million times, so it’ll be easy. I have your nana’s recipe and a strong desire to not be haunted by her if I fuck it up.”

“Oh,” is all I manage to say as he rounds the breakfast bar and pulls out a stool for me, nodding toward it for me to sit.

“I talked to Mrs. Astor while you were in the shower, and she gave me her grocery list. Russ is going to the store now to pick it up for her, while Aurora creates a short list for your mom’s Christmas present. She said to text her your budget. Cami is fine; I called her but she was in the middle of a Pilates class and only answered because she assumed it was an emergency. You might want to follow up.”

I will not cry. I will not cry. “I will.”

“Jaiden claims he won every science fair at his school. I don’t believe him, but he does have a degree in chemistry, and your sister is eight, so I can’t foresee a problem. He’s going to send over some ideas and research direction when he gets home.

“Bobby claims he already read your actual book club pick but he’s going to skim it to remind himself, then send you a detailed voice note about everything that happens. As well as some questions you can ask. He did offer to run the session for you, but I assumed you wouldn’t want that. I recommend that you don’t want that.”

“But isn’t everyone busy going home for Thanksgiving? Or studying? I don’t want people to get behind when finals are coming up.”

“People want to help you, Halle. And I think you’re the only person I know who’s already started studying.”

I’m staring at him in awe, and in return he looks at me like I have two heads. “Thank you.”

“Why are you looking at me weird?”

“Because you stopped the boat from rocking,” I say, feeling the relief and appreciation meld.

“I don’t know what that means,” he says, turning my electronic scale on. “I made the executive decision to say fuck off to planning the vacation. So all that’s left is that you need to talk to Gigi, and then study if that’s something you feel like you should be doing.”

“Will you kiss me?” I ask. “I promise I’m done crying.”

“No,” he says, and honestly, it catches me off guard. “Because if I kiss you, I’ll want to do more, and I have already washed my hands. Ask me again when I’m done.”

“Yes, Captain.”

GIGI SPENDS OUR ENTIRE VIDEO call asking me repeatedly who she can hear in my kitchen.

I’m thankful that Henry told me to put my headphones on, saying if he wanted to listen to children complain about homework, he’d spend time with his teammates. I pointed out he’s complained for the past three months, and he told me it didn’t count because I think he’s hot.

I’m still not sure how the two things are linked, but I do think he’s hot.

After watching him concentrate on the recipe book over the top of my laptop, I’m inclined to agree with him that’s he’s good at everything. It takes longer than normal to get Gigi off the call, not because she suddenly developed an interest in me but because she’s nosy.

Shutting my laptop, I watch Henry watching the cookies through the oven door as I stand and stretch. He assembled the ingredients more slowly than I do because he’s so determined to get them right the first time. “They bake slower if you watch them.”

He turns his head to look at me, eyebrows pinched enough for a tiny line to appear between them. “That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s true,” I say as confidentially as I can without laughing. He stands straight and walks around the counter to my side, leaning in to kiss my temple. “Every baker knows.”

“How do you feel now?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear and rubbing his thumb along my jaw affectionately.

“Better. So, so much better, but equally like I need a full-body massage to get rid of all the tension.”

His hand travels from my jaw down my neck, and along my collarbone gently. “There’s something I can do that will definitely get rid of all the tension in your body, and I bet I can do it before the oven timer goes off.”

“I’ll take those odds.”

Kissing me gently first, Henry drops to his knees, and it’s possibly the most devastating sight I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been so grateful to be wearing a dress. His hands run up the outside of my thighs, gliding past the hem, settling on the band of my underwear. “Have you done this before?”

He watches me, his tongue tracing his bottom lip as he waits for an answer. “No, but I want to know what it’s like.”

“Good. So do I. Lean back against the counter.”

He pulls my underwear down my legs, lifting each foot by the ankle so I can step out. Kissing up the inside of my thigh, he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and his head disappears beneath the skirt.

It’s hard not to wonder at what point my legs will just give out. Or my heart. Not sure which one will go first.

He spends time kissing and touching my inner thighs and ass, keeping me in place while I try not to wiggle away from him as the sensation of his evening stubble against sensitive skin makes me squirm.

His tongue parts me and my breath hitches, my head falling back as he licks and sucks. My skin feels like it’s fizzling and my hands grip the countertop behind me to keep me upright. Whimpering his name earns me a slap to my ass, and when I moan again, he slowly slips a finger inside, working me until he can add another.

Everything that follows seems to happen in a blink. Pleasure rolls through every bit of me, building and building while I get used to feeling so full. He moans as I squeeze around him, flicking his tongue against me at the perfect speed and pressure.

“Henry,” I moan. His free hand leaves its hold on my thigh, finding mine and letting me cling to him tightly.

My legs almost buckle as stars shoot behind my eyes; he’s careful as he lets me go, sensitive and swollen, pulling up my panties and standing up to face me.

I should say something, anything, maybe write him a thank-you letter or erect a monument in his honor. But I don’t need to, because the oven timer goes off, and the smug look on his face is all the appreciation he seems to need.