Chapter Four
Jack
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J INNIE STEPS OUT OF her tiny house when I pull up. For a second, I forget how to breathe. She’s wearing a pretty sundress with her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. When she meets my gaze, she smiles.
Thunderstruck.
I’ve never really understood what that meant, but I do now. It feels like a donkey kick right in my chest. She takes my breath away.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
I hop out of the truck and run around to open the door for her.
“Hi,” she says. There’s a legit sparkle in her eyes that turns me inside out.
“Hello.”
She brushes against me as she climbs in, leaving a trace of vanilla and something citrusy in her wake.
“You clean up nice,” she says, eyeing my button-down as I slide into the driver’s seat.
I grin. “Had to match your level. Everyone can see I’m punching above my weight, but I have to at least try.”
She laughs. “I think we both know you’re the one everyone’s looking at.”
I wink and close the door before walking around the front to slide into the driver’s seat. This is what we need. This morning we were a little off, but we’re good now. We’ve got it figured out. At least, I think we will figure it out.
I bounce down her driveway and hit the open road. Jinnie rolls down her window, letting the warm evening air rush in.
“So,” I say, glancing at her. “Any more thoughts about Sam?”
She sighs and shakes her head. “Just that I hope whatever he wants is easy. I’m nervous.”
“About?”
“I don’t know what he could want from me.”
“He doesn’t get to take anything from you, Jinnie,” I say, trying to sound confident even though the thought of him trying to claw his way back into her life makes my blood boil.
She doesn’t respond right away, just stares out the window at the passing fields. “What if he wants something I can’t give him?”
“Like what?”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking to mine and then away again. “I don’t know. Money. Property. Or... something else.”
“Something else?” I prompt, though I already know what she’s hinting at. The idea sits like a rock in my gut.
She exhales sharply, her shoulders slumping. “What if he wants me back?”
I know that’s a strong possibility. The guy was a moron for walking out on her. He had to have suffered some kind of stroke to do something that stupid. But my worry is how much she is holding onto. Is she angry or hurt? If she is either, that implies she still has some feelings for him.
“What if he does?” I ask. “What will you do?”
She shakes her head. “Decline the oh-so tempting offer,” she says sarcastically. “I just want this disaster over. The quicker the better. I want to get rid of him once and for all.”
The words land wrong. A sharp little twist in my gut. Get rid of him. Like she might one day want to get rid of me. Like this thing between us is temporary.
When she gets tired of me or decides I’m too much work, is she going to want to kick me to the curb? I still don’t really know what went wrong between her and her husband. It seems like she was fine with things and he’s the one who walked away. Why? I look at her and I see the kind of woman I’d fight giants for. What makes a man up and walk away?
Did she push him away? Was she the one who got bored? She said it was an impulsive mistake. Maybe she shut down and made it clear she didn’t want him around and he took the hint.
What if she sees Sam again and changes her mind? What if—
“I’ll give you ten bucks if you tell me what’s on your mind,” Jinnie says suddenly, laughing.
I blink. “What?”
She gestures out the windshield. “You passed the street four blocks ago. Where’s your head at?”
Shit . I glance in the rearview mirror. She’s right—the turn for the restaurant is long behind us.
“Damn.” I rub the back of my neck, forcing a chuckle. “Guess I was distracted.”
“By?”
By you. By us. By whether I’m just another guy you’ll want to ‘get rid of’ one day.
“Just stuff,” I say instead, making a U-turn at the next light. “My dad. The farm. The usual.”
Jinnie studies me for a beat, then nods, accepting the half-truth. “Well, for tonight, let’s pretend none of that exists. Just you, me, and whatever greasy appetizers this place serves.”
I squeeze her hand. “Deal.”
The restaurant is packed, buzzing with Friday night energy. We’re seated in a corner booth. I feel a few people looking at me. Or maybe they’re looking at her.
She’s beautiful. I take a sip of my water and study her. She’s put on makeup tonight. It highlights her natural beauty instead of looking like spackle.
“You’re staring again,” she says without looking up.
“Can’t help it.”
She peeks over the menu, that sparkle back in her eyes. “Cheesy.”
“Accurate.”
The waiter comes, and we order—some fried monstrosity to share, burgers, fries, and milkshakes. It’s the meal I wanted to have earlier when she shut me down. It’s my comfort food. The food arrives quickly, and for a while, it’s easy. Just us, stealing fries from each other’s plates, laughing too loud at stupid jokes.
But beneath it all, the tension hums.
Every time Jinnie checks her phone, my stomach knots.
Every time someone glances our way, I wonder if they’re judging us.
Every time Jinnie smiles at me, I wonder how long it’ll last.
“So, what’s winter like around here? I mean, I know it’s not Wisconsin-level cold, but is it bad?”
She raises an eyebrow at me, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Big, bad winter expert over there,” she teases. “I bet you’re one of those guys who brags about how you shoveled snow uphill both ways just to get to school?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not exactly. But yeah, winters back home are brutal. Negative temps, feet of snow, wind that feels like it’s peeling your skin off. You learn real quick how to bundle up.”
Jinnie waves a hand dismissively. “Please. Southern Illinois winters are basically a mild inconvenience compared to that. Sure, it gets cold—like, maybe down into the teens sometimes. And yeah, we get ice storms that shut everything down because no one here knows how to drive in it.” She pauses, her smirk widening. “But we don’t get that ‘arctic tundra’ vibe you’re used to. No frozen eyelashes or icicles hanging off your beard.”
“No icicles?” I feign disappointment, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “What’s even the point of winter without icicles?”
“How do the cows handle that kind of cold?”
I groan. “It’s a nightmare for us.”
“How so?”
“Winter’s the worst for the farm,” I admit, leaning forward on the table. “Cows aren’t exactly fans of sub-zero temps. We have to break ice out of their water troughs every morning, sometimes twice a day if it’s really cold. And forget about getting them to move—they’ll huddle together like a bunch of stubborn teenagers refusing to leave their warm beds.”
Jinnie laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can’t even imagine. I’d probably be one of those cows, honestly. Give me a blanket and a warm spot, and I’m not moving until spring.”
“Yeah, but you’re a lot cuter than a cow,” I say, grinning.
She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. “Smooth talker.”
“Only for you,” I say, my tone light but my chest tightening a little as I realize how true it is. I clear my throat and steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Anyway, the worst part is the calving season. Sometimes we get late winter storms right when the calves are being born. It’s brutal—trying to keep them warm, making sure they don’t freeze before they even get a chance to stand up.”
Her smile softens, and she tilts her head slightly. “That sounds hard. I never thought about how much work goes into it.”
I shrug, trying to downplay it. “It’s just part of the job. But yeah, it’s not exactly glamorous work.”
“Which explains why you don’t want to do it for the rest of your life.”
“It’s not that I’m afraid of hard work, but there’s no reward in it for me. My brothers and dad like the work. They like the farm. I’m just not cut out for it, I guess.”
“Everyone is good at something,” she says. “You’re good at singing. Not everyone can be everything.”
I nod, but it doesn’t really make me feel any better. My dad was absolutely convinced I was meant to be a farmer. But I’m not. I’m something else, even if I’m still figuring out exactly what that is.
The conversation drifts to lighter topics after that—bands we’re both into, the latest town gossip, and what it’s going to be like not having to go to school in the fall for the first time in our lives.
By the time we finish dinner, the tension from earlier has mostly melted away. As we walk out to the truck, she links her arm through mine, her fingers resting lightly on my forearm.
“Thanks for tonight,” she says softly, leaning into me as we walk. “I needed this.”
“Me too,” I admit, squeezing her hand.
When we get back to her place, I’m not sure what to expect. I walk her to her door under a sky full of stars. It’s one of those beautiful nights. Cool enough to be comfortable but not too cold.
Jinnie turns to me, her back against the door. “I had a really good time tonight.”
“Me too.”
She reaches up, her fingers tracing my jaw. “You okay? Really?”
I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Better now.”
“I guess you were right about the milkshakes and fries. It really did make everything better.”
I grin. “It always works for me.”
She stares up at me. It’s apparent she isn’t inviting me inside. That’s cool. I get it. I’m not sure I should anyway with her husband roaming around town. That’s the last thing I want.
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“I know I’m legally married, but I don’t feel married,” she whispers. “I’m with you.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She leans up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips across mine. It’s light as a butterfly’s wings. She’s too tempting to resist. I kiss her back, wrapping my arm around her waist and anchoring her to me. She tilts her head, her mouth parting just enough to invite me in. I don’t hesitate. My hands slide up her back, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging lightly. I groan against her mouth, the sound low and raw. She tastes like strawberries from the milkshake, sweet and intoxicating. I can’t get enough.
Her body molds to mine, every curve pressing into me like she’s trying to erase the space between us. My heart pounds in my chest. I kiss her like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to, pouring everything I feel into it—every ounce of want, every flicker of fear, every desperate hope that this thing between us is real and lasting.
Her hands slide down to my shoulders, gripping tight as if she’s afraid I’ll pull away. But I won’t. Not now. Not ever.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, our foreheads resting together as we try to steady ourselves. Her eyes flutter open, dark and heavy with the same hunger I feel coursing through me.
This woman has me wrapped around her finger and there is nothing I can do to unwind myself.
She’s got me.