My heart shouldn’t be beating this hard over something so minor, so utterly insignificant. But it was.
Sitting there, right where he’d said, was the same striped mug I’d used the first time we’d had coffee together, weeks ago, after a painful night and Jack’s unexpected kindness.
My hand trembled slightly as I reached for the handle of the mug—my mug, apparently.
I didn’t even have a mug that I considered mine in my own home. I just used one from a four-pack I’d bought at the grocery store after I realized that Danny had taken the ones we’d accumulated over the years. The handmade mugs from Bramble Pottery that I’d loved. The ones we’d bought at Dollywood when we were dating that had our names on them. Any number of various vacation souvenirs. All gone.
But I had a mug at Jack’s apartment. The existential-crisis mug struck again.
The sugar and half-and-half awaited me as well. Only this time, I knew that Jack drank his coffee black, so he’d set them out for my benefit.
I pulled myself together as I stirred and washed my spoon before making my way carefully to the couch, coffee in hand.
Jack looked up from his book as I sat. Then he slid his bookmark between the pages and placed the paperback on the low table infront of him. It was a popular sci-fi title that I made a mental note of for my TBR list.
I noticed that the snacks from last night had been cleaned up. The popcorn and candy and soda that he’d gotten with me in mind.
Maybe there was something to be said for pen pals or long-distance letter writing. It helped you get to know someone—from the minor and the mundane to the big, messy life events. The text imprinting thoughts and ideas in your mind with a certain clarity that speaking on the phone couldn’t quite accomplish. Aside from a shared experience, it could be argued that exchanging written words was the best way to get to the heart of someone. A search refined. The essential pieces narrowed down again and again until the truth could be neatly and efficiently extracted.
Jack and I had been texting for a while now, and he ... knew me better than almost anyone, at least the current version of me. The one who was a little messy and heartsick, adrift in a way I didn’t quite know how to reconcile.
Maybe it was silly of me to reread our messages to one another, to comb through all his favorite things. But when I considered last night and the ease with which I’d settled in here, I didn’t think it was silly at all.
“What do you have going on today?” Jack asked politely after I’d been quiet for too long, lost in thought.
“Not much. I’ll probably drop by my classroom and prep some projects for the week. Then I have trivia tonight at Trailview.”I have a stolen rabbit to check on, too, I didn’t add.
He paused with his coffee halfway to his lips. “I think my grandmother is on a trivia team there.”
“Oh. Which one?”
“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully. “I just found out about it.”
I briefly considered prying, but I knew that Jack was private as well as protective of his grandmother. What we’d done last night had been pretty intimate, but somehow I didn’t think that sex automatically qualified me for personal details.
“Well, I’m sure her team routinely kicks our butt. Mac is usually so focused on beating Brady that she gets so distracted our team usually loses or gets kicked out because of their bickering.”
He smiled and finally took a sip. “They play on opposing teams even though they’re dating.”
“Oh yeah.” I shook my head, recalling their antics. “It’s a whole thing. They’re hypercompetitive nutballs. I think it reminds them of when they hated each other, but in a fun way. Or maybe they just like the trash talk. Either way. I’ll be at Trailview later attempting to answer trivia questions until Mac gets us disqualified.”
Jack laughed, lines deepening on his stubble-covered cheeks.
Silence descended as we drank our coffee. He didn’t reach for his book again, and I felt the weight of all that attention focused on me.
I’d had sex with this person, and now I wasn’t sure what to say as we sat next to one another in his living room.
Despite the awkwardness, I was grateful. He’d taken my request in stride, and, more than that, he’d taken care of me, made sure I’d enjoyed myself. I’dmorethan enjoyed myself.
“Hey,” I said abruptly.
Perhaps he read my intent or knew me well enough to expect the words that were about to fly out of my mouth, because Jack’s eyes narrowed and he interrupted, “Don’t. Do not thank me for last night.”
My mouth snapped shut audibly.
Gaze intent, Jack uncrossed his legs, placed his mug on the table, and leaned forward. He snagged my free hand and held on tight. “The same way I don’t want your apologies, Clyde, I do not want your gratitude. You had fun, right? Last night?”
My cheeks burned. “Yes,” I managed, voice a mortified choke.
