“I might have,” he answered, his eyes dancing with humor.
“Why? That’s rude. You can’t just take my picture. What are you going to do with it?”
“Eve, you’re fully dressed, hard at work. What do you object to about that? I refrained from taking a picture when you were asleep in that delicious pink silk number.” His smirk grew broader with the memory and my cheeks flamed. Had he been watching me sleep? That was disturbing. And had I drooled?
“Go back to work, Eve. I’ll let you know when we’re close.”
I resolutely returned to my files, surprisingly making some progress on the number juggling. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jack typing on his phone. He was engaged with his phone, alternately typing and looking (Was he texting someone? Who?) and when he finally turned off his phone and slipped it into his bag he looked like he was silently laughing.
“Ok, what is it, Jack? What’s so funny? Out with it.”
“Are you sure you want to know, Eve? Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”
“Yes, I want to know. Why are you laughing?”
Shrugging, as if to say, ‘you asked for it’, he dug out his phone and handed it to me. My jaw dropped. Literally. Staring at his phone’s lock screen I had no words. It was an obviously AI-generated image. Of me. As a Valkyrie. With long blond braids and a warrior maiden outfit complete with horned helmet. Crouched in a battle position. Wielding two pieces of carry-on luggage.
Jack was quaking with silent laughter, tears streaming down his face as he took back his phone.
“Jack, take that off right now.”
“Why? It’s not hurting anyone,” he defended his insane art choice.
I made to grab the phone back, and he held it high, playing a childish game of keep away. “Hon, you can’t erase it. The phone’s locked. Plus, I’m kind of in love with it. I’m thinking of how good that would look printed up as a poster. My walls are kind of bare…”
I rolled my eyes as hard as I could. “Fine, Jack, have your Norwegian fantasy. But please have the courtesy to not link my name to it.”
Still laughing, he nodded. “Don’t worry, Eve. Your secret identity is safe with me.”
I turned my back on him, attempting to regain my composure. How did he manage to always get to me? As unsettled as I was, I was not being very productive, but I had to at least pretend to work so that I wasn’t fighting with him. But was that it? Was it the fighting I was avoiding, or was it how much I enjoyed sparring with him?
He broke into my reverie. “You still owe me a story, you know.”
“What are you talking about? How do I owe you a story?”
“When you told me how you’re half French and half Norwegian, I asked how you came to live in Paris. And you said that was a story for another day. Well, today’s another day. So, spill the beans.”
The sadness settled over me like a cloak. I did not wish to share this story. Sensing the change in mood, he took one of my hands and clasped it in his. “I’m sorry, hon, if this is distressing for you. You don’t have to tell me.”
Somehow his permission to not tell the tale made me wish to share it with him. With a small, sad sigh I began.
“When I was ten years old, my parents were in a car accident. They both died in the crash. My grandmother flew to Minnesota, helped me to deal with the detritus of death and then flew me to Paris to live with her. She raised me and I owe her so much. I call her every week and go to see her a couple of times a year, but I still miss seeing her. She is a wonderful woman, so kind and generous. If I hadn’t had her, I don’t know where I would be right now.”
Jack absorbed this thoughtfully, rubbing my hand gently. “I’m so sorry, hon. I didn’t know it was a sad story, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s OK, Jack. We all have our sad stories, don’t we? And sometimes it’s nice to take them out and share them with someone who listens and cares. I generally don’t tell people, but somehow, I know I can trust you.”
He gave a little half-grin. “But you’d still lock the bathroom door, right?”
“Absolutely, Jack. Now please let me finish this. I need to get some more done before we land.”
He released my hand and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Occasionally, I’d dart a sideways glance, but he seemed quite content to be still.
When the captain announced that we’d be landing soon, I repacked my laptop into my bag and looked over at Jack. He’d fallen asleep. There was a sweet vulnerability to him when he was asleep. His soft curls framed his face, matching his ridiculously long eyelashes. It just wasn’t fair that he should have curlsandlong eyelashes. My hands itched to touch his hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. I’d slept with the man twice and I’d never managed to find a way to run my hands through his curls? Stupid Eve.
I gently touched his shoulder, and he came awake with a start. Momentarily disoriented by his surroundings, his eyes found me, and he smiled widely. “I could get used to waking up with you.” Flutters invaded my chest as I realized he was not alone in that sentiment. It would be all too easy to get used to Jack. But I knew he’d drive me crazy. And he’d get tired of me. And then he’d leave. And I’d be shattered.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I said, “We’re almost there.” There was an echo of sadness in my voice that I couldn’t hide. I knew that landing in New York was an ending. Well, I’d just have to focus on what a gift I’d been given in the past three days. I’d gotten to meet Jack Garcia. And spend time with him in a way any of his fans would probably kill for. That would have to be enough.
