The truck came to a screeching halt in the middle of the two-lane road.Jacklooked over at me. “Youfinished—wait.Youdon’t mean . . .”
Pride crept across my chest like morning glory vines that kept coming back to life no matter how much they were cut down. “Ifinished the book.TheoneIwas supposed to write afterPetrichor.Theday after my surprise party, you had your first shift back at work, soWhitney,Willow, andIgot snacks and had a writing marathon and ended up pulling an all-nighter.That’swhyIcame over and slept with you this morning when you got off duty.Andthen you asked me out on a real date, andIkind of freaked out.Butthat’s beside the point.Imean, the book is total shit, and it’ll need loads of editing, andIdon’t even know whatI’mgoing to do with it, butIfinished it.That’sgotta count for something.”
Jack fisted the back of my hair and kissed me right there in the middle of the road.Ahorn honked behind us as we pulled apart.Jackstuck his hand out the window and offered an apologetic wave to the other driver as they swerved around us.
“You’re incredible,” he said as he wiped my lip to tidy up the lipstick he had impulsively smeared.
I pulled down the visor and flipped open the mirror to check my appearance asJackeased onto the gas before we got rear-ended.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,Roar.”
AndIbelieved him.
“But why were you freaking out about going on a date?Wego out all the time.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “Becauseyou see me.Andbeing known is one of the most terrifying and exhilarating senses."
30
JACK
SOUNDS LIKE A COUNTRY SONG
“How’s your beer?”Iasked asItraced the delicate bones on the top ofAurora’shand.
She smiled over the lip of the bottle. “Fantastic.How’sthe wine?”
I swirled my glass and took a sip. “Fantastic.”
Dinner and dessert were long gone.Welingered at our table, letting it digest as we sipped our respective beverages and shared coy glances and sly smiles.
“You know, you didn’t strike me as a wine guy,”Aurorasaid when she had reduced the beer to suds. “I’veonly seen you drink whiskey and beer.”
I studied her delicate features beneath the glow of artfully exposed bulbs and flickering candlelight. “Iprefer wine, butIdrink beer with you and whiskey because of you.”
Aurora blushed. “Soundslike a country song.”
We sat in silence, thinking about the night we had thrown caution to the wind.
“My mom is into wine,”Isaid, finally breaking the silence. “Shetaught me about all the varietals of grapes and how growing conditions affect the taste.It’sfascinating.”
Her smile was soft, but the twitch of her mouth made her eyes crease at the corners. “I’vealways wondered what makes you light up.”
“We were supposed to go on a trip toNapawhenIturned twenty-one.”
Melancholy settled over us like a dense winter fog as soon as it came out of my mouth, butAurorawasn’t thrown off.
She slid her hand into mine. “Butyour brother passed away.”
“Yeah.Wecancelled.Neitherof us felt like celebrating anything.”
Her lithe fingers squeezed my palm. “Haveyou been since?”
I shook my head.
“You should.Griefdoesn’t negate joy.Theyexist in tandem.Youcan mourn part of your life and still celebrate the beautiful parts.”
She was the beautiful part.
