Chapter 11
Jack could have kicked himself when he’d seen Jenna’s golden-green eyes fill with tears.
He really had not meant to make her cry, but when it came to businesses and whether they were workable or not…
well, he tended to see things in a brutal black and white, and, truth be told, he’d supposed Jenna was made of tougher stuff.
It was kind of nice to know she was softer than he’d thought.
Even so, he was glad they’d moved past that uncomfortable moment, as well as the ones earlier when, like a total loser, he’d basically told her he had no friends.
It still made him cringe to consider how she must view him—some sad, lonely rich guy rattling around in a big, empty house on his own, desperate to be of use to someone.
Pathetic. And yet… there had also been something surprisingly refreshing about how unfazed Jenna was by his wealth.
His Rolex was a joke to her, she hadn’t seemed particularly impressed by the size of his house, or the fact that he’d made his first million nearly twenty years ago.
It was so different from the women he’d known back in New York, who, at least in the circles he’d traveled in, seemed more interested in the particulars of his bank account than his personality.
But he really hadn’t wanted to make her cry, although she’d looked even more beautiful with her eyes sparkling and luminous with tears.
A couple of times tonight, it had felt like they were flirting, and yet the “maybe later” joke about his bedroom had caused her to blush and stammer.
It was hard to gauge how she felt about him; she seemed guarded about her own emotions, but then he was about his, as well.
He wondered what was so painful, that she couldn’t talk about it in regard to the store, and why she was reluctant to change anything.
There was clearly some serious history there, but he wasn’t about to press.
“So why Starr’s Fall?” she asked as she took another bite of risotto.
Outside the moonlight was silvering the surface of the lake, and the kitchen yawned all around them, the recessed lighting creating pools of light and shadow.
Despite the size of the room, it felt intimate.
“I mean, why not stay in New York?” she asked.
“Or go to the Hamptons, or I don’t know… ”
“Somewhere more my type?” he filled in, and she gave a slightly abashed smile.
“Well, somewhere that seems more your type, but I’m coming to realize I shouldn’t stereotype you, or anyone, I suppose. Mea culpa .”
“I’m glad to hear I’m confounding your assumptions.” He settled back into his seat. “I picked Starr’s Fall,” he told her, “because my mother is in a nursing home in North Canaan.”
“Oh.” Her mouth made a perfectly rounded O of surprise as her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Why would you? I didn’t tell you.” He paused as he felt a familiar sadness steal over him at the thought of his mother—wispy-haired, vacant-eyed, an uncertain smile curving her lips whenever she caught sight of him.
You look like someone I once knew… You aren’t the guy who redid my kitchen, are you?
“She has Alzheimer’s,” Jack explained. “Fairly advanced now, unfortunately. I spent the last twenty years too busy to see her much, even after my dad died, and I guess I’m trying to make up for lost time. A brush with death really makes you seriously rethink your priorities.”
“That sounds so tough.” Her voice was soft and compassionate in a way he’d never heard before, and he realized how much he liked it. He liked someone caring about what he was going through, how he felt, even just a little bit. It had been a long time, way too long, since he’d felt like anyone did.
“It can be hard,” he admitted. “She doesn’t always know who I am.
Sometimes she does, though. It just depends on the day.
I had the idea that she could come live with me here, in time, but her neurologist said to leave it for now.
She’s settled in the home and any change could make things worse, so…
” He spread his hands wide, looking remorseful.
“Oh, Jack.” Jenna shook her head, full of sorrow. “Annie Lyman is going through something similar with her mom, but it’s nearer the end, I think.” She let out a sigh as she finished her wine. “Why does life have to be so hard sometimes?”
“Just the way it is, I guess.” He took a sip of wine before asking, “What about your parents?”
Jenna made a rueful face. “Well… they’re living their best lives in Florida, having retired from the store nearly five years ago.”
He cocked his head, curious. “You don’t sound entirely pleased about that.”
A breath escaped her, long and low and gusty.
“I should be, I know. They worked hard and they deserve a break. It’s just…
they’ve never been all that interested , as parents.
In their children, I mean.” She grimaced again.
“Which sounds kind of pathetic, coming from a thirty-nine-year-old woman. I mean, I should be over that kind of thing, right? So my parents were a little hands-off. Most parents were of their generation, anyway. It’s just…
they were so wrapped up in each other and their own romance, and sometimes it felt a little…
lonely, watching it from the outside. Plus it caused me to make some bad choices, not that I blame them for that.
It was just… hard.” A sudden laugh, almost like a bark, escaped her.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.
I wouldn’t normally.” She paused before admitting with another laugh, this one sounding uncertain, “I think… I think I might be a little drunk.” She gave him a direct look, a small smile playing about her mouth, that had Jack’s senses flaring to life.
The way she’d spoken… it had almost sounded like some kind of invitation.
“Well, it’s good wine,” he finally remarked, keeping his tone light. “I can always call you a taxi, you know, so don’t worry about that.”
“A taxi?” She let out another bark of laughter.
“There are no taxis in Starr’s Fall. There was once, but the driver, Harry McCall, got too many speeding tickets and lost his license.
Anyway.” She straightened in her seat. “I can call Annie or Maggie to give me a lift. Don’t worry about that.
” She checked her watch as she gave a laughing grimace. “But was that a hint to get going?”
“No, it definitely wasn’t.” Instinctively he reached over and caught her wrist, enjoying the feel of her warm skin beneath his fingers, the slight indrawn breath of surprise at his touch.
“I don’t want you to go,” he admitted quietly, sounding far more heartfelt than he’d meant to, and then deciding he didn’t care.
Jenna’s eyes widened and the moment spun out. His fingers were still on her wrist, his thumb touching her pulse which was beating hard. Finally, after what seemed like a very pleasant, very expectant eternity, Jenna let out a shaky laugh and gently withdrew her wrist.
“Well, in that case…” she said. “I suppose you can pour me another glass.”
Jack did.
He was hoping the mood would melt into something relaxed and languorous, spin out a little more as they saw where this might take them, but before Jenna had even taken a sip of her wine, he saw her expression tense and he felt the atmosphere shift to something uneasy and far less pleasant, like a chilling of the air.
“I probably should call Annie or Maggie,” she said a little unsteadily. “Just to give them a heads up.”
“All right,” Jack replied, because what else could he say? He wasn’t going to make her stay, even if he wanted her to… and he’d just told her so.
Jenna rose from the table to get her phone from her bag, while Jack sipped his wine and tried to regroup. For a few seconds there, it had felt like something might happen between them. Now it no longer did.
Jenna went out into the hall to make her call, which stung, stupidly, because of course she’d want some privacy.
Still, Jack suddenly felt like an interloper in his own empty home.
He sighed and put down his wineglass. His head was feeling muddled enough already; if he hadn’t had a couple of glasses himself, he would have offered her a ride, so she didn’t have to call a friend.
It was all starting to feel kind of teenaged and awkward , he reflected glumly, which was not the vibe he’d been going for at all.
The minutes stretched on with Jenna still in the hallway, so Jack decided to clear their plates and get out the dessert—a raspberry mousse he had bought in Litchfield.
His culinary skills extended only so far.
As he scraped plates into the garbage disposal, he wondered what he’d been hoping for, from the evening.
To help Jenna with the store, or get to know her better, even a lot better?
Maybe, he mused, it would be better for both of them if he just focused on the store.
If she really was willing to start changing things, he knew he’d like to help her.
He’d like to have a project to sink his teeth into, after six months of kicking around as he’d tried to get his health back.
But would Jenna be open to accepting his help?
* * *
Shoot. Jenna stared at her phone as if it had the answers to the universe, or at least to how she was going to get home tonight.
This could become seriously awkward. In fact, it probably already was, because she’d been standing out in the hallway for about fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what to do.
Briefly, Jenna closed her eyes—and remembered how Jack’s fingers had felt on her wrist. Warm and strong and sure. That little touch had shaken her far more than she was comfortable admitting, even to herself. Had Jack seen how she’d been affected? Probably.