Want.
I roll my head against the headrest to take in one last look of him so hopeful, afraid that once I step out, everything is going to change between us. Again.
We’ve been falling bit by bit for weeks now, and when he runs his hand up my leg, gently pushing aside the satin of my skirt, I swear I forget why I ever ran from him at Fall Fest in the first place.
“It’s cold. Let’s head in.”
The best I can manage is a strangled, “Hmm.” I grip his hand and step out, allowing myself to fall against his back and breathe him in. This is how I want to remember him. The smell of snow in the air, his cologne, and the salty breeze sweeping off the harbor.
Inside, I kick off my shoes and move toward the kitchen on autopilot. I need something to do—tea, dishes, anything to keep from falling apart, but Jack catches my elbow.
“Sit.”
“I should—” The kitchen’s a disaster from this morning’s birthday pancake surprise. The sink’s full of dishes, there’s flour smeared across the countertop, and I swear I can still smell the vanilla extract I spilled on the floor.
“Sit,” he repeats. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What?” But he’s already walking toward the hall. “Jack?—”
“Just trust me,” he calls back over his shoulder.
I stand there, listening to the faucet run, the bathroom cabinets opening and shutting. My legs give out long before my pride does. I sink onto the couch, pull my fuzzy blanket over myself, and close my eyes.
I don’t know how long I’m out before his lips press to my forehead. “Come on.”
He guides me down the hallway, turning me into my bathroom. Steam swirls out of the tub, the water hot enough that the whole room feels like a hot yoga session. The air is perfumed with my favorite lavender and rose bath salts, and he’s set out all my small tealight candles. The flames flicker and fill the room with a soft glow. Beside them, a glass of wine waits on the edge of the tub.
I died out in my driveway, I guess, because this is heaven.
My throat tightens. “Jack, you didn’t have to do all this.”
He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”
I catch his hand without thinking. “Can you stay?”
His expression softens. “Sure.” He sits on the closed toilet lid, looking away while I undress.
When I finally slip into the water, the heat stings my skin before the tension melts from my muscles.
“Everything okay?” he asks, still facing away.
“Perfect.”
Jack settles on the plush bath mat on the floor and rolls up his sleeves. “What was it like growing up like that?”
The question surprises me. I reach for my wineglass, taking a steadying sip. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m always going to want to hear the long version.” He’s said that to me before; the only difference now is that I believe him.
I tell him everything. Everything I’ve held tight for years. The late nights, the forgotten appointments and events, the men who drifted in and out of our lives before Phil, each one upending my world before moving on. And then the endless fights and drama with my stepdad.
“I was the oldest,” I say, voice breaking. “I made sure that we were steady, that we all didn’t fall apart. I still try, I guess.”
His fingers drum over the tub’s edge. “You were a kid, Izzy.”
“Someone had to be an adult.”
“That doesn’t make it fair.”
