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Jack looked into my eyes and nodded.
“I just thought you were being a pain in the ass.”
“That was a side benefit.”
“You should have told me.”
His expression shifted one step more serious. “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“But, Jack…” I studied his face. I was so bewildered. “Why?”
He frowned like he wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. Then he said, “Because of the look on your face when you realized it was lost.”
I felt tears in my eyes. “I don’t know how to even start to thank you.”
Now he was smiling. “In other news, I’ve started a bottle cap collection.”
I laughed a little, but when I did, the tears spilled over. It seemed like I’d cried more in four weeks of knowing Jack Stapleton than in my entire life before that. This guy just kept cracking me open. But maybe that wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m guessing you’d like it back.”
“Yes, please.”
“Easy,” he said then. “No problem. We can make that happen. All you have to do”—and here he paused to look straight through the phone like he really meant business—“is come to Thanksgiving.”
Well played, Jack Stapleton. Well played.
I sighed. “Fine, dammit. I’ll be there.”
