I head into the main living room, which is anchored by a ginormous gray sectional piled high with pillows in varying shades of blue. A TV the size of my bed hangs on the opposite wall, over a gray brick fireplace. To the left of the living room is an entire wall made of glass, the sunlight sparkling off the water like diamonds. The walls are all a muted cream, with nothing hanging on them, though I notice several spots of slightly discolored paint, like the photos and artwork that once hung there have all been removed. I frown a little to myself. I was hoping for some family portraits, anything to give me a glimpse into Jack’s childhood.
Jack emerges from the kitchen, where’s he stashed all the road trip snacks I never got a chance to even open. “Ready to see your room?”
“Fuck yeah. Lead the way.”
He takes me upstairs and all the way down the hall to the last room on the back side of the house. “This is my favorite of the guest rooms.”
Because there’s more than one guest room. Obviously.
Pushing open the door, I immediately come to a dead stop. “Would it be rude for me to ask if I could move in here instead of living in the brownstone?”
Jack laughs softly and nudges me farther into the space.
The hardwood floors are softened with a plush white rug. The bed is bigger than any my butt’s ever had the privilege of being on, dressed all in white super-soft linens and loads of pillows. French doors lead out to a balcony overlooking the water, but when I fully enter the room, my attention doesn’t snag on the killer view.
Instead I cross over to the foot of the bed, dropping my bag and staring at the painting hanging over the headboard. It’s so detailed it could almost pass for a photograph; in fact, I have to squint to make sure it’s actually a painting. It’s a beach scene, similar to the one just outside the windows. The sand looks like I could reach in and scoop it up, let it trickle through my fingers. The facets of the water catch every shade of blue. But what really captures my attention are the three figures walking down the beach, feet in the water, hands joined. In the middle is a little boy, probably about six or seven, with dark curls and bright green eyes. The woman on his left has matching curls, the man the same emerald eyes.
My breath hitches in my chest. I can feel the weight and heat of him as he moves to stand behind me. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mother’s favorite.”
“I can see why.” Reaching back, I find his hand, tucking mine into his grasp. “Are you sure you want me to stay in here?”
“Absolutely.” His fingers tighten around mine.
We stand there in silence for a few minutes. I can’t move my eyes from the piece of art, but Jack’s gaze flickers back and forth between me and the painting.
He breaks the spell first. “How about a swim?”
I nod, not sure I can form actual words right now. It’s a lot. Being here, in this room, seeing Jack’s parents, seeing the home he grew up in. This sliver of his soul. It all sits heavily on my chest, and I’m grateful when he ducks out to let me change, telling me he’ll meet me downstairs.
I finally rip my eyes from the painting, quickly changing into my suit and throwing a T-shirt dress over it. Sliding my feet into flip-flops, I pull my hair into a ponytail and head down the stairs.
Jack’s already waiting for me in just his suit, and I’m glad this isn’t the first time I’m seeing him shirtless, because the overload of feeling might push me into some kind of spontaneous combustion. He’s got two towels tucked under one arm. He reaches out the other, and I slide my hand into his.
I’m telling myself all this physical contact can be chalked up to the influx of emotions from being here, in this space, and Jack’s needing my care and friendship.
In reality, I just really like the way his hand wraps around mine. It’s protective and supportive, and the simple brush of his skin warms my entire body.
Jack tosses our towels on a lounge chair on the concrete patio inthe back of the house. “You probably want to leave your shoes and dress here. Sometimes the tide comes up quick.”
I kick off my flip-flops and tug the dress over my head.
Jack’s eyes trace me from the tips of my toes up to the top of my messy ponytail, a warm smile heating his gaze.
But he doesn’t say anything, just offers his hand again, leading me down a small set of stone steps to the sandy beach. The beach itself is a thin strip of sand, not enough for lying out or picnicking, and given there’s only a couple of other houses nearby, it’s empty.
We wade in up to our waists, the water cold and a little biting, but the afternoon sun is still warm, and the chill helps shake me back to my senses. A little bit at least.
Jack left his glasses in the house, so for once my view of his eyes is completely unobstructed. I pay attention to the way they change color based on the topic at hand, like some kind of permanent mood ring.
For a while we chitchat about nothing. Bravo gossip, how business is going, whether Jack needs to upgrade to the latest edition of some video game thing.
But then the quiet falls as the sun begins to set. A little bit of a chill cools the air, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms.
Jack trails a finger from my shoulder down to where the water meets my hands, doing nothing to help the whole goose bump situation. “Do you want to head back inside?”
Shaking my head, I cross my arms around myself to bring a little warmth. “It’s too pretty to leave now.”
