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But I chickened out.
It was too unprofessional. It was too scary. It was too much like the Corgi Lady.
That was me, apparently: scared of cows, and scared of love.
Instead, I held my hand out to shake like we were a corporate event. “I need you to know that it was really great working for you,” I said.
And then, just like that, once I’d popped us back into that professional framework, Jack had no choice but to follow.
He frowned, but he took my hand and shook it. “Thank you for your service.”
I gave a professional nod, turned in tight formation, and started walking back toward the car—the cap sleeves of my embroidered girlfriend blouse fluttering at my shoulders.
But as I pulled open the door, I heard Jack call, “Hannah!”
I turned.
He had his hands in his pockets, and he looked at me for a good moment before he said, “I need you to know something.”
I held my breath.
Then Jack said, “I will really miss you. And I am not acting.”
