“You make me sound like some dewy-eyed romantic.”
He closed the menu and placed it beside his elbow. “You disagree?”
I didn’t know why this felt like an admission. Like Jack had seen a little too much, peeling back the protective layer around my heart. Or maybe my reluctance was due to the fact that all those traits he’d mentioned made me his opposite—someone he saw as silly or naïve.
But the old Bonnie had been like the woman he’d described. And maybe I was still mad at her for being so clueless, but part of me wanted her back.
I was a person who read romance novels and listened to Taylor Swift. I lovedPride and PrejudiceandNorth and South. I appreciated manners and wanted someone to bring me flowers for no reason at all. I secretly wished for a serendipitous meet-cute or a surprise birthday party. I hoped lightning might strike and that the love of my life would turn out to be someone whoput me first and not the man I’d wasted half my life loving, the one who’d thrown me away for a bachelor party in Gatlinburg.
Instead of saying any of that, I huffed a quiet laugh and admitted, “No. You’re right. I suppose I am a romantic.”
“I guess I admire that about you,” Jack said. “You’ve probably noticed I’m pretty cynical. I don’t see the world the way you do. My family is small and complicated. I haven’t known people with healthy marriages. My parents weren’t married. Well, my dad was married, but not to my mom. And working in the bar, I see guys picking up a different woman every week. Occasionally, with a tan line on their ring finger.”
I fought an internal wince at that, a reminder of my own marriage.
Jack cleared his throat and glanced away from me, a flash ofsomething, there and gone in an instant. I didn’t have time to wonder as he continued, “I guess what I’m saying is, relationships have always seemed like this alien thing where you have to check in with someone constantly, and you can’t make your own decisions without consulting whoever’s in charge. It’s feeling jealous or possessive or any number of overbearing emotions. It’s keeping the peace at the expense of your own. Or it’s just a tool to announce to the world that you have ownership of someone else.”
I wasn’t sure how much to read into Jack’s words. Part of me thought he was warning me away. Subtly telling me not to get any ideas about the two of us. But that optimistic, glass-half-full girl thought maybe we were just having a conversation, getting to know one another.
With most people in my life, I knew their backstory. All the history. I’d been part of the timeline from the beginning.
With Jack, everything was brand-new. I was learning as I went, and while the big picture was there—this cynical, aloof, cool guy with a chip on his shoulder—all the little details would need to be uncovered and brought into focus.
So, I went with my instincts and treated this like a conversation between two people who were trying to understand each other. And I decided to tell him the truth so he could know me better. Not act like some woman on a date worried about scaring a guy off with too much honesty up front.
I said with a shrug, “I can see that. But I was lucky enough to have good examples of loving, healthy relationships. My parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were all happily married. And, honestly, Ilikedbeing married. I liked saying to the world that we were a team. We were in it together. No keeping score unless it was us against everyone else. Someone to have your back and give you high fives. A best friend and a roommate and a secret keeper, all in one. The person that you could share an eye roll with and a million inside jokes. Someone who is always on your side, no matter what. Even if that means telling a hard truth. Because all they want is the best for you. A teammate.” I paused. “That’s what I wanted anyway.”
A dull ache opened up in my chest. I’d hoped for all those things, but my marriage had turned into something else. There had been loneliness and disappointment. Missed calls and unanswered texts. Walking on eggshells amid obligation. Danny went from being the person I knew best to a stranger sharing my bed.
Jack watched me carefully. He looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe to disagree with me.
But again, I went with honesty.
“Danny used to buy me these chips I loved,” I started. “And he loved them, too. Nine times out of ten, I’d go to grab a snack, and the bag would be there, but when I opened it, there would only be crushed bits at the bottom. He’d joke that he hadn’t eaten them all and made sure to leave me some.”
Jack was frowning, and I gave him a sad little smile before continuing, “But what was left in the bag wouldn’t have amounted to more than a single chip. I know it sounds silly or arbitrary or nitpicky, but that felt like a metaphor for our marriage, you know. I think what I really wanted was to know that he’d been thinking about me. That he couldn’t stop thinking about me—my wants and needs. I wanted to hear it in his voice and see it in the way he couldn’t stop looking at me. I wanted a love that pulled its weight. Not just me and my determination dragging it around like a reluctant dog on the end of a leash. I want the love I deserve. Something bright and loud and undeniable. Not the leftover crumbs in the bottom of an empty bag.”
I watched Jack shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “That was probably more than you wanted to know. No one wants to hear about someone’s ex.”
Jack leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table and meeting my gaze head-on. “Don’t be sorry. I feel like I learned more about you than I could ever understand about him.”
I smiled, thinking that was a really nice way to put it.
The server showed up then to take our order, and I used the moment to regroup.
I made sure that the rest of our lunchtime conversation was easy and light. We talked about the bar and my job, and the girls on Jack’s soccer team.
I laughed a lot, and he did too. It balanced out the intensity of our earlier conversation, soothing the burn of brutal honesty and some definite oversharing on my part.
I found myself easily distracted by his throat working as he swallowed. Awareness crashed through me in a steady wave when he rested an elbow on the arm of his chair and cradled his chin in one hand—thoughtful and attentive as he listened to me talk about my family. A single diverting fingertip tapped lightly across his lush bottom lip, and I had a difficult time organizing my thoughts beyond a steadily building attraction.
I was a watched pot, set to a slow simmer, conscious of Jack’s body and the way it moved. It made me curious, how those patient, rugged hands of his might feel on my skin. I was curious about a lot of things that had my stomach flipping over itself.
By the time we finished up our meal, I was looking forward to the ride back. It was hard to be nervous when you’d already shown your hand as well as your skeletons. And while this hadn’t felt like a date, it had felt like the start of something.
Or, rather, I hoped it might be.
