“Yeah. I…”—my throat tightens—“…hired Jack to figure it out.”
“Well then.” Lumi beams, easy as you please, and takes another large bite of dark chocolate cake and pink and white striped peppermint cream. “Looks like he did his job.” It comes out muffled but understandable.
With a wave, she’s gone, the bell chiming cheerfully in her wake.
Yeah, he did his job.
He handled the cease-and-desist. He filed the paperwork. He protected me the way he knew how. Exactly as promised. And then some.
I smooth an errant piece of parchment flat against the counter, hands steady though my chest is not.
Shouldn’t I feel relieved?
The threat to my business was supposed to be the thing keeping me up at night. Step one of attaining my dream. So knowing Jack went above and beyond to protect it for any future threats should make me relieved. Happy.
I’m not.
Standing in my too-quiet kitchen, the truth presses down on me like snow on a sagging roof. I don’t miss Jack’s legal skills. I just miss him.
I miss the way he leaned against the counter like he belonged here. The way his grin made the room feel less small-town and more like possibility. The way he made me feel seen.
The bell jingles again, bright and merry. I keep my eyes fixed on the counter, refusing to glance at Jack’s corner.
But the emptiness settles in anyway.
And it clings to me therest of the day.
Jack
Since yesterday,I’ve watched flights out of Maine die slow deaths on the departures board while I outlasted them in a vinyl airport chair.
One point for Los Angeles. At least in the land of palm trees and bikinis I never spent a night at the airport courtesy of cancellations and delays due to “inclement weather.” And yet as the points are stacked pretty high against Hideaway, I still can’t summon up anything close to excitement for my return trip home.
Whenever that will be.
At six a.m., the terminal hums like Audrey’s double refrigerators. A pair of guys dressed like me—lawyer me—park themselves at the bar. The bartender slides a rocks glass toward the nearest one. There’s a healthy splash of orange juice on top, just enough to make drinking before noon look respectable.
The suit laughs too loudly at nothing, and I wonder if that’s me in a few years. I shift in the hard-cushioned seat, my body feeling twenty years older, and wonder if it might be me in a few minutes.
The windows shift from black to pewter, and I try to place Audrey in her morning routine. She’d be up by now having already pulled her hair into a tight bun that won’t make it to noon, no matter how ruthless she is with those chestnut strands. Her socked feet are wearing Crocs bedecked with a plethora of ridiculous bakery-holiday-themed charms. She’s probably squeak-squishing down the back stairs, arriving to more than just her usual pristine kitchen.
Will she be relieved when she figures out what I’vedone? Or will it be one more tally mark in the column labeled Reasons Jack’s Not Right for Me?
My phone vibrates in my pocket like it has opinions. I turned it on earlier to keep track of the weather. News flash—no change.
I thumb it awake to check the rebookings I already know don’t exist. FaceTime tries to ambush me with Felix’s face. I sigh and let it.
He’s in a kitchen with marble and morning light. Sofia leans in at his shoulder, robe tied, hair up, no lipstick. For a Portuguese woman of a certain age to be seen without makeup, it usually means Armageddon has arrived.
Surprise wins over manners. “Why the hell are you both awake?”
“Language.” Sofia’s voice is gentle yet brooks no argument.
Felix winces.
“Sorry, Sofia” falls out automatically. “Morning.”
Then, as if she hasn’t just made me feel like the ten-year-old she once took in, she smiles. “Bom dia, meu filho.”
