58. Chapter 57
J enna
Jenna opened the door one rainy morning to find Troy standing on the stoop with an apologetic smile and two large takeaway cups in his hands.
Over the past two weeks, he had appeared at her doorstep every morning bearing something she liked: black coffee with a dash of cinnamon, or a chai latte, or once even croissants from that tiny bakery she loved.
Today, he was soaked from the drizzle, his dark hoodie clinging to his body in a way that made her stomach tighten despite herself.
The wet fabric moulded to the broad planes of his chest, outlining muscles she had once traced in the dark.
She was not going to notice that.
Behind her, Dani's voice floated down the hall. "Oh my God, he's back again. What's it today, flowers? Chocolates? A boombox over his head?"
Dylan, slumped on the couch with his phone, muttered, "If it's a boombox, I'm moving out."
Troy, still dripping on her doorstep, arched an amused brow. "Morning to you, too, Dani. Dylan."
Dylan didn't even look up. "Still here, huh?"
Troy, oblivious to her internal struggle, offered her a cup with a small grin. "I'll survive. I, uh... remember you said you only drink black coffee on rainy days."
"That was a long time ago," she murmured, stepping aside to let him in out of habit. The memory of her once-routine coffee preference stole her breath for a moment. Troy remembered more than she wanted to believe.
They settled at the small kitchen table, the warmth of the coffee momentarily filling the silence. She felt the tension in the air shift- the old, familiar rhythm threatened to return, but then the memory of the neglect and heartbreak forced its way between them.
"How was your run?" Jenna asked, because she wasn't sure what else to say.
He shrugged. "It's my new thing. Clears my head. I'd love for you to join me for a walk in the evenings, though I know you hate jogging. Maybe we could-"
She held up a hand. "Troy, please. Don't push. I'm not... I'm not there yet."
He pressed his lips together. "Okay. I get it."
They finished their coffees in a silence that felt both comfortable and fraught. Then Troy rose, pulling the hood over his damp hair. "I'll see you around," he said quietly, stepping back into the drizzle.
Jenna shut the door slowly, uncertain which unsettled her more: the way he tried so hard or the fleeting moments she almost wished he wouldn't give up.
Later that week, he tried again.
She was in the process of finishing a freelance design on her tablet when the doorbell rang. Standing there, no hoodie this time, but instead in a crisp shirt and slacks, Troy extended a small envelope.
Jenna blinked. "What-no wet puppy act today?"
Troy smiled, the dimple on his left cheek making an appearance. "Figured I'd switch tactics. "
She arched a brow but took the envelope, fingers hesitating on the seal. "What is this?"
"A gallery opening tonight," he said, voice subdued. "It's by Elise Martens-she's that impressionist painter you used to talk about."
That hit its mark. Jenna drew in a breath. She had once dropped hints to him-barely disguised pleas, really-to take her to one of Elise Martens's exclusive shows. Back then, Troy hadn't paid attention. Too busy, or so he claimed. Eventually, she'd stopped asking.
"My friend Grace and I can go on our own," Jenna said, reflexively defensive, unsure whether she was more tempted or more annoyed that he suddenly cared. "I don't need your invitation."
Troy's smile faded slightly, but his tone remained gentle. "You could -except this one is by invitation only. And I happen to have two."
Jenna stilled. That changed thing. She had tried and failed to get an invite to an event like this before. The exclusivity made it nearly impossible.
His gaze softened, watching her battle with herself. "I'm trying to make it up to you, Jenna. I know I messed up... a lot of things. Let me do this one thing right."
For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at the envelope in his hand. She could practically feel how badly he wanted this small victory, and a flicker of old warmth tugged at her defences.
"Fine," she said at last. "But I won't stay long. And don't expect me to play the adoring wife."
A flash of relief flickered in his eyes. "Understood. Thank you."
That evening, she stood in front of the mirror, hating the way her pulse quickened at the idea of going out with Troy.
She chose a simple, elegant black dress, more subdued than the flamboyant pieces she used to wear to impress him.
Her hair was pinned up in a neat chignon, faint wisps framing her face.
If he noticed the extra care, she told herself, it was only because she wouldn't want to embarrass herself in front of one of her favourite artists.
When Troy arrived to pick her up, Jenna was not prepared for the sight of him in a tailored navy suit. It was annoying how good he looked, how the fine fabric stretched over broad shoulders she had once found comfort in. She always loved his shoulder. And hands. And many other parts of his body.
Dani had given her an obnoxiously knowing look earlier that day.
"So, let me get this straight. You're going to a fancy event with your very rich, very stupidly attractive almost-maybe not-ex? And you expect me not to ship this?"
Dylan had been less invested. "This is the worst idea I've ever heard. But sure, let's pretend this isn't a terrible rom-com in the making."
Jenna had ignored them both.
Troy, oblivious to her spiralling thoughts, gave her a once-over that lasted just a little too long and lingered on her boobs."You look..." He caught himself and cleared his throat, adjusting his cufflinks. "Beautiful."
Jenna rolled her eyes. Men will always be men. "Let's go before I change my mind."