36. Now
36
NOW
Jack sprawled across the big white bed in the cabin , like he could sink into it and never get up. After Brooke had found dried mix and made something resembling pancakes, she sat cross-legged in the oversize bed, clutching her notebook to her chest. “Want to read my story?”
Jack’s heart nearly tumbled from his chest. “Badly.” He sat up and mirrored her pose, their knees touching. He took the notebook from her gently, knowing this was a precious and delicate thing. Not only was he infinitely proud of her for writing her own stories again, but he was also honored that she’d trust him with her words after everything that’d happened. It was a gesture he didn’t take lightly.
“I remember this loopy handwriting,” he said with a wide grin, remembering the way it felt to be privy to her innermost thoughts, to be the first one to read her work.
He started reading, immediately distracted by the intensity of her gaze on him. She pulled the sleeves of her teal fleece over her knuckles and tipped her chin into the collar while she watched his face for any sign of reaction.
“Stop it, you’re making me nervous.”
“Read faster, you’re making me nervous.”
“Shush,” he told her and went back to her notebook.
He slipped a finger underneath the pages before he was ready to turn them, his thumb absentmindedly flexing over the blue lines along the edge. When he did turn pages, he did it reverently, slipping each one carefully around the spiral binding.
He smiled at the description of the wind as a circus—riding around on a unicycle, honking horns, and generally making a ruckus about nothing at all—and Brooke leaned over to see what he was reading. He gave her a look meant for a naughty child and pulled the notebook away.
Brooke took a deep breath and held it in puffed cheeks. By the time Jack finished and laid the notebook on his knee, she let out the breath in a rush and fell back onto the pillows. “Okay, tell me. But don’t hit me while I’m down.”
“For the record, you knocked your own self down.”
She sat up with a smile and then bounced in place, impatient for him to continue.
“It’s amazing. The setting is stunning, but the main character… I can feel her pain and longing. It’s wonderfully drawn,” he said truthfully. Brooke was incredibly talented. Even this new chapter had so much more movement and depth than the stories he’d read of hers in uni.
“It’s just a start.”
“Don’t diminish it. Starting is the hardest part. And starting again …even harder.” He hadn’t meant to repeat the words she’d told him when he first had a photo credit, but Brooke’s eyes turned soft.
“Yeah. It is,” she agreed, and that look made him think she meant about starting things with him, too. It tugged the breath from his chest.
He wanted her to know how much he cherished her words, wanted to mark this occasion. Since he didn’t have chocolate cake or champagne, he did the next best thing.
He got out of bed and found his camera, coming back and tugging off the lens cap. He stood at the edge of the bed and zoomed in on her notebook.
“Gonna put that up on your refrigerator with a little ABC magnet?”
He captured Brooke’s teasing smile and the little eye roll when she noticed his change in subject. “It’s art. I’m putting it in a gilded frame. I remember your big dreams.” Would do anything to help her reach them.
He met her eye over the top of the viewfinder and watched hers go wide and weepy. He clicked the button to capture that, too, as Brooke tugged at his boxer briefs and yanked him back onto the bed. “Careful of the equipment,” he teased, setting his camera on the nightstand with his good knee braced on the mattress.
Brooke’s hair curved around her face, falling from her messy bun. Shorts capped her strong thighs where she sat cross-legged and her wooly white socks were pulled halfway up her calves. She held herself still, her back straight, and drew in a deep breath. “You make me feel so good about myself. Like you genuinely believe in me—”
“I do.” She was the most creative and driven and thoughtful person he’d ever known.
Brooke ran the backs of her fingers against the stubble on Jack’s cheeks. “It makes me believe in me, too. When we get back to town, I’m going to turn down the ghostwriting job. I want to give my own work a chance.”
Jack sank onto the bed, his heart swelling at her courage. At the bet she was placing on herself.
“And I want to give this a chance, too,” she said, sliding her hand into his.
Dizzying relief flooded Jack’s head. “That’s good news be cause I’ve been planning to date the hell out of you. It’s been on my bucket list for nearly a decade. See the northern lights. Photograph the Grand Canyon. Date Brooke Sinclair.”
Her eyes lit up like a summer sky. “You wanna go steady? I’ve still got my letterman jacket. You’d look great in navy blue.”
“I want to be your lover and your partner and your best friend.”
Her eyes went misty when they reached his and she cupped his jaw, ran her thumb over his bottom lip. “Deal.”
He pulled Brooke into his lap and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Kissing her felt brand-new and just the same and so bloody perfect. Their lips pressed together and held. He breathed her in, clung to the stillness and peace he felt in her embrace.
He slid his hands up and down her thighs and then rubbed circles into the arch of her foot. She moaned a deep and satisfied sound.
“Seriously? You did not make that sound last night. I’m offended.”
Brooke bit her lip but didn’t restrain her smile in the least. “You’re going to have to try harder to please me.”
He tickled the bottom of her foot and she yelped and pushed backward off him, landing on her back. Pinning her flailing ankle, Jack leaned over her, kissed across her stomach, over her chest, and up the column of her throat. “I will dedicate my life to it.”
Her hands slid into his hair, tipping him back to look at her, her eyes serious. “It’s off to a good start.”