She chuckled and walked to him. “Thank you.” She grabbed the mug.
Jack kissed her cheek. “I could get used to this, seeing you first thing in the morning, making you breakfast, drinking coffee with you.”
What would that life be like—a life where a handsome manwantedto be with her every morning? Hope rose inside her, hesitant and unpracticed, as though it wasn’t sure if it was safe to stretch out. She sipped the coffee and hummed in approval as the warmth slid down her throat and filled her chest.
Jack had set the table for two, and Stella sat in one of the chairs. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, ma’am. I have this under control.” He removed the biscuits from the oven. Their buttery scent filled the kitchen, and her stomach growled in response. “How’d you sleep?”
Stella glanced at the couch. “Not bad. For a couch.” She’d never slept on a couch with anyone before. She assumed it would be too uncomfortable and cramped to sleep much, but it hadn’t been that bad. She’d been content to sleep pressed against Jack’s side with her head on his chest. Once she’d fallen asleep, she didn’t remember anything else about the night other than having a sense of peace and relaxation. “You?”
“Like a dream,” he said and winked. “Like I said, I could get used to this.”
While he finished making breakfast, Stella reached for a paper napkin and a pen left behind on the table. Words blew through her like a traveling breeze.
Your shadow on the wall quickens my pulse,
the outline of your sleeping form
illuminated by the starlight.
The heat of you stretching across the couch,
reaching me and pulling me nearer.
The steady rise and fall, the calming sound
of your sleepy breaths,
pressing me into sleep.
In this half dream,
if we can make promises
that we don’t have to keep,
will you promise to never leave?
She folded the napkin in half and slid it to the side of the table. The song changed on the record, and Stella watched Jack, allowing herself to savor this time with him. For a brief moment she thought about the purple words from yesterday and their reference to an excruciatingly handsome man. Whose story were they telling? Hers? Would more be coming? She opened her eyes just as Jack brought over the food. Were the words connected to Jack?
“This is extravagant,” Stella said. She filled her plate with scrambled eggs, pieces of bacon, and a biscuit covered with melting butter. “I can’t remember the last time I had a sit-down breakfast. Maybe it was when we celebrated Arnie’s birthday and went over to Grits & Gravy, the diner up the street.”
Jack slathered jelly on his steaming biscuit. “My brothers couldn’t be bothered with the kitchen, but I remember being fascinated by my mama cooking and baking. She’d pull a chair over to the counter when I was young, and she’d let me help her with the easy stuff—rolling out biscuits or mixing cookie dough. When I got older, I cooked a lot because I enjoyed it.”
Stella swallowed a mouthful of eggs and reached for her coffee. “Your author created all that backstory?”
Jack shrugged. “No idea,” he said and then chuckled. “But it’s all here.” He tapped the side of his head.
“I’m an awful cook, but I’m a whiz with the microwave.” After a sip, she asked, “Do you know what a microwave is?”
Jack laughed. “Of course. I’ve been here enough to learn more about technology. As for cooking, I can teach you.”
Stella almost smiled, but she instantly realized that if Jack were to teach her how to cook, he’d have to be around, and according to the time clock in her head, he would be gone in less than three days.Gone.
He reached over and touched her hand. “You okay?”
She breathed past the tightening in her chest.Enjoy yourself while you can. You knew this was temporary. But life is temporary. Hold on to this moment.She let her eyes trail over his handsome face, the straight lines of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
