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“I think so?”
That earns me another laugh. “And I thought tonight would be boring.”
I try to return his smile but can’t. “It was nice meeting you, Owen.”
“You’re heading out?” Skylar asks as she makes her way back over.
“I think so. Tell Leo I said goodnight and give Libs a hug for me, ok?”
She hugs me and whispers, “Will do.”
When I look back to him, I see that his expression has taken a sympathetic turn. Maybe I’m easier to read than I thought. “Bye, Owen.”
“Good luck, Grace.”
* * *
“We need to talk.”
I open the door and wave him inside.
Jack has been blowing up my phone since I left without telling him last night and drove home. I was supposed to stay at his place, but that pointed question left me emotionally wrecked.You’re engaged?
What am I doing?That’s what I repeatedly asked myself while speeding down Route 51.
Jack looks disheveled. He’s always meticulous, so carefully put together, but right now his shirt is wrinkled, his eyes are bloodshot and his hair is sticking out in ten different directions. His shirt. It’s the same one he wore last night.
“You just take off like that and then ignore my calls? I was looking all over for you, Grace! And can you imagine how embarrassed I was when I caught Leo Hale at the coat check and he told me you’d already left?”
Jack was embarrassed. Of course he was. The man hates to look bad, especially in front of hiscolleagues. That’s another stuffy word he insists on using. Co-workers is a term better suited for manual laborers in his opinion, so I use it on purpose when I refer to my fellow teachers.
He held his tongue last night when he saw what I was wearing to the event because he knows better, but I could tell he was itching to say something. I’ve always liked clothes that are colorful, but sometimes I go overboard just to yank Jack’s chain. Last night I went with a fire engine red wrap dress paired with my biggest gold hoop earrings, and while it’s not like the other women were dressed for a funeral or anything, I know I stood out. Mission accomplished.
He’s pacing the floor now, waiting on me to apologize, I think, but that’s not happening. “I’m surprised you even noticed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Have you been hooking up with Elizabeth?”
Jack has the nerve to look shocked by my question. “What?”
“I think you heard me.”
“No! What would make you even think that? Jesus, Grace, we’re engaged.”
I look down at the ring. “She was all over you last night and it was obvious that you were enjoying the attention.”
He takes a deep breath. “You were jealous?”
He’s relieved, and in that moment I feel so sad and so guilty. Jack wants so much to believe that I care, that the mere sight of another woman beside him would make me storm out of that event in a fit of jealousy.
There’s something I need to say but I’m struggling. I talk a good game, but deep down I’m afraid of being alone. Jack is not my soulmate—if such a thing even exists—but he’s been my companion. Maybe I’m not over the moon when it comes to my feelings for Jack, but I do care about him. And as the words push up and past my lips, I know I’m about to set something into motion that can’t be stopped.
“I don’t know what it is that you see in me.” No, I’m not looking for him to list my good qualities right now. “What I mean to say is, I don’t think you really know me.”
He’s amused and hurt at once. “And whose fault is that?”
He walks over to my bookshelf and scans the top shelf until he finds that well-worn copy ofHatchet. Stupid on my part, to leave that small envelope in Damien’s favorite book. Naturally Jack would have flipped through that one when he was bored and looking for something to read. It stands out among the love stories and poetry that I prefer.
