“Please, sweetheart. I’ve missed you glaring at me.”
I laugh wetly, despite myself, and wipe my cheeks with a rough hand. His eyes are wide and endless green, but otherwise, he looks terrible. His face looks thinner, and his beard desperately needs a trim. The dark hollows under his eyes tug at my heart.
He looks as terrible as I feel.
“I need to get back to prep,” I whisper. “I’m on a schedule.”
“Five minutes.” His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out, maybe touch my face or tug my braid or any of the tiny things I once took for granted when it came to his affection. “Just give me five minutes.”
I cross my arms over the apron, backing against the opposite counter. Jack doesn’t follow me. He just waits, only the slight tap of his foot betraying his restlessness. After a moment I realize I’m matching it, beat for beat, only with my fingernails against my arm. I notice that there’s a package under his arm. Pink wrapping paper with a white bow.
“What’s that?”
“Do I get my five minutes?”
I nod. Another tear rolls down my cheek. I dispatch it swiftly as he holds out the package.
“I’m sorry it didn’t come in time for opening night,” he says.
I unwrap it slowly. A chef’s jacket, just my size... dyed a lush pink. My initials are embroidered on each sleeve,P.W., withP.Winfieldspelled out below the collar. Just like Jack’s chef’s whites. The fabric is thick and sturdy, the sort of thing that would be perfect to wear in Fable’s kitchen.
Slowly, I hug it to my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Poppy,” he whispers.
“I trusted you.” I can barely get the words out, my throat feels so raw. I’ve thought about this for weeks, and it’s what stings the most, at the end of all of this. I trusted him, put my full faith in him, andhe never put his faith in us. “I wanted a future with you, I wanted your—”
“I know,” he says, interrupting gently. “Let me explain.”
“Five minutes,” I remind him.
He smiles slightly as he settles against the kitchen island. The four or so feet between us feels irrepressibly long. Still, I stay on my side, drinking in every detail. He clears his throat, running the hand covered in those tiny, pointed knife tattoos through his unruly dark locks. I clutch the jacket even tighter, as if it’ll provide me some measure of protection against this moment.
“I figured that my parents didn’t want me because there was something wrong with me.” He laughs, short and bitter, gaze dropping to the floor. “You know? My father didn’t care to stick around after my mother told him she was pregnant. My mother held me once before handing me to the social worker. I wasn’t worth keeping.”
“Jack—”
“I need you to hear this,” he says quietly. “Please, Poppy.”
I press my lips together, heart breaking all over again for that little boy, starting his life without a family.
“I assumed it was my fault. I thought, what did I do? What was so wrong with me that my parents didn’t want to keep me? And then I knew why, foster placement after foster placement. No one wanted me. I wasn’t... worthy of what other kids had. If no one wanted me when I was a kid, then definitely no one would want me when I was a teenager on the verge of aging out.”
His voice wavers, but only for a moment.
“And then Sal and Kiara happened, and I didn’t trust it. I blew it all up. Eventually you came along, and I didn’t trust it. I was too afraid of what you were offering. When it came to your dad, the deal I made with him—I told myself it was okay because I’d never fall for you, but especially because I never imagined you’d fall for me too. But I did. You did.”
He talks in a rush, his eyes vibrant with emotion. He takes one step in my direction, and then another. There’s still a barrier between us, however fragile.
“I’m sorry I lied to you. Pushed you to feel a certain way about your family. If there’s anyone who deserves better than that, it’syou.” He’s close enough now we could touch, if either of us leaned in a little more. “I love you, Poppy. I—god, I love you so much it terrifies me. You make me want to be a better man. A happy man.” He shakes his head. “I’m not good at this.”
My heart is beating so fast, it might sprint right out of my chest. Despite what I knew he felt for me in his soul, I didn’t know if I’d ever hear those words from his lips.
“Keep going,” I say breathlessly.
“I regretted not going after you the second you left. It nearly killed me.” His voice cracks, pain crossing over his face. “I want a future with you. A life. You’re my person, and I want to be your person, and I’m sorry I didn’t say that when I had the chance. I want everything you can give me, and more.”
He leans in, hand curving around my jaw, carefully tilting up my face. His breath mingles with mine, lips a mere inch from touching.
