Chapter Seventeen
Jack
T he truck rumbles along the dirt path toward my campsite. I can’t get the memory of Jinnie’s hands on my collar, her lips against mine, out of my mind. There is definitely a connection. That isn’t just all me. She was into it. I’m not going to lie; I thought I was getting laid tonight.
Then—gone. Just like that.
My headlights cut across my little campsite. The lonely tent. The fire ring. My ‘couch’ are all reminders of my status in this world. I have nothing. What the hell was I thinking trying to put moves on someone who knows exactly what I have? Rather, what I don’t have.
I cut the engine and sit in the dark, listening to the cooling metal tick. A million thoughts race through my mind.
But there is one that is on repeat.
What the hell happened?
One second, we were kissing. The next, she was bolting for her door like I’d burned her.
I drag my hand through my hair. Maybe I misread everything. Maybe she didn’t actually want that kiss. But the way she’d leaned in to it, the way her fingers had curled against my cheek—that wasn’t just polite. That was wanting .
That kiss was fire. There is no way in hell she can tell me she didn’t want that. Or like it. She leaned across the seat to kiss me. She certainly didn’t have to.
I open the door and climb out. I untuck my shirt and consider starting a fire. It’s late and I should go to bed. I promised Aggie I would be over in the morning to finish the greenhouse and start replacing the stairs on her porch.
I take off my shirt and climb into my tent. I hang the shirt from the pole and strip out of my jeans. I’m out here alone. I’m not worried about anyone sneaking up on me and catching me in my underwear. Only person that would appear would be her. And I really don’t mind her seeing me. I sit on my sleeping bag, turn on my lantern, and pick up my notebook.
I flip to the song I started the night I met Jinnie—the one I swore I’d never play for anyone. It was more of a diary entry than a song that was ever going to be played in front of a crowd.
Now, with the taste of her still lingering in my memory, the words come easier.
You kiss like a question I can’t quite solve,
One minute burning, the next you’re gone.
I scratch out the last line. Too dramatic.
I close my eyes and think about her. About the things I really like about her. It’s more than just her beauty. It’s her smile. Her laugh. Those little freckles on her nose.
I jot down a few words, playing around with synonyms to make them fit. I settle into the rhythm of writing, letting the words flow as freely as my thoughts. This is how I express myself. Not all thoughts become lyrics. But once I get them on paper, I can pick and choose and manipulate the thoughts into something more cohesive.
You’re a mystery I can’t quite unravel,
One second here, the next you’re gone.
Your laugh is a melody I can’t get out of my head,
But your silence is a song I don’t know how to sing.
I pause, tapping the pencil against the edge of the notebook. It’s not perfect, but it’s honest. Maybe it’s a little cheesy.
Not cheesy—vulnerable.
I flip to a new page and don’t think about lyrics. I jot down the storm of emotions she makes me feel. The words come faster now. I scribble them down before they slip away, my hand moving almost as quickly as my thoughts.
I play the song through once, softly. It’s missing something. A bridge, maybe. Or perhaps the whole damn thing is stupid. I put the guitar away and climb into the sleeping bag.
I don’t know why I can’t write the song. Maybe because I want it to be perfect. It can’t be good enough. It can’t be just about a catchy melody or some words that anyone listening to it can put on the person they’re crazy about.
This song has to be for her and her alone. And it has to be perfect or it isn’t worth playing.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. I toss and turn, thinking about the kiss and trying to dissect it. Did I do something wrong? I’ve been told I’m a good kisser, so that can’t be it. The thoughts and self-doubts follow me into sleep.
* * *
T HE SQUAWKING OF A bird overhead wakes me up. I squint against the bright sun coming through the fabric of the tent. I reach for my phone and check the time. I groan and rub my hands over my face. My eyes are burning from lack of sleep.
I would love to lay here and pretend life isn’t happening, but I have things to do. Responsibilities. And it’s going to be hotter than hell inside the tent within the next hour. I climb out of the bag, shimmy into my jeans, and pull on a shirt. A little deodorant and a quick rinse with the mouthwash and I’m good to go. I put my toiletries in my backpack and a fresh change of clothes to put on after I’m done busting my ass at Aggie’s house.
I walk through the trees and smile when I smell bacon. Aggie’s making breakfast. She spoils me. I want to do all I can to repay her for her kindness and generosity.
She waves at me through the open kitchen window. “Come on in. Breakfast will be ready in five.”
I step inside, the smell of bacon and coffee is enough to make my stomach growl. Aggie stands at the stove, humming off-key.
She side-eyes me as I slump into a kitchen chair. “Rough night?”
“I’ve had better.”
She slides a plate in front of me—eggs, bacon, toast. A mountain of hashbrowns. My stomach growls again. She feeds me well.
Aggie pours coffee into a chipped mug that reads World’s Best Aunt . She doesn’t ask about the date. Doesn’t say a word. Just sips her coffee and watches me shovel food into my mouth like I haven’t eaten in weeks. She picks up a piece of toast and takes a bite. I can tell she’s waiting for me to talk. I’m just not sure what I should say.
“What?” I say around a mouthful of eggs.
She blinks innocently. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
“Am I?”
I point my fork at her. “You want to know about the date.”
She gasps, hand to her chest. “I would never pry. That’s your business. I wouldn’t presume you would want to share it with me. I’m just the old lady who made you a breakfast fit for a king.”
I grin and shake my head. She’s good.
Aggie grins and wipes her mouth. “Okay, fine. How’d it go?”
I take my time chewing, just to mess with her. “It was good. Thanks for the restaurant tip. Although, I’m not sure reservations were required.”
“I wanted to make sure you got a table,” she says with a casual shrug. “I know the owner. He promised he’d take care of you kids.”
“The food was great,” I add. “Really good. And the portions were huge.”
More waiting.
We both know she doesn’t give a shit about the food or the service. She wants the juicy details. And that’s so weird to me. But she’s invested in this thing she’s trying to orchestrate. I know matchmaking when I see it.
“We had a good time,” I add.
She nods, casually sipping coffee.
But she says nothing. She’s doing that thing. Don’t speak and make me uncomfortable so I have to fill the silence.
I sigh. “I took her home and...I’m not sure. She ran away like I had the plague.”
Aggie’s eyebrows shoot up. “She ran away?”
My head bobs up and down. “That’s the weird part. It was going great . We laughed, we talked, we—” I catch myself before we kissed . “We had a good time. Then bam . She hopped out of my truck and ran barefoot up to her house.”
Aggie sips her coffee. “Jinnie’s...complicated.”
“Helpful.”
“She likes you.”
I nearly choke on my toast. “She’s got a funny way of showing it.”
“Don’t overthink it. She had a good time—I’m sure of it.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’ve known her since she was a baby, and that girl doesn’t laugh with people she doesn’t like.” She stands, grabbing my empty plate. “Give her some space. She’ll come around.”
I slump back in my chair. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then you write a song about it.”
I sigh. “Yeah, another dude writing a sappy song about a woman.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Aggie says. “She’ll tell me and then I’ll tell you.”
I can’t tell if she’s joking. “Really?”
She winks. “Sometimes, you just need an inside edge. I’m the inside edge.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Aggie. I’m going to get started on those steps. Thank you for breakfast. It was just what I needed.”
“You’re welcome.”
I crouch next to Aggie’s porch, prying up the first of the rotting steps. I toss the old board into a growing pile of debris and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I’m glad I have something to do, because if I was sitting in that tent right now, I’d be driving myself crazy.
Even now, my mind keeps wandering. No matter how hard I try to focus on the task at hand, Jinnie’s face keeps flashing in my mind. I can’t get her pretty smile out of my head. Or forget the way she leaned in to me in the truck. That kiss was definitely going somewhere.
What did I do wrong?
I grab a new board and measure it against the space where the old step used to be. The sawdust kicks up as I cut it to size. Maybe I came on too strong. Maybe she didn’t actually want to kiss me. But she kissed me first—or did she? Maybe I misread it. Maybe she was just being nice.
“Damn it,” I mutter as the board splinters slightly at the edge. I set it down and grab another one, trying to focus this time.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I finish. I’m hot, tired, and stressed out. I wouldn’t mind taking another night off, but I can’t. I have to play tonight.
I set the last board in place, hammer the nails in, and step back to inspect my work. The new steps look solid—nothing fancy, but they’ll hold. My hands are sore, and my shirt is plastered to my back with sweat. I wipe my forehead with the hem of my shirt and head inside.
Aggie’s in the kitchen when I walk in. I smell the cookies before I see them. She glances up as I kick off my boots by the door.
“Finished?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Steps are done. Greenhouse is done. I’ll start on the back deck tomorrow.”
“You’re a hard worker, Jack. That’s a good quality.”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Just trying to pull my weight.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” she says. “Now, go shower before you stink up my whole house.”