Mr. Gardiner, an older man with a penchant for making a game of Bingo way more intense than it has any right to be, turns, smirking when he sees Jack and me standing behind him.
“That was quite the show you two put on the other day,” he says, winking. My brow dips, furrowing as I try to puzzle out what he’s talking about. As far as I know, Mr. Gardiner wasn’t at the fair. “Good man. Of course, if I were fortunate enough to have a woman like this one look at me that way, I’d quickly lock her down. Marry her soon, son. You won’t find anyone better—take it from a man who’s lived eighty years. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I’ll uhm—I’ll be sure to heed your advice. Thank you.” Jack dips his head. The tips of his ears turn red. He catches my eyes roaming his face and flashes me a tiny, bashful smile as if to say,Don’t read into that.I hate conversations, and this is the best way to shut him down.
I tell myself to hold on to the nonverbal message he’s conveying instead of his words. Still, the daydreamer in me swoons a little, imagining Jack seriously considering Mr. Gardiner’s advice.
Just then, a twinge passes through my lower half. I breathe through it, careful not to show too much discomfort. Since he’s been here, Jack’s been more attuned to my pain than I’d like, and I’ve caught him trying to make me rest a couple of times. The last thing either of us needs is for him to be worrying about me today on top of watching the kiddos. I’m here to help, not add more stress.
I’m here to help.
I repeat the mantra one last time for good measure. Telling my nerves to shake themselves out, no matter what revelations I may have had at the fair. They don’t matter now. I’ve stamped down my feelings for him before. I can bury them again. We’re friends. That’s it. That’s the only way we fit.
It’s like we’re two puzzle pieces where the shapes are right, but the pictures don’t match because they come from different boxes.
Buzzing with too much nervous energy, I let myself get lost in the what-ifs. What if this was real life? What if Jack wasn’t a big-time hockey player? What if five years ago, he came home with Gus for the holidays, and that was it? We fell in love. Game over. Or maybe he’d have recognized his feelings before Tyler and I dated. Perhaps we would have fallen in love with softer versions of ourselves, ones that didn’t know all the heartbreak I’ve lived through or had a list of conquests as long as Jack’s had become.
I’d joke about Veronica Burke, and Jack would blush because she was an actress he thought was pretty and nothing more. We’d snuggle and watch hockey games, maybe roast s’mores by the fire, and neither of us would know that there was a world where the pieces fit but the pictures didn’t match.
Mr. Gardiner moves ahead. We slide up, occupying his space, and that’s when I see it.
The reason everyone is staring and whispering. The reason we were vehemently heckled over a crate of pumpkins and why Mr. Gardiner thinks he’s seen anything.
A lone newspaper sits on theChawton Falls Chroniclenewsstand. The headline in big, bold letters reads, “The Badboy of the NHL Plays the OG at the Annual Chawton Falls in Love with Jane Austen Festival.” A picture of Jack caging me with his body, his leg wedged between mine, and an absolute look of decimation on my face, covers the front page. If he sees this, there’s no way he won’t know how bad I have it for him.
I grab the newspaper in a flash and clutch it behind my back.
Jack cocks his head to the side. “What do you have there?”
“Nothing,” I say way too fast and suspiciously.
“Come on, kitten, give it over.” He motions, and the name does little to help calm my nerves.
“Give what over? I said it was nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” His stare stays heavy and unnerving. But he shrugs it off and faces forward again.
I breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing my shoulders.
In a sudden movement, Jack puts his arm around me, pressing me against his chest and reaching behind me. I should have known better than to let my guard down. Who did I think I was dealing with? An adult?
That cable-knit sweater is doing things to my head.
“Really it—”
“Doesn’t feel like nothing. Feels like a newspaper to me. What the hell are you trying to hide, Dessy?”
Slowly, he peels my fingers off and plucks the paper out of my hands. “Gotcha.”
“No. Jack, I—please, don’t. It’s embarrassing for me.”
“I can help whoever is next down here,” Gabbie, one of my former classmates, calls down at her counter station. It’s our turn, and I resign myself to humiliation, walking to the register. Jack puts the newspaper back on the stand face down, without ever glancing at the front page.
As I tilt my head in confusion, he meets my gaze and offers a nonchalant shrug in response. “I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. If you don’t want me looking at whatever it is, I won’t. I just wanted an excuse to touch you, anyway.” He nudges me with his shoulder and hands Gabbie his credit card. A playful smile dances on his lips and sends tingles down my spine.
Wait. Is Jack flirting withme?Maybe thisisan alternate reality.
* * *
