Chapter Eight
Jack
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I ’M LOOKING FORWARD to another night with Jinnie. I know things between us are kind of in a holding pattern. I think we’re both worried about what the other is going to do. We need to talk. More like I need to grow a pair and tell her I don’t like this situation with Sam. It bugs me in a way I can’t quite explain. I don’t want her with him. Period. End of story.
But I also don’t want to be a homewrecker. I know couples go through tough times. In the back of my mind, I keep thinking that maybe this is just a tough time for them. Maybe they just need to work through some shit. And me being around complicates things.
That’s me. That’s my hangup. She keeps telling me there’s nothing between them. I just have to trust her and believe it.
Aggie was fine with me taking the night off again. Apparently, there’s some kind of poker tournament tonight at the bar. The live music would just get in the way. It all works perfect for me. I decide to walk over instead of driving.
I knock on the door. I can hear music coming from inside.
The door flies open, revealing Jinnie in a flour-dusted apron, her hair piled into a messy bun, a smudge of something red on her cheek.
“You’re early,” she accuses, but she’s smiling.
“I can come back later,” I offer.
She grabs my wrist and yanks me inside.
The tiny home is a warzone. There’s a pot on the stove bubbling over with what I assume is the same red stuff that’s on her face. A cutting board piled high with half-chopped vegetables teeters on the edge of the counter, and a suspicious black smoke curls from the oven.
I blink. “You, uh need help?”
Jinnie groans, shoving a wooden spoon into my hand. “Stir that before it burns. Again.”
I do as I’m told, dodging her as she spins between the stove and fridge, her movements frantic. Thankfully, given the space, she doesn’t have to actually move to reach the stove from the fridge or even the countertop. The space is way too small for two people to cook, but somehow we make it work—bumping hips, stealing tastes, laughing when I nearly knock over a glass of water.
I catch her by the waist when she nearly trips over Max. “I would have been happy with a frozen pizza.”
She swats my arm. “I wanted to impress you.”
“You do that just by existing.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Jinnie freezes, her cheeks flushing pink. Then she grins, leaning up to kiss me.
The sauce burns but I don’t care. I push her against the counter and kiss her again. The kiss deepens, her hands tangling in my hair as I pull her closer. I don’t care about the smoke or the chaos around us. All that matters is her.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she laughs softly, resting her forehead against mine. “The sauce is ruined.”
“Worth it,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she grabs a towel and starts fanning the smoke away from the oven, peeking inside to assess the damage. “Well, dinner might be a disaster, but at least the company’s good.”
I chuckle, leaning against the counter. “I’d eat burnt rice with you any day.”
She gives me a playful shove before turning back to the mess. “You’re such a charmer.”
We work together to salvage what we can—tossing the scorched pasta and starting over with a fresh pot of water. The top layer of the pasta sauce isn’t bad.
“All right,” she says, stepping back and surveying the chaos. “Are you feeling lucky?”
I laugh. “I’ve spent the last eight years eating my brothers’ cooking. I’ve got an iron stomach.”
“I think you’re going to need it,” she murmurs.
We sit at the table that really isn’t built for two people. Are plates are nearly touching. Dinner is edible. I blame myself for burning the pasta sauce.
The chicken’s a little dry, the pasta slightly overcooked, but Jinnie beams when I take my first bite, and that makes it the best meal I’ve ever had.
“Not bad,” I say around a mouthful.
She narrows her eyes. “Liar.”
“Okay, it’s terrible.” I grin. “But I love it.”
She kicks me under the table, but she’s laughing.
“How was last night?” she asks. “I feel like it’s so hard to connect with you. You’re playing when I’m home sleeping and you’re sleeping when I’m at work.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply. “I am cutting back to four or five nights.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m just saying, it makes these little horrible dinners all the better.”
“Last night was different,” I say.
“Different how?”
I don’t want to tell her about the women who were making their intentions clear. Instead, I tell her about the college crowd and a few of the scuffles.
“It was a rowdy bunch,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Lots of college guys looking for a fight. One of them even tried to start something during my set, but Aggie shut it down quick. She’s got a sixth sense for trouble.”
Jinnie raises an eyebrow, her fork poised mid-air. “Aggie’s like a bouncer. You don’t mess with her.”
“Exactly.” I chuckle. “But the crowd was into it, which was good for tips. Even if they weren’t exactly the ballad-loving type.”
She laughs, pushing her plate aside. “I bet they were just there to drink and holler. Did you play your new song?”
I nod. “Yeah, I did. It felt different, though. Like the crowd wasn’t really listening—just there for the noise. But it’s all part of the gig, right? Gotta give the people what they want.”
Jinnie tilts her head, studying me with that look that always seems to see right through me. “Do you think you’ll ever get tired of it? Playing for crowds like that?”
I shrug, picking at the remains of my meal. “Sometimes. But it’s all part of the grind, you know? I can’t expect every crowd to be there for the music. Some people just want a good time.”
“Do you imagine yourself playing stadiums?” she asks.
I grin, leaning back in my chair. “Stadiums? Maybe one day. Right now, I’d settle for a crowd that doesn’t try to start a bar fight during my set.”
Jinnie laughs, shaking her head. “You know what I mean. Big dreams, Jack. Where do you see yourself in five years?”
The question catches me off guard. Five years feels both impossibly far away and right around the corner. I twirl my fork absently, considering. “Honestly? I don’t know. Making music, hopefully full-time. Touring, maybe. Recording an album.”
She nods thoughtfully. “That sounds amazing.”
“What about you?” I ask, turning the tables. “Five years—what does Jinnie Parker’s life look like then?”
Her smile softens as she looks down at her plate. “I don’t know either,” she admits quietly. “Part of me still wants to try my hand in a bigger city, maybe even Chicago or Nashville.” She glances up at me quickly, then away again. “Marketing is such a broad field—there’s so much I could do if I just had the chance.”
My heart jumps at the mention of Nashville—her dreams intersecting with mine in a way that feels too perfect to be coincidence.
Or maybe just too good to be true.
After we eat, I help wash dishes, our elbows knocking in the cramped sink. It’s domestic in a way I’ve never experienced before—no tension, no expectations. Just us, moving around each other like we’ve been doing this for years. It’s a choreographed dance. I’m not sure it’s elegant, but it works.
“So,” I say, drying a plate, “anything new with Sam?”
Jinnie’s shoulders tense slightly. “No trial date yet. His lawyer’s dragging things out.” She scrubs a pot harder than necessary. “Looks like he wants money.”
“Which you don’t have.”
“Which I don’t have,” she agrees.
I set the plate down, turning to face her. “The judge will see that. He’s just trying to scare you.”
“I know.” She sighs, drying her hands on a towel. “Can we not talk about him tonight?”
“Sure.” I bump her shoulder. “Movie?”
Her face lights up. “Yes. Please.”
The only comfortable place to watch in the tiny home is Jinnie’s bed. We pile into it, her laptop balanced on our knees, her legs tangled with mine. Max hops up, glares at me, and then steps over me and curls up next to Jinnie.
I like this. Doing nothing. We don’t have to talk or be doing anything exciting. We can just sit here and be together.
Halfway through the movie, something on her shelf catches my eye—a worn stuffed bear I’ve never noticed before.
“That new?” I nod toward it.
Jinnie follows my gaze. “No, that’s Mr. Snuffles. My dad gave him to me when I was little.”
I frown. “I haven’t seen it before.”
I’m pretty sure that’s the one she told me about, but I could be wrong. She’s got a few stuffed animals around the place. That’s one thing I’ve noticed about Jinnie, her treasures aren’t necessarily valuable. Not in a monetary sense. But she treats them like they are precious antiques worth millions.
“Sam took it when he left.” Her voice is quiet.
I feel my stomach flip over. There’s only one way that thing is back on her shelf.
“He gave it back yesterday,” she says.
The movie’s forgotten as I turn to her. “He what ?”
She shrugs, eyes fixed on the screen. “Ran into him at the grocery store. Said it got mixed up in his stuff.”
Something cold settles in my gut. “You saw him.”
“Yes.”
“And you just took what I guess is his peace offering?”
“What was I supposed to do? Throw it at his head?”
I want to say yes. Instead, I force a laugh. “Would’ve been satisfying.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you saw him?” I ask.
Jinnie glances at me. “Because I didn’t want to freak you out. It was weird, but it wasn’t a big deal. He just gave me the bear and left. No drama.”
I study her for a moment, trying to read between the lines. “You sure? Seeing your husband...that feels like a big deal to me.”
She sighs, setting the laptop aside and turning to face me fully. “I know it’s not ideal, Jack. But I’m not going back to him. He’s just trying to get under my skin, and I’m not going to let him. I’ve moved on.”
Her words calm me a little, but there’s still a nagging feeling in my chest. “Just be careful, okay? And tell me next time, please. I don’t know if I have a right to ask you that, but I want to know what I’m up against.”
“I’m not letting him mess with me again. Or us. Please trust me when I say you are the only one I want to be with.”
“I know. I do. It’s just weird.”
“I should have told you because now it looks like I’m keeping things from you,” she mutters.
“It’s fine, Jinnie. It was just a surprise.”
We settle back into the movie, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sam. I don’t trust him, and I don’t like that he’s back in town, even if it was just for a brief encounter. And she didn’t tell me. Now, I’m always going to be wondering if he’s showing up at her house while I’m playing. I don’t want to be jealous, but it’s there.
The bear stares at me from the shelf, its beady eyes almost mocking.