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“Likesunshine in song form,” she finished for him, and he nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Whatelse?”
“Ido love classic rock.LedZepplin,TheBeatles,TheRollingStones.”
“Can’tgo wrong with the classics.”
“HappybyPharrellWilliamswhen—”Hecut himself off.He’dbeen about to say when he was hanging out with his daughter, but he had a rule that he didn’t discussChloewith women.Ever.He’dgotten caught up in their conversation and had forgotten his own boundaries.
“Whenwhat?”
“WhenIfeel like dancing.”Hecleared his throat. “Whatabout you?Favoritesongs?”
“Myall time fave is ‘IWannaDancewithSomebody’ byWhitneyHouston.It’sabout…life, you know?It’sabout love and sex and dancing and all these things that make us feel alive.Andthat song…it’s the best of the best.Whitneywas the greatest female pop singer of our time.Maybeever.Therange, the power in her voice…it gives me goosebumps, every single time.It’sactually a super hard song to sing, and she sings the hell out of it.It’sdynamic and fluid and passionate.There’san urgency to it we can all relate to.Andultimately, that’s the power of pop music.It’sinfectious and relatable and unifying, all at once.It’swhyIlove it.”
“Wow,” saidJacksoftly.Mentally, he addedmight be a genius and is definitely way smarter than meto the growing list ofRosalie’sattributes. “That’s…astute and insightful and frankly, kinda fascinating.Whatother songs do you love?”Hecould listen to her talk about music for hours.
“‘DancingQueen’ byABBA, obviously. ‘LikeaPrayer’ byMadonna.AnythingbyPrince, orTheBeatles.”
“Can’tgo wrong withTheBeatles,” he said. “Theywere one of my dad’s favorites, and they were always playing on weekend mornings while he cooked breakfast andMomgot to sleep in.”Apang of grief hit him square in the chest, so visceral and sharp that he actually winced.
Rosaliesqueezed his hand. “I’msorry,Jack.I’msorry.”
“Thanks,” he said, swallowing down all of the pain and the loss that suddenly felt as fresh as the day he’d lost his father.Hecleared his throat and directed them down the street towards the hotel.Hisheart picked up its pace, hammering away in his chest at the sight of it, glowing softly through the snow on top of the gently sloped hill.
“FavoriteBeatlessong,” she said. “Yours, and his.”
“Hiswas ‘InMyLife,’” he said, his throat getting tight. “Andmine is ‘ComeTogether.’”
“Greatchoices,” she said, leaning into him slightly as they started the ascent up to the hotel.
“Yours?”
“‘HereComestheSun.’Ilike how hopeful it is.Plus,Georgewas always my favoriteBeatle.”
Theyreached the front doors of the hotel, standing together under the porte cochere, sheltered from the snow.Thewind seemed to intensify, andRosalieturned to him, looking up at him through her long lashes.Snowflakesclung to hair, making it go wavy in sections.
“Thankyou,” she said, “for the drink, and the company and conversation, and for walking me back.”
“You’rewelcome.”Hestepped a little bit closer, lifting his hand to brush a lock of hair away from her eyes. “AlthoughI’mthe one who should be thanking you.Honestly, today was kind of a shit day.”Itwas as much an admission as it was a reminder to himself that he shouldn’t be doing anything withRosalie.Hewas trying to be good.Trying, being the operative word.
“Andwhat kind of night is tonight?”
“ThekindIwish didn’t have to end.”Eventhough it should.Gorgeous, smart, funnyRosaliewas doing something to him.Somethinghe should probably run from.
Shemade a show of checking her watch. “Areyou going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”
Helaughed. “Notexactly.”Anidea lit up his brain, and he stepped away, taking her hand and reaching for the front door. “Comeon.Iwant to show you something.”
Seven
Rosalieknew three things for certain aboutJackShephard.
Hewas sexy as hell.
Hewas a good man, who cared about his family and his community.
