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While Jack and Hunter went to rescue Princess from the backseat, I returned to the kitchen and tossed the pasta into the boiling water and then peeked into the oven. My hands shook as I stirred the sauce and pulled out a second plate and set of silverware. When everything was tended to, I smoothed my hands over my stomach. I’d worn an oversize sweater and was relieved that there was no chance Jack would notice the baby bump.
A second set of thundering paws joined Hunter’s and I turned to find Princess at my feet, her fan of a tail whipping wildly through the air. Tears sprang to my eyes as I sank down beside her and stroked her beautiful face. “I’ve missed you, girl,” I whispered against her head before planting a kiss on her velvet fur. When I opened my eyes, Jack was hovering over us, a wistful look in his eyes.
“Does she need dinner too?” I asked, pushing to my feet.
Jack nodded. “Think Hunter will mind sharing?”
We looked at Hunter who was standing at Princess’s side, his eyes bright. He couldn’t—or wouldn’t—stop licking her face and pawing at her to get her attention. I smiled at the doggy duo and then shook my head. “I doubt he’ll even notice. The food’s in the—” I stopped myself. Obviously, Jack knew where the dog food was kept.
“Right,” Jack said, moving toward the pantry.
Once the dogs were fed, we plated up the meal and went to the dining room table. I dialed up the ambient lighting as bright as it would go. I didn’t need—or want—mood lighting. If I had it my way, I’d have turned on fluorescent bulbs as high as they’d go, turn the cozy dining room into a cafeteria. Nothing romantic or sentimental could exist under fluorescent tubes.
As it was, the lighting did nothing to help ease the dull ache in my chest as I watched him take his seat, place a napkin on his lap, and sip at the raspberry iced tea I’d poured. Normally with a dinner like this, I’d have served wine. He hadn’t questioned me when I’d poured two glasses of the sweet tea, but I wondered if he thought it was odd I hadn’t pulled out a bottle of red. On the other hand, maybe I was overthinking things.
I studied him as he pushed the food with his fork, as though not quite sure where to start. He looked different somehow. There were lines at the sides of his eyes that looked deeper than before and his usually clean-cut face was covered with more than a few days’ worth of scruff. His hair was longer too. It didn’t look bad—as much as I wished it did—but it was off-putting. Confusing almost. Jack was always a clean-cut, strait-laced kind of man. Who was this man sitting across from me? Did this version better match up with his adventure-seeking, free-falling persona? Or was he just too tired to care what he looked like?
Jack glanced up from his plate and caught me staring at him. He offered a tight smile. “Thanks for dinner,” he said, although he hadn’t taken a bite. “Smells great.”
I nodded and picked up my own fork. What had smelled so good minutes before was suddenly overpowering and unappealing. But I took a few tepid bites anyway.
The silence thickened with each minute that ticked by, broken only by the dogs playing by the fireplace or the sounds of utensils hitting the plates, ice cubes clinking. After what felt like forever, Jack abandoned his fork, wiped his mouth, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t think this would be so…awkward.”
I laughed softly. “Really? I don’t think dinner with the ex is ever not awkward.”
Jack kept his eyes on the salt and pepper shakers. “The ex. God…that sounds awful.”
It did. But it was the truth. There was no point in pretending, even as tempting as the notion was. There was a part of me that wanted nothing more than for Jack to take me in his arms, snuggle together on the couch with a fire roaring in the hearth, the dogs snoozing on the carpet, a couple of glasses of wine to either side of our feet propped up on the coffee table. Just like it used to be. Those lazy nights seemed like a million years ago, almost like I saw inside someone else’s memories. I could see the images, feel the emotions, but couldn’t quite touch them.
I set my fork aside. There was no point in pretending to eat. “Jack, listen, I don’t know what drove you to come over here tonight, but I’m fine. It’s fine that you’re back in town. I’m not going to have a problem with it. We didn’t have some nasty, blow-up fight. That was never us. I’m not going to burst into tears or throw produce at you if I see you at the grocery store.”
