Chapter 7 Jack
SEVEN
JACK
Wells is sitting in my passenger seat with his arms crossed, offended by Hartford traffic.
It’s been forty-eight hours since Isla sat on her couch, stared at me like I was a complicated math problem, and asked me, very calmly, what exactly I got out of marrying her.
I told her the truth. Or at least the parts of it I could articulate.
I’ve spent most of my adult life keeping things loose on purpose. No mortgages (I bought my cabin in cash), no rings or promises that couldn’t be backed out of with a joke and a six-pack. Responsibility in measured doses. Permanence kept at arm’s length.
It’s not because I’m afraid of attachment, but I’ve spent years telling myself freedom meant never being too tied to anything. Turns out, Blue Willow is the place that’s tied itself to me.
This town remembers who shows up. Legacy here isn’t about bloodlines so much as it is about care. The people who stay, tend, mend, and keep showing up are the ones the town claims.
I’ve been circling that sort of tether my whole life. Fixing houses that aren’t mine. Protecting places that I’ll never return to. Acting like a man who belongs everywhere and nowhere at once.
But I’m done keeping one foot out the door. That’s why I told Isla I wanted to help. I care about her, the orchard, and this whole damn town. Mirabelle matters to me because she does.
“This is a terrible idea,” Isla said.
“Absolutely,” I agreed.
And then we shook on it.
Now I’m wading through traffic, trying very hard not to act like a man who’s just been handed the keys to an objectively perfect life. I haven’t been pining over Isla from afar or writing her name in sawdust like some kind of loser. I’m not that kind of guy.
But I’m also not seeing a downside here.
I’m about to be legally bound to a beautiful, infuriatingly complicated woman. I’m moving onto the Mirabelle property because that’s what the town will expect from us. I get to live in a place that matters, with someone who refuses to let it fall apart.
That’s a lot of upsides for one impulsive idea.
I only texted Isla three times the next morning to confirm she was serious about it. I only paced my shop thirty-nine times before noon. Which, frankly, feels restrained.
Wells shifts in his seat, side-eying me. “You gonna tell me why I’m headed to the city on a Saturday, or do I have to keep playing a fucking guessing game while you grimace like that?”
“You’re helping me with a job.”
He turns his head slowly. “A job.”
“Yep.”
“You run a company. You have a foreman. You have crews.”
“I also have you,” I say, like that’s a reasonable answer.
He makes a frustrated sound low in his throat. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Relax,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s a quick in and out.”
“I told Elsie and the inn I’d be home by five.”
“It’s Saturday. You’re allowed to leave the ridge for more than a few hours.”
He glares. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“And I’m so proud of you, bud.”
“Don’t.”
I pretend I’m focused on the road instead of replaying Isla’s tone when she laid down the terms the other night. The most important condition of all: no one can know this is fake.
She doesn’t want her friends and family to know because she doesn’t want to worry them. She’s taking care of business, and when all is said and done, the orchard will be in good working condition. Isla thinks this is easier and better.
She just wants a ring that looks real and a name on paper that satisfies the stipulations. It’s my additional income and credit score that turns her into a “household” instead of a “major risk.”
I could’ve just loaned her money, but it’s hundreds of thousands of dollars she needs for better machinery and seasonal employees over the next few years. That kind of cash flow is more continuous than a onetime lump sum.
To me, it makes sense the way she laid it all out. If there’s an end date to our marriage, then she thinks I’m off the hook. If it were a loan, she wouldn’t be able to pay it off for decades. Though I’d never expect her to. Either way, a grant suits her better for all sorts of reasons.
So, if we’re going to do this marriage thing, then we’re going to do it right. I’m eager to make it all feel as real as possible. If that involves holding her hand and kissing her in front of our friends, hell, I’m ready and willing to make the sacrifice.
Isla’s plan is for us to have a small courthouse wedding, which I’m also fully on board with. I told her I’d leave the specifics up to her. That she can make the big decisions.
Then I said, Hey, being married to me won’t be so bad. I’m basically the most eligible bachelor in town, second only to Reid. You could do a lot worse. Like Ronald, for example. He smells like mothballs.
She replied, very calmly, and in no uncertain terms, that if I joked my way through this, she’d annul me out of spite.
So, I’m done making jokes. For now.
Wells clears his throat. “Where are we going?”
I pull into a side street lined with small shops and cafés. This is the kind of block that sells espresso for seven dollars and makes you feel bad about it. In front of us sits a big glass building.
“Is this a new customer?” Wells asks, suspicious. “Doesn’t seem like your usual, uh, clientele.”
“We’re here to make a purchase.”
“You need high-end jewelry for a job?”
“Something like that.”
I kill the engine and climb out before Wells can ask any better questions.
Inside, there’s a twenty-foot-long display case nestled beneath perfect, ambient lighting. Everything’s elegant and polished. So much so that my hands feel like they’re too rough to be allowed in here.
A woman behind the counter gives us a professional smile. “Hi,” she says. “Welcome to Paraíso. I’m Elena. How can I help you?”
I beam. “We’re here to buy a ring.”
Wells glances at me, then at the cases of jewelry. His whole body goes rigid. “Jack,” he hisses under his breath. “What the hell?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“You brought me engagement ring shopping.”
“Yep.”
“Why did you bring me engagement ring shopping?”
“Because,” I say, “you’re my best friend.”
“Elsie and I were going to pick something out together. Eventually,” he adds, like the word is painful. “Not now.”
“Calm down, it’s not for her. It’s for Isla.”
His dark eyes go wide. “I don’t want to be involved in whatever the hell this is.”
“Too late.”
Wells turns back to Elena. “Hi,” he says, too stiff. “Sorry. We’re just browsing.”
Her smile flicks between us. “Oh, how exciting.”
Wells’ face goes blank.
I see it coming. I can’t stop it. I also don’t want to stop it.
She gestures toward the display with an open palm. “Are you looking for something classic? Modern? Do you have a stone in mind?”
Wells glances at me again, slow and murderous. “Do we have a stone in mind?”
“Yep.” I move closer to the case. “Something durable.”
“Of course,” Elena says. “It’s nice that you two are shopping together. That’s always my favorite.”
“Together,” Wells echoes, strangled.
I clear my throat. “It’s for someone else.”
“Oh.” Her gaze flicks to Wells’ hand. “Sure.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Wells whispers.
“Just stand there and look supportive.”
“I don’t support this,” he whispers.
“You do,” I say. “Good ol’ Jacky boy’s finally getting married. It’s a national holiday.”
He gives me a look that could peel paint.
Elena slides a tray out from under the counter. “These are some of our most popular engagement settings,” she says. “If you tell me a little about your partner, I can narrow it down.”
My partner. My chest does something foolish and sharp.
“She doesn’t like flashy. She’s not into diamonds, either.”
Wells makes a low noise, like he’s remembering every time Isla has called something “tacky” with her whole soul.
“She likes things that look like they have a purpose,” I continue. “She’s practical, but she does have an eye for pretty things.”
“Understated and elegant,” Elena says. “You want something she can wear every day without worrying too much about it.”
She pulls out a few options. A simple solitaire with white sapphire. Morganite set low enough it won’t snag on everything. An oval-cut emerald with a thin band and a bezel setting.
“Damn,” Wells mutters.
I point at it. “That one, please.”
“Wonderful,” Elena says. “Do you know her ring size?”
A real ring was one of Isla’s stipulations, so of course I’ve come prepared.
I give the size.
Wells coughs, obnoxious. This is my first time telling him about our engagement, and he’s taking it about as well as I thought he would. That is, he believes I’m living in my own fairy-tale land of delusion here. That I’ve decided to propose to Isla out of nowhere.
Wells, buddy. That was last week. Catch up, would you?
I tap the tray lightly. “Can I see it?”
She places the ring in my palm. It’s beautiful and clean and so completely Isla. When I hold it up, the rich green stone catches the light and throws it back. It fucking dazzles.
“Are you sure about this?” Wells asks. “Because I think Isla’s going to say no.”
“She already said yes.”
Wells’ head whips toward me. “She did not.”
“She did.”
“You’re not engaged,” he hisses.
“I’m not engaged,” I agree. “I’m pre-engaged.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Wells lifts a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Explain.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, deflecting. “I’m under threat of annulment.”
He drops his hand and stares at me with pure, offended disbelief. “Annulment.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
He huffs a heated breath. “Like what? Like it’s fucking ridiculous?”
“It’s not ridiculous.”
“It so completely is,” he repeats, louder this time.
Elena’s smile does a small, cautious falter.
Wells reaches for the ring, clearly operating on some feral instinct. I bat at the back of his hand. Paws off the merchandise, buddy.
He jerks. “Did you just slap me?”
“I tapped you.”
He reaches for the ring again.
I catch his wrist. He jiggles his arm. Suddenly, we’re struggling in front of a woman wearing black gloves and a necklace that probably has its own security detail.
I straighten so fast my spine pops. “Sorry,” I say to Elena. “We’re fine. My friend is just . . . having feelings.”
Wells wrenches his hand free.
“Of course,” Elena says, gracious.
“I’m going to go ahead and take this one,” I say, setting the emerald ring back on the tray.
“Wonderful.”
Wells breathes heavily through his nose.
“If you can’t be mature about this,” I say, “wait outside.”
“I can’t be mature?” Wells asks. “You’re the one trying to karate chop my arm.”
“Again, I tapped you.”
Elena clears her throat softly, like she’s trying to remind us she exists and also that there are cameras in every corner of this building.
“Fine,” Wells mutters. He turns on his heel and stalks outside. Through the glass, I can see him pace to the end of the awning. He’s trying to burn off the urge, I think, to strangle me with his bare hands.
I give Elena an apologetic look. “He’s usually less intense.”
She tilts her head. “Is he?”
“No, but he means well.”
“All right. Let’s get you taken care of, then.”
She rings me up, asks about timing, warranty, resizing. When she hands me the little bag, it feels absurdly light for something that just shifted the axis of my entire world.
When I step outside, Wells is pacing half a block down, hands shoved into his coat pockets, staring at the sidewalk.
“You done freaking out?”
He sniffs. “You actually asked her to marry you, and she actually said yes?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“And you really bought that ring in there?”
“Yeah, really.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this before we got here?”
“I would have,” I say. “But I didn’t want to hear you waxing lyrical on the whole drive over.”
He drags a hand over his face. “Jack Rhodes.”
“Get in the truck before you start hyperventilating on this sidewalk.”
He mutters something unpleasant, but he does, in fact, get in the truck.
We drive in silence for a full twenty minutes. Hartford blurs past. A bus wheezes at a stoplight. Someone jogs by us in the rain.
“Care to explain?” Wells finally asks.
“I’m building suspense.”
“Oh, fucking Christ.”
“All right.” I glance at him. He’s still rigid, still processing. “It makes sense, that’s all. We’ve known each other six years. We both want to settle down. It’s . . . practical.”
He tuts. “I know you’ve had a thing for her. You’re not exactly subtle.”
I grip the wheel a little tighter. The windshield wipers squeak. I should say something flippant, dodge and divert.
“We’re both ready to settle down,” I say, then hear how ridiculous that sounds. “We just . . . fit. We’ve always fit. You know how I feel about Isla.”
“You love her?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “I do.”
“And does she love you?”
My throat tightens.
I think about Isla in her kitchen, arms crossed, letting me have it. About her voice going quiet when she admitted she was struggling. About the way she looked at me when she asked if we could make it work, daring me not to flinch.
She’s not in love with me.
But I know she cares about me. I know she trusts me. I know that if she’s letting me stand beside her in this, it means something, because Isla doesn’t hand out access to her life like party favors.
She guards it. She fights for it. And when she chooses you, she does it with her whole chest, even if she complains the entire time.
“I think she does, in her own stubborn way. You know how she is.”
“That I do.” He looks out the window again. “If you hurt her, I’ll bury you on that ridge. I hope you know that.”
“Yeah. And what if she hurts me?”
“It’d be your fault, so I’d still bury you. But I’d also let you drink my good beer first.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle. “For the faith, and for coming along with me today.”
He huffs. “Don’t thank me. I was tricked.”
“Oh, bud. I hope you’re ready for a lifetime of getting hauled into my nonsense.”