“You will,” Bridget says, steering me to the car.
It isn’t a question, and honestly, I don’t have the bandwidth to argue. I let them fold me into the warm back seat of the Subaru while Bridget digs a packet of wet wipes from the glove box.
“That’ll come right out.”
I scrub my coat as Kathleen settles into the driver’s seat. She peeks over and grins at me. “Glad we ran into you when we did.”
I have a hundred questions, mainly why they’re bringing me to lunch when they’re here to see Jack.
“We were coming to steal him,” Bridget says, nodding toward the rink.
I stare at the back of the headrest. “I, um, I actually brought him lunch.”
Silence. Then Bridget makes a noise that is almost certainly delight poorly disguised as a cough.
“Did you,” Kathleen says. Not a question.
“Well, you’re in luck.” Bridget claps her hands together. “We’ll take you instead.”
I peek between the two of them. “Yeah, okay.”
“Wonderful,” Bridget turns in her seat with small, happy shimmy.
Tucked into a small booth at the Oyster and Pearl, we order clam chowder and break into a basket of crusty bread.
Kathleen waits until I’ve had a few sips of my iced tea before she looks over at me. “Jack said you’ve been wicked busy at the store. Hope you’re making time for yourself in all that.”
It’s such a small thing to say. I don’t know why it makes my throat tight.
“Trying to,” I manage finally.
She hums and reaches for another slice of bread, letting me off the hook without making it a thing, before she and Bridget start sharing their favorite stories of Jack.
About how, when he was eight, he would run the beach in all his gear, determined to grow muscles. Those were his exact words, apparently. About when he was twelve, he was determined to get a hat trick and practiced for hours in the driveway before perfecting his slapshot by sending the puck through the screen door. By the time the check comes, I’ve only thought about the look on his face when I left twice.
Bridget covers my hand with hers on the walk back to the car. “He doesn’t let people in easily,” she says. “Never has. Prefers to hide behind that grin of his and those charming dimples.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“But he let you in.” She says it simply, like it explains everything.
Maybe it does.
Chapter 23
Izzy
Idon’t remember deciding this became my spot. But it did.
I recline back on Jack’s extra-deep couch and stare up at the ceiling soaring overhead of his penthouse. The gas fireplace keeps the open living space toasty, but I’m still snuggled up in his sweatshirt and a big knitted blanket. A candle flickers on the spotless kitchen counter, reminding me that in a few short months, the first breath of spring will meet with the salty breeze in Merritt Point.
Usually, I don’t like rushing through the seasons. There’s magic to Christmas and winter. But we broke every rule we made, I said what I said, and nothing has come of it. We just exist in it, waiting for the other to flinch first. The early dark afternoons now that it’s December don’t help.
I sit back up, grab my laptop, and dive back into the mountain of work I need to sort through for the shop. I probably should have stayed home, but when Jack asked if I wanted to spend my day off at his place, I was curious.
Because this could be a reality. We’ve made it work so far with the hectic Breakers schedule and the shop.
But he doesn’t love you.
