Prologue #2
“—delightful,” I finished in a whisper that came out all croaky and weak.
The man—Jack—lifted his hand in a little wave as he stepped further into the room, and for some stupid reason, my heart clacked unevenly around like a carriage on a rutted road.
I’d known I was gay for a while, but until that moment, sex had been kind of an abstract thing for me.
Men were pleasant to look at and daydream about.
Some, like Matthew Macfadyen in that Pride and Prejudice gazebo scene, made my pulse beat concerningly fast. Others, like Kyle Silverbow in my chem lab with his perfect pouty mouth, made me wonder distantly what kissing would be like and whether, if I were to mash our lips together, I’d be able to taste the grape bubble gum he always chewed.
This, though… this was different. This was real.
Not just a vague awareness of attraction but a bone-deep, skin-tightening need. A visceral “Yes. This one. This man. Him.” that made my lower belly cramp with want and my fingers itch to touch.
A sexual awakening on a whooooole other scale.
And for the first time in my Elizabeth-Bennet-loving life, I was feeling some distinct sympathy for her boy-crazy sister Lydia, because if this man asked me to run off with him, I’d be all, “Fuck, yes. Elope me, baby. How fast are your horses?”
Which was unfortunate, really, since the object of my newfound desire was a full-on adult of at least twenty-five years old or maybe even… thirty.
Still, I stood up a little straighter, wishing I was wearing something besides flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt, and ran a hand over my hair, hoping that, for once, the waves would be obedient and stop attempting to defy gravity at every turn.
“Sorry about that,” Webb went on. “Jack Wyatt, this is my uncle, Drew Sunday. My sister, Emma—she’s twelve. And… the ranting guy with the pillow shield is my youngest brother, Hawkins. He’s seventeen.”
“And a half,” I whispered, still staring at Jack. No one heard me.
“I promise it’s not usually quite this loud around here…” Webb said with a little chuckle.
Jack shook his head. “Heck, no. Don’t apologize for Hawk.
I don’t have any siblings, myself, but I get pretty passionate about my peace and quiet, too.
” He aimed that smile in my direction—click—then fired off a teasing wink—boom—that shot directly through my heart.
“That’s why my mom and I moved down from Portland a couple months back. ”
Drew stepped forward, extending his hand. “Jack. You’re the one who opened the new deli in town.”
“Diner and sandwich shop, yeah,” Jack agreed. “My mom suggested calling it Panini Jack’s, but I’m not a hundred percent sold yet.”
“How are you liking the Hollow?” Drew asked. “Big change from Maine?”
“In the best way. I already feel more at home here than I ever did there.” Jack rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Housing prices are affordable—I’m looking to find a fixer-upper I can really put my stamp on, you know?
And everyone’s been so kind. I’ve had two folks offer to cut me deals on produce for the restaurant this summer, Randy Justis from the Wing Factory brought me my favorite Girl Scout cookies, the mayor’s wife came by to add my birthday to the town’s Birthday Committee list, and one woman came by to measure me for a hand-knit sweater. I don’t even think she said her name.”
He sounded so bewildered and thrilled that I couldn’t help smiling sympathetically.
“That’ll be Helena Fortnum,” Drew said, rubbing his chin. “She’s a Hooker.”
Jack blinked. “Uh. I don’t know about that. This woman was older. Seventy or eighty, at least—”
“A Little Pippin Hooker,” Em explained. “That’s our local fiber arts group. She crochets.”
“Ah.” Jack nodded. “That makes more sense.”
“What, um… what flavor were the cookies?” I blurted, because important facts were important.
Jack turned those blue eyes back on me. If he thought my question was seven kinds of weird, he didn’t say so. “Thin Mints? I can bake my own cookies, of course, and I do, but there’s something about the artificial mint flavoring, you know?”
Drew made a disapproving noise, but I nodded in complete understanding.
Webb clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack’s been so busy getting things set up he’s hardly seen any of the actual sights around here, so I’m taking him out snowshoeing today. Next week, we might go for a hike if the weather cooperates. He’s never seen a falcon before.”
“It’s a little early for falcons,” I cut in. “They’re usually not around much until March. But once spring comes, a whole bunch nest up on Fogg Peak. If you take the Hunter Trail to Glassy Ridge, there are nesting boxes maybe a quarter mile below the summit for the kestrels.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Webb said. “I forgot you and Dad used to hike up there, Hawklet.”
“All the time, rain or shine,” I agreed.
“We used to go lots of places. There’s more than a hundred trails around Little Pippin Hollow, and they each look different depending on the season, but the trails up at Fogg Peak are the best. In autumn when the leaves turn, it’s like being inside your own personal kaleidoscope. ”
Jack’s smile grew until it was deep enough for a person to fall into and lose themselves forever. “Wow. That sounds amazing.” He turned to Webb. “You guys’ll have to show me.”
“Sure thing.” Webb bumped Jack’s shoulder back companionably, and I felt a jolt of acute jealousy that my very straight brother did not deserve.
“We’ll make it a family affair. Em will come, won’t you, Em?
And Drew, you’ll be up for it? I bet we can even get Porter—he’s the fourth-oldest of the six of us—to make an appearance. ”
“And I’ll go,” I offered, clutching my pillow more tightly.
“You will?” Emma said dubiously. “But you just said—”
“Pfft. I know what I said.” My cheeks went hot. Honestly, siblings. The one time they listened and remembered what I said was the one time I wished they wouldn’t. “This is different. It’s about welcoming Jack to town and showing him around. So.”
“Hawk prefers reading,” Em explained apologetically. “Specifically, Pride and Prejudice retellings—hundreds of versions of the original, just with minor plot differences. He told me one day he wants to go to the Lake District in England so he can see Pemberley, the house where Jane Austen lived.”