Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
As far as Valentine’s Days went, this was the best fucking one he’d ever had or could have imagined having. After they’d cleaned up the breakfast tornado, they’d spent the whole day doing what she wished.
The tide was low, making the sand firm and easy to stroll on, so they trekked for an hour along the beach holding hands.
They took selfies in front of Haystack Rock, like couples would take.
The ones with kisses, and laughter, and Vanessa curled against him like she’d be there forever.
They went all the way to the far end of the shoreline before cutting to town, making a pit stop at the coffee shop.
When they left, it was with warm coffees in hand, and smiles on their faces.
She dragged him back to the bookstore, where she bought a cookbook for her mom. Then to the sweet shop again, where he got a bag of cinnamon hearts that they shared as they strolled the rest of the way home.
He hadn’t had cinnamon hearts since he was in primary school, and he’d forgotten how delicious they were.
In fact, he realized he’d forgotten a lot of things, like how comforting the small things were—holding hands, or hearing her laugh over a dumb joke he made.
He was under no illusions that his jokes were funny, because one skill he didn’t learn in prison was humor.
But when she’d asked if they should get cinnamon hearts and he replied, “Why? You already make my heart burn,” she’d laughed so loud that people in the store looked at them.
It made him feel ten feet tall, because he’d made her laugh, and she was so damn beautiful when she laughed. Light radiated straight through her, blinding from the inside out.
And when he heard her humming along to a Noah Kahan song, a childlike giddiness stirred in his chest. It never occurred to him that he and Vanessa could have so much and so little in common and how it could all feel this…right.
The shock of joy hit him like a sucker punch, because he was so damn sure that part of him was long gone. Softness, feelings—they weren’t meant for a man like him.
But she gave him hope they were, and it scared the shit out of him, because he didn’t want to feel this deeply for someone. He knew this story didn’t have a happy ending, that it couldn’t, for all the reasons they’d talked about over their messy breakfast.
And still, nothing on heaven or earth could’ve pried his hand out of hers, or stopped the burning in his heart that had absolutely nothing to do with cinnamon hearts.
He was epically fucked. But today he wasn’t going to let it matter.
“When’s the reservation again?” Vanessa’s voice floated from the bathroom.
“Six,” he repeated for the third time.
She’d been locked up in there for the last thirty minutes, and he didn’t have a clue what she was doing, but he knew better than to ask.
“Okay, almost ready.”
They had fifteen minutes to get from the cottage to the restaurant, and even though it was close, he didn’t want to take any chances on missing the reservation. He’d had to promise everything but his kidney to get a table this late.
When he’d phoned The Wayfarer earlier that day, the host who’d answered told him three times that they were fully booked for Valentine’s Day and had been since November. So, he’d reached out to Cheryl at the clothing shop to ask for another recommendation, and she’d told him not to worry.
Twenty minutes later, Maurice, the owner of The Wayfarer, called and said a table for two by the window had come up.
Now Jordan sat on the couch, surrounded by the scent of the vanilla and lavender candle Vanessa had bought. He petted Nigel, resisting the urge to tap his foot anxiously like an old man waiting for his wife to get ready for Sunday church.
“How do I look?” Vanessa’s voice floated through the air.
His jaw dropped.
She was stunning. No, more than that. Enthralling.
In the living room’s soft, flickering candlelight, the blue dress looked otherworldly. Her hair was swept up from her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and the slim column of her neck.
Her shoulders were smooth, bare, and the scoop of the neckline much lower than he remembered in the shop. Her skin glowed. She was like a painting come to life. A vision. An angel, who knew how to bring a man to his knees with a single glance.
He attempted to swallow, but his tongue jammed in his throat, resulting in a choking noise that he tried to muffle with a fist to the mouth. “You look—” It took him a moment to find the right word. “Breathtaking.”
She blushed, and he fucking loved it. When she blushed like this, just for him, he could stare at her for hours. There was nothing more beautiful in the entire world than Vanessa Barone blushing.
Her gaze lowered, a shy smile curving her lips, and he remembered what he had for her. Reaching down to the coffee table, he picked up a clear plastic box and made his way to her.
“What are you doing?” Her tone was suspicious, but the gleam in her eye was of pure delight as she stared at the box.
“I’m doing what I would do if you were mine, princess.” He brought her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it, then held out the box.
“Is that a corsage?” She gasped lightly when he opened the lid, revealing a single rose, the same blue color as her dress, nestled in baby’s breath and a white silk ribbon. “Jordan, it’s beautiful.”
He knew she was talking about the corsage, but he hadn’t stopped watching her since she’d entered the room, even when he said, “Yes. It is.”
Setting the box down, he secured the rose around her slim wrist. “We won’t be here much longer, so I didn’t see the point in getting a big bouquet you wouldn’t have time to enjoy. Also, the lady at the flower shop suggested this, and I thought it was nice.”
“It’s gorgeous. I remember my sister got one from her prom date.”
Her index finger stroked one of the rose’s velvety petals, and he followed the slow, delicate movement.
“I never went to my senior prom.” She turned her wrist, admiring the arrangement from all angles. A wistful expression crossed her face, making him wonder if she regretted not going. She’d traveled to New York at sixteen, so she would’ve missed a lot of typical teenage milestones.
“I’ve never been to a prom either,” he murmured. He’d dropped out of high school halfway through junior year, at which point he’d fully immersed himself in the gang.
Her gaze lifted to meet his, a smile spreading across her lips. “Something else we have in common.”
“Yes, except you were chasing a dream. I chose a nightmare.”
No matter how she tried to spin it, they were not the same. She was precious, resilient, vibrant in all the ways he was dark and brooding. There was no comparison.
“Come on. Let’s not be late for our reservation.”
Outside the cottage, a black SUV waited for them. Knowing she’d be in a dress, he’d ordered a car.
At the restaurant, they were led to a candlelit table by a window overlooking the ocean.
Jordan pulled out her chair before taking his own across from her.
The table wasn’t big, so their knees almost touched.
The darkness outside muted the view, but the ambiance inside was romantic. His heart raced nervously.
This place was classy, in a charming small-town kind of way, but it was a far cry from the fancy restaurants he imagined she’d spent most Valentine’s at. What if—
“I love this place.” Her whispered declaration eased the knot in his gut. “Have you been here before?”
“Never. When I come to Cannon Beach, I usually stick to the cottage. I do the outdoorsy stuff and keep to myself.”
A server poured them water, then took their drink orders. Soda for him, Prosecco for her.
“Like cold dips?” she asked when they were alone again. She shuddered, and he smiled.
“Yes. But also surfing, hiking, and mountain biking.” He shrugged. “I like that I get to do that when I’m here.”
Vanessa studied him over the rim of her glass as she sipped. “Do you like being alone?”
He was distracted from answering when the waiter returned with their drinks. Then, he was able to avoid her question again as they perused the menus.
It wasn’t until after they’d placed their orders that she regarded him again. “What is it about being alone that you like so much?”
The candlelight flickered across her face, and she looked so beautiful he wanted to freeze-frame the picture in front of him, so he never forgot it. Not that he ever could. This memory of her would be one he carried to his dying day.
“It’s quieter.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose in silent encouragement for him to elaborate.
He sighed heavily. “I was always surrounded by noise. The walls in the apartment we lived in after dad died were so thin you could hear babies crying, people shouting, and cars driving by day and night. After that gang life was a deafening chorus of cursing and fighting and gunshots.” He shifted in the swanky chair.
“Prison was—” He hated talking about prison with her.
It was too vile, too dark, too unholy to touch her.
“It’s the worst noise I’ve ever experienced.
Even when I was alone, it was never quiet.
” His stomach clenched as memories invaded.
As if she could sense his inner turmoil, Vanessa entwined her fingers in his. Her thumb stroked lightly across his scarred knuckles.
He cleared his throat. “I got used to being alone in my cell. I actually came to like it, as fucked up as that sounds. The time they made us spend communally was the worst. I hated socializing and talking to the other inmates.” Her fingers were so slim against his, the hand of royalty clasped in the paw of a monster.
“I did my work assignments, went to all my therapy sessions, and finished my GED. I got out early for good behavior, but I wasn’t especially good.
I wanted to do my time and get the fuck out of there. ”
“I can’t imagine,” she whispered.
He lifted his gaze from their joined hands, catching hers over the candlelight. “You should never have to.”
For a long moment, their gazes locked. Compassion shimmered in her eyes, and he drank in every drop of her goodness.
“It was the prison chaplain who made me believe I could live a different life when I got out. I met him at the library once a week. He and Dex were the only ones who kept me sane until I was released.”
“And what kept you sane after?” Her voice was soft, curious.
“It was touch and go for a while,” he admitted.
In the weeks and months after being released, his mental health had hung on a prayer.
“I went to see that pastor regularly at his church after I got out. He was a connection to the familiar routine I’d left.
I hated prison. Fucking hated it, but it was all I knew, day in and day out for years.
Then suddenly, I was out in the world again.
No connection to my past. My mom was dead.
My brother was gone. I had disassociated myself from the gang.
I was alone. So much didn’t make sense anymore.
” It was the darkest time of his life. “I went to my parole meetings, got menial jobs, saved whatever money I could. Until the day Ivy called me out of the blue and invited me to come to Portland to see my brother. That call changed my whole life.”
“I’m glad she contacted you.” Vanessa’s eyes shone brightly and earnestly.
He lifted her palm to his lips and held her gaze with everything he had. “Me too.”