Me: Waking you in the middle of the night with a random text notification is a perfectly acceptable reason to say you’re sorry.
Jack: You didn’t wake me. I’m up.
Oh. Well, that was good. I was glad I didn’t mess up his night.
A nosy middle-aged Southern spirit must have possessed my body because I found myself asking suddenly,So, why are you up?
My eyes widened, and I tossed my phone face down on the comforter in horror. What had I just done? I’d delivered my message about Brady, and now I was trying to keep the conversation going.
I could imagine several scenarios in which Jack Ellis would be up late. Maybe he was just getting home. Maybe he was wide-awake for a very fitting reason. I imagined him leaving the Sterling House Bed-and-Breakfast after hooking up with a gorgeousleaferfrom the bar. Tossing on his leather jacket and riding off down the street after rocking some woman’s world.
I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, groaning. What the heck was wrong with me?
But then I peeked at my device and saw light coming from beneath the edge of the plastic case. So quickly I should have been embarrassed about it, but I snatched up my phone and looked at the screen.
Jack: A drunk tourist picked a fight tonight at Magnolia. The cops came, and it was a mess. I had to deal with the police report and give a statement.
I winced, thinking about how he’d had to handle another irresponsible inebriated person. Bartenders had it hard.
Me: I’m sorry. That sounds like a pain.
Jack: I can practically hear you comparing yourself to a drunk leafer. Stop it. And stop apologizing.
That was a general I’m sorry, I argued reflexively, annoyed that he’d read me so easily.
Jack: I noticed you ignored the other part.
Before I could defend myself, he replied ...
Jack: What are you doing up so late? Pretty sure it’s past bedtime for most good girls.
Maybe I always felt uncool around Jack because he liked to keep reminding me how I was a good girl and he was a bad boy. Believe me, I knew how different we were—how different we’d always been. Maybe he felt like he needed to draw attention to those old roles to keep space between us. Or, more likely, he could tell I had an embarrassing crush on him.
I didn’t have a quippy response or a funny answer. I was tired, and that was probably why I went with the truth.
Me: I have trouble sleeping sometimes.
It was something I hadn’t told anyone besides my therapist.
Dots appeared and then disappeared for a while, and I figured that would be it. But as I was putting my phone back on the bedside table, it lit up with another message.
Jack: When I was a kid, I couldn’t always get to sleep. My grandmother taught me this trick. To think about something good. Make a list of three of my favorite things. Like three favorite breakfast foods, or three favorite TV shows, orwhatever it might be. It worked better than counting sheep. Maybe you could try that.
I smiled wistfully down at my phone, thinking how good I was at making lists instead of sleeping. I couldn’t imagine this would actually work.
But I still typed out,French toast with butter and powdered sugar, ham and cheese omelet, and Apple Jacks cereal.
Jack: Toast and apple butter, scrambled eggs, and blueberry lemon scones from Cubhouse Coffee Shop.
My grin widened, surprised he’d played along. Even more surprised when another message came through.
Jack: Okay, now TV shows.
Me: Sons of Anarchy, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Pushing Daisies. You?
Jack: Don’t laugh.
I absolutely did.
