He smirks and strolls past me toward the bathroom, pausing at the doorway to look back. “It’s nothing. I just prefer seeing you in my shirts.” Then he winks and shuts the door, leaving me slack-jawed and frozen.
Did Jack Jackson just flirt with me?
Be still, my fickle heart.
Who is this man, and what has he done with the mostly grumpy and reserved Jack? Maybe my adorableness factor got to be too much for him, and he’s finally accepting his fate.
A girl can dream, right?
One flirty line doesn’t suddenly mean he’s changed his mind, I remind myself. I should be careful and mature and maintain the unspoken distance we’ve wedged between us.
I blow out a noisy breath, sinking onto the end of the bed to search for my phone. It vibrates incessantly with incoming notifications as soon as I turn it on.
Hayley:
*Photo of Giorgio attacking a puppycino*
Mom:
*Photo of Beyonsai*
I hope you’re alive out there! Call me before you head home.
Dad:
Scheduled your intern interview for Tuesday. Call me soon.
My shoulders deflate at the reminder that I’m about to disappoint my parents, but the churning in the pit of my stomach is no longer there when I think about breaking thenews to them. I may still be scared as heck to do it, but the choice is easy now.
I send them both vague texts with an assurance that I’ll call them soon. Marigold lies at my feet, and I pull her to my lap, sliding my new collection of clothes into her and running my hands over the multiple snags and tears. She and I both came out of this a little roughed up, but I think we’ve learned that we’re capable of more than we thought.
Jack steps out of the bathroom, his freshly trimmed beard highlighting his sharp jawline, and the smoldering look he gives me hooks me right in the heart. Those slate eyes are burned into my very being. I must stare too long, because the concern he carries on his furrowed brow is pointed my way.
“You okay?” He steps forward, placing the back of his hand on my forehead.
“Yup.”
Just wallowing in a pit of despair and mourning the possibility of never snuggling your ridiculously handsome face again. All good.
“I need to get the rest of my things from your backpack. I can carry them now,” I say, lifting Marigold.
He snorts like I’ve told him I can lift a two-ton truck with one hand. “You can get it once we’re at the South Rim. I’ll carry everything till then.”
Right. Till it’s time for us to go our separate ways.
I shoot him a glare, which he ignores.
“You’re taking the shuttle, too?” I ask, tilting my head in question. I mean, I know he’s using one of the park ranger cars, but maybe they need to remain on whatever rim they’re on. I’massumingJack is staying near me because of the wholemurderer-on-the-loose thing. But for some reason, it’s hard to imagine him on the shuttle like all the regular folk. I guess Ipictured him as some kind of god amongst us mere mortals, using a magical rainbow bridge to cross to the other side.
“Neither of us is taking the shuttle,” he says, opening the door and grabbing everything besides the empty brown paper gift bag.
“Whuh—why? I can carry something, you know.”
“I know. I left that for you.” His eyes dart to the empty bag before he walks out the door. “And Owen texted, the helicopter that’ll take us to the other side leaves in an hour.”
I mindlessly pick up the paper bag, sluggishly following after Jack as my brain plays catch-up. “We’re taking a helicopter?”
“Yup.”
