I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the upper cabinets, taking a deep breath. This had escalatedsoquickly. Maybe I should have let that weight pool when it had wanted to. It had been protecting me from exactly this situation. I’d taken things one step at a time, and they’d landed me right here. With Morgan angry with me, and with me too tipsy to make heads or tails of whatever the hell I was feeling.
“Okay,” I said, “can we put a pin in this?” I opened my eyes and saw her leaning against the back door on the opposite side of the kitchen.
“A pin in what?” she asked.
“The conversation,” I said. “Because I do think we should have it.”
“And what conversation is that?” she asked, but I gave her a slight scowl, and she backed off. “Okay, okay, I get it. To define the conversation is to have the conversation. I can live with that.”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed.
“I’ll pick you up,” I said. “I’ll have to come back for my car.”
“Oh god,” she said, standing straight up suddenly, her voice worried. “How are you going to get home? I didn’t even think about it with the beers. I’m so used to walking everywhere.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, closing the gap between us and putting my hands on her arms again, this time in what I hoped was a calming gesture. “Phil will almost certainly be orchestrating the end of an awkward Hinge date right about now.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You can stay on the sofa if you need to.” I sighed and levelled my gaze at her until I saw the realisation click. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Maybe not.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “Put the second coat of paint on the door in the morning, and I’ll see you at, say, four?”
“Okay,” she said, nodding.
I took a single step towards the door and then paused. A little voice inside my head was yellingKeep going, Jack!but my body didn’t listen. I turned around, pressed a kiss to Morgan’s cheek, and then strode away as quickly as possible, catching her shocked expression in the reflection in the window as I left.
Chapter25
Morgan
Jack had kissed me.
It took me a solid hour after waking up the next morning to convince myself it hadn’t been a dream. That I hadn’t imagined him staring at my mouth, and telling me he’d left a weekend away and driven hours to spend time doing manual labour with me, andkissing me. On the cheek, sure, but given how panicked he’d been when I’d merelyimplieda kiss, it still felt like a big deal. If I’d been able to tell the version of myself who had just got done with that hike that this would happen a mere two months later, past me would have laughed in my own face. It was absurd.
Or was it?
After all, there had been something between us on that hike. And before that, in the river. And probably before that, when I’d been tipsy and told him he was a good guy who didn’t deserve what had happened.
(And hell, probably before that; I’d always found him attractive, and maybe – though the idea seemed, again,absurd– he’d been attracted to me, too.)
But it didn’t change the fact that last night had felt like it came out of nowhere, especially when he’d been the one to draw that hard boundary between us. It was emotional whiplash. I’d cut off any and all hope I’d felt of something happening with Jack, but now, suddenly, it was all I could feel.
I distracted myself throughout the morning with work stuff, refining a few of the gala signage options I’d started in the week. Then I got an email from Greg, letting me know he was thrilled with the brand packet I’d sent over. I’d gone a bit overboard in the end; he’d only paid me for a logo, but I’d seen someone on social media design a brand pack with colours and patterns and everything, and I’d decided to go all in. He loved all of it, and he’d sent me the rest of the money for the job.At least that’ll cover the Ren Faire outfits, I thought.
I looked over the designs, proud again of what I’d done. So I decided to share it. I opened Instagram on my tablet, tapped to create a new post, and selected all the image files I’d used for the brand board, sharing them as a carousel. On a whim, I changed my bio so it said “DM me for design enquiries!”
I knew I should spend some time at some point thinking about how I felt about … you know …everythingbefore Jack picked me up later, so naturally I did the opposite of that: I put on a cosy mystery audiobook and tackled re-dressing Cara’s room, which consisted of unboxing and laying out a collection of boring, vacuum-packed soft furnishings.
I’d barely finished fluffing the new cushions when Jack texted me that he was on his way. He said it would take him a bit longer than usual, and that I should wear full-length trousers. I replied asking if I’d forgotten about an activity we’d planned, but he didn’t respond.
Half an hour later though, I got my answer when he pulled up outside on the back of a quad bike, which was being driven by a stunning blonde.
They both dismounted, and Jack tossed a set of keys to the blonde – Amy, I assumed, or at least hoped – who strode over to his car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Jack put both helmets down just inside the gate and headed towards the door. I backed away from the window, not wanting him to see that I’d been watching him.
When I heard his knock on the door, I took a deep breath before opening it. He was looking at his feet when I did, so I got a split second to admire him, taking in his baggy jeans, his muddy boots, and the flannel shirt he’d worn on our hike, open over a white t-shirt. The breeze funnelling along the row of houses was pulling at both tops, so I could see the lines of his body beneath, and I remembered what he looked like in the sun, in the water, with no shirt to cling to him like it did now.
And then I met his eyes, and I could tell the same appraisal I’d been undertaking had been done to me, too.
