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‘Me too,’ replies Jack warmly.
‘It’s just .?.?. the storm.’ I sniff. ‘It’s not exactly safe, is it?’
‘It’s fine here. Clear as day.’
‘I’d come back, but I’ve had two wines, plus it’s so mad out there—’
‘Millie.Just – let me come and be with you. Yeah?’
I smile; let out a tiny hmph of a laugh. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Yes. Please.’
‘I can get in the car now, grab some stuff. Can you text me the address?’
And within moments, I hear Jack saying goodbye to his friends, his car rumbling down the phone, his radio burst into life.
‘Google Maps is quoting an hour and fifteen minutes,’ he says. ‘Hold tight. And don’t drink all the wine, Millie Chandler. Save some for me.’
*
Within two hours, Jack is calling me from the little slice of a car park by the forest, and wrapped in a blanket, I stand out on the deck, the phone to my ear, waving in the wind.
Jack moves quickly through the dark, a bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes squinted against the sheets and sheets of rains, and God, he looksgorgeous.I on the other hand, must look like a scared, hiding little E.T. (without the bicycle and small boy).
We bundle inside quickly. The wind slams the door behind us.
‘Hi,’ says Jack breathlessly, raindrops dangling from the ends of his hair. Thunder rumbles outside, like a grumbling dog. ‘Cool little place.’
‘Hi,’ I reply, shuddering. ‘Scarylittle place.’ And in one gust, I throw my arms around him. Raindrops from his jacket seep through my jumper, to my vest, to my skin. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you.Thank you.’
‘Hey, it’s OK,’ says Jack, softly, into my ear, sending tingles down my body. He draws back and looks down at me. ‘I mean, it’s already a biblical experience, so, I think I need to thankyou. I didn’t think the whole rainforest experience would be happening for a few months yet, but life always surprises us.’
I gaze up at him in the darkness, just a couple of feet between us, our chests rising and falling, and feel myself crumble a little. ‘I’m sorry I’ve dragged you here. To a stormy, dark and cold treehouse.’
Jack smiles, lopsided, a peep of his white, straight teeth. ‘Ah, come on. Who wouldn’t want to be here? We have wine. We have .?.?.’ He steps back and shrugs the bag from his back. ‘A shit ton of candles. I brought so many. You know what I didn’t realise?’ He crouches to the bag on the floor, unzips. ‘How many candles I have as someone who proclaims to not really like them all that much. Look at this one.’ He pulls one out. ‘Peach crumble.I mean, who the fuck do I think I am with peach crumble?’
I chuckle for what feels like the first time all day, a teary giggle that stings my cheeks. ‘I think peach crumble is veryyouactually.’
‘And – oh, wait till you see this. Themasculinityon this one.’ He pulls out a candle that looks black in the dimness of the room. ‘Tobacco .?.?. andmusk. I mean, what even is musk?’
I laugh, my eyes still rimmed with tears. ‘Wow, what happens when you light it? Do you start mansplaining?’
‘Oh, fuck yeah,’ he says, standing tall, shrugging off his jacket. ‘And I start getting proper excited about barbecues and screwdrivers. And smashing people’s faces in in car parks over spaces.’
Already, I feel totally at ease. Calm. It’s as if I’ve swallowed a capsule. Gone is the shakiness, the wobbliness I felt, that gaping chasm of loneliness, and now, I just feel completely safe. I always feel safe with Jack.
Half an hour later, we’re sharing a thick, heavy blanket on the little sofa, a coffee table absolutely packed with flickering candles, the log burner roaring, which Jack got going, flickering orange watermarks over the walls, the weather raging outside. I’ve even had a text from the treehouse company who say the technical issue is being dealt with, but I almost don’t care now that Jack is here, beside me, close to me, on the sofa. I’d be gutted if they suddenly arrived to evacuate us. I never want to leave this room. This moment in time.
‘I can’t believe you drove all the way here.’
Jack smiles, candlelight strobing lines across his face. ‘And why can’t you believe that?’
‘Just – I don’t know. It was all a bit last minute.’
‘Yeah, but why wouldn’t I have come?’
I take a deep breath, look down at the wine in my glass which looks oil-slick black in the dark. ‘I don’t know .?.?.’ I say. Because I can’t believe you think I’m worth it, I want to say. That I’m enough for you to drop everything for. I’ve never been enough for anyone.
‘Well, I’m glad you called me,’ Jack says softly.
