19. Jack
Jack
“Hey, you’re in my bed, Jack.”
I grin into the pillow. It’s soft and smells like vanilla and books and Izzy.
All of my favorite things.
“Come here.” My voice is rough. We didn’t get much sleep last night, but ask if I care. I don’t. Not one fucking bit. Not even a little.
It was perfect.
I reach out, my hand frustratingly only met with air. “Where are you?”
“I’m not going to make it that easy.”
“Do you ever?”
Izzy giggles. “You’re going to feel like an asshole for that comment as soon as you open your eyes.”
I’ve woken up in plenty of beds. But I’ve never been in one I didn’t want to leave.
I crack open one eyelid, making out her blurry figure at the foot of the bed and dancing orange flames. What the—
“Happy Birthday, Jack.”
I wipe my eyes, roll onto my back, and push up to my elbows, where I’m met with what might be the most beautiful thing in the world. Second, of course, to seeing her last night when I showed up at her door.
Izzy’s holding a tray with a stack of giant pancakes on a pastel porcelain plate, three blue candles burning bright, and a steaming cup of coffee.
“You’re…” I don’t finish that thought. Can’t. Not when my eyes scan her body and take in my white button-down hanging off her shoulders, nothing but bare legs underneath.
“I know it’s a little late.”
“We never… you didn’t…”
“Knew you’d feel like an asshole.” She flashes a crooked grin. “But don’t make me feel like an asshole too. You thought I wouldn’t want to celebrate your thirtieth birthday with you?”
I figured it didn’t matter much. But that truth might hurt her, because it seems like after last night, we can’t keep many more secrets between us.
“Didn’t think it mattered much.”
“You matter.” She peeks down at the candles. I love the way her hair spills around her shoulders, and her bangs frame the rosy apples of her cheeks. “Make a wish.”
I meet her gaze, then lick my lips, a small curl of satisfaction taking root in my chest at her small inhale, before closing my eyes and blowing out the candles. She’s about to set the tray on my lap when I gently nudge my fist under her chin and shake my head.
“Put the tray down for a sec, sweetheart.”
When she turns, her hands free, I tug her by the hem of my shirt until her thighs bump against the mattress. She tumbles forward, bracing one palm against my bare chest, the other cupping my jaw. Her thumb sweeps over my bottom lip, leaving behind the sweet ghost of whipped cream and maple syrup.
I groan, hauling her onto the bed with me. Izzy yelps, but the sound softens when my palms slide down to grip her rounded ass.
“We’re never getting out of this bed,” I whisper against her ear. “Not now. Birthday pancakes really sealed your fate. I’m keeping you.”
She wiggles against me, then freezes, realizing her mistake. It’s quiet until her eyes lift to meet mine, and she says, “I’m glad you’re home, Jack.”
My hand threads into her hair, closing the distance between us until I sip at her lips, losing myself in the taste of her. It’s fucking heaven to hold her again. I’ve missed her.
Missed her so damn much.
I roll over, tossing back the comforter so she can climb in beside me. “Come on, we’ll split the pancakes and watch the parade.”
Her face lights up, and a smile that steals my breath hits me right in the chest. “Really?”
“Okay, fine. If you’re going to make such a big deal out of it, I’ll eat you out again after.”
She playfully slaps my stomach, and because I’m the luckiest bastard on Earth this morning, I steal another slow kiss. Izzy laughs against my mouth, climbing on top of me to reach over for the remote resting on the stack of books on her nightstand.
“We don’t have to go later. We can say we’re sick.”
She peers down at me before I grip her waist and roll us over, lay her back into the nest of blankets, then slip out of bed. A few minutes later, I return with a cup of fresh coffee and crawl back in beside her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, wrapping both hands around the warm mug.
I wish I didn’t ever have to leave.
Izzy presses her hand against her forehead. “You’re right, I think I’m coming down with something.”
I smile around the forkful of blueberry pancakes. “Terrible timing.”
Izzy grips her cup and hides behind it, but I can see the smile lines crowding around her eyes.
Unfortunately, we have Thanksgiving at my parents’ house in a few hours, then we’re supposed to head to her mom’s place later in the afternoon.
“You nervous?” I ask.
“About your family? A little.”
“Don’t be. They love you.”
I say it easily, but as the words leave my mouth, I realize it’s true. And more than that, I want them to love her. Need them to. I need them to see what I do when I look at her. Sure, she’s met Nana, Annie, and Ethan, but bringing her around to my parents?
That seems… important.
Which is exactly why getting out of this bed feels like stepping into the part of the day where everything could go right… or go really, really wrong.
“When did you have time to bake a pie?” I ask, reaching into the back seat.
Izzy runs her hand through her hair. “Please. As if you have to ask.”
The air is bitterly cold today, sweeping off the beach beyond my parents’ house.
It seeps through the wool of my coat, and a shiver races down my back as I bring my hands to my mouth and blow to warm them up.
There’s a giant inflatable turkey wearing a Pilgrim hat by the hydrangeas in front of the dining room.
Ethan’s truck is pulled behind Annie’s beat-up Camry.
There’s duct tape on the driver’s door. Not sure how it passed inspection—actually, I’m positive it didn’t—but Annie always finds a way.
I shut the door, whirl around, and catch Izzy nibbling on her bottom lip. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” she asks.
I motion to her mouth. “That. Too distracting.” I brush back her bangs. “It’s okay to be nervous, but remember, this isn’t a date.”
She reaches for my hand, linking her cold fingers with mine. “Seems like one.”
I lead her forward, hands still twined together. “Nope.” I lean down, whispering against her ear, “This is just family. No one here to fool.”
As soon as I say it, I realize it shouldn’t matter. We’re not pretending anymore. Not when I’m this aware of her body next to mine, and the way my thumb traces circles over her knuckles, desperate for another touch.
“Except for yourself,” she answers back, as if reading my mind.
I double down. “Not a date.”
The door swings open, and my mom stands there with June and Nana. All three sport wide, wolfish grins. “Glad you could finally make it.”
“Izzy, you know Nana and June. This is my mom, Kathleen.”
My mom swats back her blonde-and-silver hair. “So nice to meet you. Come in, come in.”
“I flew in late last night, Nana.” I guide Izzy inside. “I’m allowed to sleep.”
“Is that why Gloria called us to share that your car was parked at Izzy’s all morning?”
“Bridget!” My mom at least has the good sense to pretend to be embarrassed. June only cackles from her scooter.
“You’re spying on us now?” I lean down and drop a quick peck on my mom’s cheek, then Nana’s, and lastly June’s. She might as well be my second grandmother. She’s known me since I was in diapers.
“Leave ’em alone, Ma,” my dad calls out, slowly making his way down the front stairs. His faded Celtics T-shirt stretches over his round belly, and he’s wearing his favorite slippers, worn thin from scuffing them across the floor. He refuses to buy a new pair.
“Izzy, this is my dad, Richie. Dad, my girlfriend, Izzy.”
Everyone looks to Izzy, then to me, waiting, their grins even wider.
“Come on in, dear. We don’t bite.” My dad’s Boston accent is thick, none thicker than on a holiday where I’m sure he’s been sneaking mulled cider since the turkey went into the oven.
“Happy Thanksgiving?” Izzy holds out her pie. I know she likely baked it yesterday when she absolutely had no time. She never wants to let anyone down.
Everyone swarms Izzy—taking her scarf and coat, handing her a glass of wine, asking after the shop. And somehow, in seconds, I’m the one left standing alone, holding a pie.
I unbutton my pea coat and head to the kitchen.
My brother Ethan slips a green bean into Sloane’s mouth as they lazily spin in a ridiculous slow dance around the kitchen, and I rest against the doorway, quiet.
It’s still a little weird seeing my brother and one of my best friends from high school finally together after twelve years apart.
“Ugh, I get it. You love each other,” I say finally.
Sloane rests her face against Ethan’s shoulder, her body shaking with a giggle.
He grabs a spatula from the counter, pointing it at me. I’ve worked with him long enough to know he’s not afraid to weaponize a kitchen utensil. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
Her hand slips into mine before I can answer. She fits perfectly against my side, warm and soft and familiar in a way she shouldn’t be. Her fuzzy white sweater is driving me crazy, and all I can think about is how I want to untie each black satin bow tied in the front.
“Right here.” Izzy glances up at me, then waves to Sloane and Ethan. “Everything smells delicious. Anything I can help with in the kitchen?”
It’s my turn to laugh, because Ethan looks her dead in the eye. “No.”
“Come on, we’ll leave chef grumpypants alone. Your help’s not wanted here.” I pluck the wineglass out of her hand and steal a sip before grinning at her. “Looks like we’ll be stuck playing UNO with Nana and June.”
“Oh, I’m good at UNO. You’re going down, mister.”
If she only knew how true that already was.
Izzy curls her hand around my waist, her thumb sliding under my sweater and sweeping across my back.
It’s such a small, possessive move. My mind completely malfunctions until I take another sip of wine. “Wait, where’s Annie?”
“Finishing up the Turkey Trot.” Sloane grabs a stack of herbs and tosses them on the cutting board.
Ethan holds out a spoon of gravy for Sloane to taste. “Asked Brooks to pick her up when the race finishes. They should be here soon.”