12. Izzy #2
Jack’s thumb circles against my lower back, and heat races up my spine. I don’t know if he’s even aware he’s doing it. His other hand lifts in a wave to someone across the room, that crooked grin of his already in place.
We weave between pirates and witches and someone dressed as an inflatable lobster. The bar’s set up near the rear of the room, orange spotlights positioned above from the rough-hewn wooden beams, casting everything in a warm glow.
I don’t know how to do this.
“Hang in there, and smile,” Jack says as we reach the bar.
I can’t believe he told me to smile, but since I’m guessing it looks as if I’ve seen a literal ghost, I play nice. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Exactly.” He stops and looks down at me, his eyes suddenly softer. “Breathing helps.”
Wyatt, the short-order cook from the diner, can’t stop peeking between us as he pours two hard ciders. “I’m not much for gossip, but it’s true about you two?”
Jack doesn’t say anything at first, and I realize I’m up. It’s my turn.
“Yep, we’re dating.” I giggle, then grab one of the cups and force it into Jack’s hand. “Totally dating.”
Maybe he takes pity on me, or maybe I really need to work on my public speaking skills, like I noted to Jack, but he slides his arm around my waist and pulls me tight against him. My skin tingles everywhere he’s touching me.
“Figured it was just a rumor.” Wyatt slides our drinks over the makeshift bartop. “Huh. How about that?”
Jack stuffs a tip into the jar. “You know me. Like to keep everyone on their toes.”
June rolls abruptly up to us in her scooter as we turn, scuffing Jack’s boots. Cider splashes out of his glass, and he catches the spill with his thumb, dragging it slowly across his knuckles before bringing it to his mouth.
Jesus. Christ.
“Jack, you promised me a dance.”
I blink, still staring, still struggling to act like that didn’t just give me a whole slew of really bad ideas.
Jack smiles, his eyes lighting up at June’s Mario costume. “You don’t have to run over my feet, June. I remember.”
“You have eight other toes. You’ll live.”
Bridget Murphy strolls up next. “I wouldn’t blame you when you have such a gorgeous date.” She holds up her cup of punch and winks at me.
“Thank you—”
“She is gorgeous, isn’t she?” he interrupts.
Jack’s smile is genuine and full of appreciation, and it takes me the next few minutes to calm myself down as he dances with June on the crowded dance floor.
She rocks the scooter back and forth as he dances around her, the two of them laughing.
Just a nun and Mario dancing to the end of “Thriller.”
Bridget watches, standing beside me. “He’s in trouble.”
“Well, if he’s not careful and gets another concussion—”
“No. You, dear. He’s in trouble with you.”
I wish I could form a coherent thought, but “How?” is the only thing that tumbles out. If anything, I feel like I could be in trouble. I never let anyone in, and somehow, in just a few short weeks, he’s pushed past all my usual bluster with those damn dimples and smart mouth.
It’s annoying, given just how gorgeous he is. Even in a nun costume.
She gives a small, answering smirk. Jack has the same blue eyes.
“When I met his grandfather, he marched over to me at a town dance and asked me what I was doing the next week. When I asked why he wanted to know, he said I should be making plans to pick out a wedding dress. Dear, I laughed so hard in that man’s face. ”
I glance between her and Jack. It’s easy to notice the love there. The Murphy siblings may stir things up in Merritt Point, but it seems like they have parents and a grandmother who truly care about them.
“He’s named after him, you know, my Jack. He’s been gone now for fifteen years.”
“What happened after that dance?”
She waggles her eyebrows. “We were married two weeks later. The damn man knew what he wanted, and I couldn’t resist him.” With a small sigh, she continues, “Jack reminds me of him so much.”
Jack bends and swoops June off her seat, spinning her around. Her Mario mustache begins to fall, so she tears it off and sticks it to his face. They break out in chorus, sing-shouting “Psycho Killer” with the rest of the dance floor.
“He’s always the one to walk into a room and make everyone happy. But I hear it in his voice when he talks about you. He doesn’t have to perform. I can tell, he just is. He really needed to find someone to challenge him. To soften him a bit.”
Guilt sinks heavily in my stomach. I should tell her it’s just pretend. That he’s still that cocky hockey player who prefers casual hookups with puck bunnies. He’s definitely not interested in the small-town bookstore owner with more than enough baggage to scare him off.
“He’s…” I pause, not wanting to lie to her. “Jack is kind,” I say at last.
Jack sets June back on her scooter, and the pair rejoin us.
“Well, Bridget, I think it’s time to turn in for the night. Let’s let these two lovebirds have some time alone.”
“Time alone? In this small town?” he teases.
“Everyone will be talking about you at brunch tomorrow.” June presses her fingers against her mustache, but it still slides sideways.
“I was afraid of that,” I mumble. And as much as I sort of dread being swapped around like social currency, there are six weeks until my deadline, and the store’s revenue has been steadily creeping up since those pictures of us at the hospital were spread across social media.
The expansion might actually be possible if I can squirrel away enough for the first and last months’ rent.
Jack makes sure Bridget and June are set to go home and helps them with their ride. Meanwhile, I press my back against the dark-stained shiplap walls and try to make myself disappear.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look like you’re ready to bolt.”
I am. Standing this close to him, feeling the heat of his body, the way he smells like something clean and woodsy under the polyester nun costume, it’s too much.
“I’m fine.”
His hand tightens on my hip, and his thumb brushes against the sliver of skin above the waist of my skirt. “Liar.”
“Everyone just believes us?”
“Isn’t that the point?” He leans in, resting one hand by my ear against the wall.
I roll my hips, my body craving something I have no right asking for.
“Oooh, watch out there, Murphy. That mermaid is going to lure you to your death,” Mr. Leechman says before stuffing a cookie into his mouth. “Don’t forget to visit the PTA bake sale, kids!”
I roll my eyes, but my breath catches as Jack tucks a curl behind my ear.
“Starting to believe it.”
The DJ slows things down, and couples pair off. Jack raises an eyebrow in question.
No. Absolutely not.
But I’m already nodding, because I’m an idiot.
He pulls me onto the floor, his hands on my waist, mine resting on his shoulders like we’re awkward tweens at some middle school dance. Except I’m very aware he is not a tween.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head, unable to fight my smile. “You look ridiculous.”
“And you look—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. His eyes dip to my mouth.
I know exactly what he’s thinking, and the worst part is, I’m wondering the same.
“We should probably talk about the rules,” he says, clearing his throat.
I sway a little closer, curling my fingers at the base of his neck. His skin is warm and smooth, and the little space between us disappears. His fingers flex at my waist before he swallows and drags me flush against him.
“This okay?” he asks.
I nod, tripping a step. He doesn’t let me fall, doesn’t allow me a chance to be embarrassed.
Jack traces his other hand up to the side of my face, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. The DJ lights flash, throwing shadows across his features, but those eyes of his are full of want that makes me forget my name. He blinks hard and grips my waist tighter.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, just got bright in here.”
I melt into the feel of his palm pressed against the small of my back. “Wait.” I swallow, distracted. “You said something about rules?”
He bends, his lips brushing against my ear. “I think I’m about to break them.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Jack—”
He presses a chaste kiss to my temple. I hate how much I like it. How much I’ve let myself melt into him, and how he holds me so gently.
Most of all, I hate how quickly he’s managed to get under my skin.
This was supposed to be pretend. I’m not sure it is anymore.