Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Here, near this fountain, Jack understood starry-eyed for what it should be. Not naïve enthusiasm and boundless idealism, but someone, he sensed from the way sadness hugged her like a cloak, who knew the raw pain of life and loss and shone through with a smoldering brilliance, regardless.
A heart he assumed had long since died drummed against his chest as he pulled closer to the fountain—as if it was coming home for the first time in years. A devout skeptic in fate, narwhals, love at first sight, and other such fantastical notions, he couldn’t explain the sudden change—but something in his core hummed at an unfamiliar frequency, sayingthis is it, this is the day you met the one.
April Seventh.
Four-seven.
Forty-seven.
“Need any help?” The words leaped out of him, avoiding the filter that all too often over-analyzed his speech to silence.
“Sandra Bullock, you’re a quiet one.” The young woman in the fountain jumped with a turn. Her face lit with recognition. “Oh, hi, Jack. You know I’m actually glad it’s you,” she laughed, steadying her breath. “Don’t suppose you have a metal detector handy?”
Jack cocked his head to the side. He didn’t remember meeting those eyes before, but the woman certainly knew him. Maybe she was at the game or something. Patting his pockets, the edge of his lips curled up. “Oh, dammit. Seems I left it in my other sweatshirt.”
Wait, was that a joke?
“Ha. Ha.” She wiped at the beads of water trickling down her forehead after her impromptu swim. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. There’s no way the ring Tyler bought me was a genuine diamond. This is what I get for ignoring my brother and falling for a bad boy. He was right—please don’t tell him I said that.” Her eyes sliced to Jack, and he put his hands up in surrender.
“Our secret,” he said, since he hadn’t a freaking clue who her brother was or what she was talking about anyway.
“But what can I say? The heart wants what it wants, and I’ve always had a thing for the reformed rake trope, you know? Like, I even think Wickham could be redeemable if he tried. Can you believe that? Wickham! A-ha! I found it.”
She bent down and retrieved something in the water, rising again with a triumphant fist to the sky.
Jack stood by, dry and amused.
“I know, I know, always the dramatic silly little thing—that’s still me. But I swear this time my dramatics were justified,” she said, showcasing a ring in her palm.
“No judgment.”
“Never with you.” Her lips twitched as if she knew judgment was his entire personality.
No, that wasn’t the best thing for her to know about him. Maybe he could show he had a charming side, too.
Well, first, he’d have to develop a charming side, but he could, for her.
He beamed warmly down at her, still perplexed by her familiarity.
Maybe they’d shared a class together? Anthropology?
He’d dozed through that one.
Attempting to exit the fountain, the woman’s soaked dress hung heavy around her legs, causing her to trip. Jack wrapped his arms around her as her hand fell firmly on his bicep and the night sky held captive within her gaze collided with his own wandering eyes.
His heart jolted awake from its heavy slumber.Hello there. I’ve been waiting for you.
“You’re going to get your book wet!” she shrieked.
“It’s just a book of poems, nothing to worry about.”
A couple of soggy pages were the very last thing he was concerned with when he had a thousand tiny sparks shooting from where her hand rested on his arm. He flexed his hand at his side, hoping to get rid of the unsettling tingling sensation.
