Chapter 17
40 hours until the wedding
After the hike, we both collapse onto the bus to Cairnryan, sweaty, a little out of breath, and very, very happy.
We sit in comfortable, tired silence until Jack says, “I got you something else,” before reaching into his luggage, wedged between his knees.
“Another four-leaf clover?” I ask excitedly.
He shakes his head, grinning. “Better.” Then he hands me a pocket-sized guide to Paris.
I suppose the right thing to say would be, Wow, thanks so much , or You shouldn’t have! But instead, what comes out is, “When did you get this? We’ve been together every second of the day.”
Jack laughs. “Well, not every second of the day. I saw it in that bookshop in Edinburgh and thought of you.”
His words have a ripple effect that starts in my throat then slowly sinks lower into my chest and then my stomach, spreading outward as though putting down roots.
“What’s it for?” I ask, brushing my thumb over the spine.
“Well, most people read books, but I guess it might make a nice coaster too.”
I give his arm a whack. “Okay, smartass. I mean why’d you get me this?”
“I thought you’d like it. That maybe you could use it when you go to Paris.”
My heartbeat stumbles, then fully trips over itself. He not only remembered that I want to go to Paris but bought me a book about it? In the hopes that I’d go?
I don’t know what to think, or say, only that there’s a slow and steady pulse pressing against my sternum, the kind that feels like wishing on a star or a birthday candle. Like wanting something so bad that you can feel it thumping inside you, magnified and electric.
“Thank you,” I say after a beat. “That was really thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.”
I study Jack, eyes narrowing in consideration.
“What?” he asks, voice laced with a half laugh.
“You’re secretly a softy, aren’t you?”
Jack presses a hand to his chest, clutching metaphorical pearls. “I am not a softy.”
“You totally are,” I say, poking him in the ribs. “But don’t worry.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret softy persona is safe with me.”
Jack snorts, but not before I catch sight of the trail of pink climbing his throat.
“I hope you make it to Paris someday,” he says with resolute stiffness. “It’s a great city.”
“I hope I do too,” I tell him.
And this time I mean it.
Jack casts me a half smile before returning his gaze to his phone. I try to focus on the passing Scottish countryside, but the same heat I’d felt when we held hands in the bookstore returns, this time deeper, like it’s managed to burrow under my skin, running through my veins like jet fuel.
After an hour, Jack dozes off.
When I look over, the first thing I notice is how cute he looks when he’s asleep, all soft-jawed and peaceful. The second is that he’s still got his phone in his hand. A new message flashes on the screen and the phone buzzes, but he doesn’t wake up. Curiosity prickles inside me.
I can’t say I’m not tempted to take a peek. He’s so private. Meanwhile, I’ve told him so much about me.
I really shouldn’t…but I’m already leaning over far enough to catch a quick glance at his screen where the message appears in a flash before the screen goes black.
Lexi
Can we grab dinner when you get back? I want to see you
My entire body jolts as though zapped by electricity.
Lexi? Who’s Lexi? A hookup? Someone he’s casually seeing? A figure skater?
Jack shuffles in his sleep and I quickly turn toward the window, pretending to be engrossed in the passing scenery.
It shouldn’t matter who he’s talking to—or sleeping with. It’s absolutely not my business. But I can’t help the stab of jealousy, followed in quick succession by a hot whoosh of embarrassment. I’ve known the guy less than three days. We’re road trip buddies who sometimes hold hands in bookstores and buy one another thoughtful gifts. But that’s it. I have no right to feel jealous. And this inconvenient crush on Jack is just that. A crush.
But unlike the long, painfully drawn-out crushes I used to harbor in high school—the kind that I’d nurse and tend to for years—this one comes with a hard expiration date.
Tomorrow we’ll arrive at the wedding and this , this confusing, tightly wound thing between us, will unspool. I’ll go back to my life, and he’ll go back to his—a life of Lexi s and mysterious phone calls he doesn’t want to talk about.
I, too, must doze off because I’m jolted awake by the bus coming to a stop.
“Ada.” My eyes flicker open and Jack’s blurry face comes into view.
“Huh?” I blink a few times before realizing my head is nestled into the crook of Jack’s shoulder. I sit up straight, now instantly awake. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
His gaze bounces over me, jaw ticking as he swallows. “No worries.”
After grabbing our things, we disembark with the other passengers whose final stop is Cairnryan, a sleepy seaside village comprised of a single high street and a port where we’ll catch the ferry to Belfast in the morning. It’s totally different from the electric thrill of Edinburgh, but charming in its own cozy sort of way.
By the time we arrive at the small guesthouse next to the ferry terminal, dusk is settling on the horizon, painting the sky in stripes of candy-colored pinks and purples.
Fortunately, this establishment doesn’t ask if we are married, and we check into our room, a dated second-floor walk-up with a lingering odor of cigar smoke and dark green, seventies-esque bedspreads, without issue. This time there are two single beds.
Good , I tell myself. Physical distance is probably for the best. Not just because in a matter of hours we’ll arrive at the wedding and our time together will end, but because Jack and I don’t want the same things. He’s been very clear about that, and so have I.
The last few days have existed in a bubble. A bubble that will soon pop without guarantee that our friendship—or whatever this is—will continue past it. It’s best not to get too attached.
After we put our stuff in the room, Jack and I decide to check out the pub because, as he puts it, What else are we going to do?
I expect the place to be quiet—after all, the village is a single street—but to my surprise, the pub is packed.
“This must be the spot,” I yell, trying to be heard over the din of conversation and drunken laughter.
“Must be,” Jack yells back.
The crowd pushes against us like a heavy tide and Jack takes my hand, guiding me past the throngs of inebriated patrons crowded around worn wooden tables and a long, polished bar.
We manage to snag a booth near the back, then Jack disappears to order us drinks. A handful of moments after he’s gone, his phone vibrates from where it sits face up on the table. I can’t help but wonder if it’s more texts from Lexi.
But before I can indulge yet another masochistic urge to snoop, Jack returns, holding a bottle of Scotch and two glasses.
“Hey,” I say in my best I totally wasn’t looking at your phone voice.
“Hey.” He casts his phone a glance where it continues to vibrate in the center of the table.
“Looks like you’re pretty popular,” I say.
Jack takes one look at the screen, frowns, then shoves the phone into his pocket. “It’s just Collin.”
“Everything okay?”
He gives me a sidelong glance, two ridges forming between his brows. “Just wedding stuff.”
“Not a strip club catastrophe, I hope,” I tease, but either Jack doesn’t hear me or it’s more personal stuff he doesn’t want to share, because he reaches for the bottle of Scotch and pours two glasses.
“You got a whole bottle?” I ask, casting the fancy label a dubious glance.
“It’s our only night in Scotland. Go big or go home, right?” He sees the look on my face and adds, “My treat.”
“You’ve already been so nice to me. Let me buy.”
I’m almost positive I can’t afford it. But I hate the thought of owing Jack. At least more than I already do.
Jack shakes his head. “No way. You’ve got a business to save up for.”
My cheeks warm, flattered. “Are you sure?”
“Consider this an investment in your new venture.” He nudges a glass toward me. “Now, drink up.”
I eye the contents of my glass. “You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?”
“Why would I? You’ve already told me all of your secrets.”
“Not true. I didn’t tell you where my tattoo is,” I counter.
“You mean the one on your ass?”
“It’s not on my ass.”
Jack laughs, a low, throaty sound that nestles in the hollows of my stomach. “How many drinks is it going to take to get you to tell me?” he asks, eyes steadily holding mine. “Because I’m prepared to stay here as long as it takes.”
“As generous as that offer is, maybe it’s time for you to tell me some of your secrets.”
“I don’t have any secrets,” he says a little too quickly.
“Liar. Everyone has secrets.”
He leans back in his seat, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. “Fine. Let’s have a drink, and maybe you’ll find out.”
Jack lifts his glass, eyes finding mine. I do the same.
“What are we toasting to this time?” I ask.
His expression turns pensive. “How about to Sleeve It to Me 2.0?”
I can’t help but smile. “Do we still need to make eye contact?” I ask. “Or are we good on the whole seven years of bad sex thing?”
“One can never be too careful,” he says, giving me a look that scorches right down my center.
“To Sleeve It to Me 2.0,” I say, glass hovering midair.
“May she rise again,” Jack agrees.
He clinks his glass against mine and we drink. The Scotch tastes hot and smoky, like bottled flames. When we finish, we both slam our glasses on the wooden tabletop.
“So, have you thought more about what you’re going to do?” he asks. “About, you know…” His voice trails off, but I know what he means.
My eyes shoot down, suddenly afraid to verbalize the thoughts that have been swimming in the periphery of my brain all day.
It’s one thing to think about not going back to Carter, and another thing entirely to say it out loud. Like saying it will make it real.
“I have,” I say at last.
“And?”
I take a deep breath. “After I lost the business and things fell apart with my sister, I think I clung to Carter because he felt like the last thing in my life I could count on. But then that fell apart, too, and suddenly it felt like my whole world was crumbling around me and there was nothing I could do but hope Carter would want me back. I felt lost and helpless, like my life wasn’t really mine and I was just in a holding pattern waiting for Carter to come back and rescue me from the uncertainty. But I don’t want to live like that anymore.”
As soon as I say it, I expect the swift ache of fear to take hold. The sinking feeling that I’ve made a mistake. Instead, I feel lighter, like the laws of gravity have been lifted and now I’m free-floating, a bodiless version of myself.
“And it’s not just about Carter,” I continue. “For so long, I’ve let my relationships with others define my identity. I’m Allison’s big sister. My mom’s eldest daughter.” I wave my hand as though gesturing to invisible versions of them.
“I’m not even totally sure who I am without those relationships reflecting my identity back to me, telling me who I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to do.” I pause, searching for the words that have haunted me all day. “But maybe this is a new beginning for me. A chance to figure out who I am apart from the people in my life who expect things from me. To figure out what I want.”
Jack nods, dark eyes focused on mine with a gaze so intense I imagine my words are electric currents transmitting directly to his brain. “And what do you want?” he asks.
I chew on his words, savoring the question. It’s the same one he asked me hours ago, but now I think I have a better idea how to answer.
“I know it’s risky, but I want to reopen Sleeve It to Me.”
A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and I mirror his expression. “You should do it,” he says with the same levity as when he told me I should go to Paris. Like it’s easy. Like all I have to do is reach out and take it.
“And I want to move out of my parents’ house, and I want to paint again,” I tell him, voice speeding up with excitement. “And I want to fall in love. Not yet, not right now, but when I’m ready, I want to find the kind of love my mom and stepdad have. The kind where the future is full of unknowns and uncertainty, but we choose it anyway, because no matter what happens, we’ll be in it together.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through me, or the speed with which I’m talking, but when I finish, I’m breathless, cheeks stained in swatches of heat.
Jack’s eyes glow, turning from inky black to a warm brown. “You should get all those things,” he says. “You should get everything you want, Ada.”
I shoot his glass a suspicious look. “ You should stop drinking whatever is in there immediately because I’m pretty sure they’ve laced it with something.”
A smile plays on his lips, but it’s worn down, hidden behind a sharp range of shadows and the same haunted look I saw last night.
Under the table his knee bumps mine. I bump him back.