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“Only when I suspect there might be an intruder in the house,” I tell him and stifle a yawn. “I was dreaming of coffee.”
“It wasn’t a dream. I brought you some breakfast.”
Before the words are completely out of his mouth, I scramble to sit up in bed. Jack laughs and places a tray on my lap.
I stare at the contents of the tray in disbelief. “Where did you get Starbucks coffee, oh and a cinnamon roll?” I’m practically drooling.
“I sent my driver,” Jack says casually.
“Oh. Is he like parked outside?”
“No, he goes and does his thing until I call for him,” Jack says. “Eat, your breakfast will go cold. I’ve already had mine.”
I slip the cinnamon roll from its packaging and take a big bite.
“This is so good, thank you. I could get used to this lifestyle.”
Jack chuckles. “That’s the plan.”
He watches me while I eat, and several minutes later, the cinnamon roll is gone, and so is the coffee. I pat my stomach in satisfaction.
“Hands down, that was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
“You’re welcome. Have a shower. I want to take you to my place. I’ve wanted to do that since the first day we met.”
I force a smile as he leaves me to shower and get ready. I wish we could stay in my little apartment. Going to his house will destroy the fantasy that he’s still my Jack, the firefighter.
With a sigh, I throw back the covers and swing my legs to the floor. I make the bed and then pad into the shower. Ten minutes later, I’m done and back in my room, trying to decide what to wear.
I settle on simple black pants and a white sleeveless top. At the last minute, I put on a hat and a pair of dark sunglasses. I grab my purse and go in search of Jack. I find him in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading something on his phone.
I make a face. “After the Starbucks coffee, I wouldn’t touch that stuff with a stick.”
His laugh reverberates in the room. “You’re easily spoiled.”
I sit next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. His arm goes around me protectively.
My phone shrieks from my purse, and I snap it open and pull it out. I swipe the screen to answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Grace, thank God you’ve picked up. I called you twice last night. I was worried when you didn’t call back,” she says.
Guilt floods me when I remember what made me not hear my phone. “Sorry, Mom. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine on our end. Your father has stopped being such a pain. He’s realized the cast is here to stay,” she says with a laugh.
“That’s great, Mom.” I can’t concentrate with Jack so close to me or with his hand rubbing small circles on my back.
“Grace,” Mom says, her voice taking on a serious tone. “Your father and I saw a disturbing item on the news yesterday. That’s why I called you. They were saying that Jack is Kyle Bryce, the movie star. Is that true?”
I move away from Jack to think. I should have called my parents before they saw the news. “Yes, Mom, it’s true. He was researching for a role.”
“Did you know about it?” she says.
“No, he never told me until it came out.” It sounds horrible when I say it out loud.
“Was he serious about you and is that what you want?” she says.
“I think so, Mom, but I don’t know the answer to the second question. I’m still trying to figure it out.”
I know what she means. Over the years, I’ve expressed my dislike for people in the limelight. She knows too what my parents went through. A lot of it was their own fault. They brought it on themselves, but the tabloids made it worse. They published pictures of my dad partying with different women, driving my mother to take her own life. The press can do that to you. I don’t think I’m strong enough to spend my life in the limelight for everyone to see.
“Please be careful. He seemed like a good man, but the kind of life he lives is so different from yours.”
“I know, Mom.”
We say goodbye after a few more minutes. I go back to the island.
Jack has a concerned look. “They’re worried about you?” he says, part question and part statement.
“A little bit. They know what life in the limelight entails,” I tell him.
Jack takes my hand. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, including looking at another woman.” His forehead is creased with worry.
“They’ll be fine; it was just a shock to them to hear that you’re not Jack Acker. How did you come up with that name anyway? It suits you more than Kyle does.”
He chuckles. “I had a friend back in the day whose name was Jack. Acker has no significance. It’s just a name.” He stands up, carries his cup to the sink, and rinses it.
