19. Tarryn
Tarryn
I 've been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, the legal jargon blurring into meaningless symbols while my mind drifts elsewhere.
To New York. To Chicago. To Jackson. To the impossible geography of our newly rekindled love.
It's been a week since Miguel called us both into his office, since everything changed again. Junior counsel for me. Division lead with eventual relocation to New York for Jackson. Two perfect opportunities wrapped in the most imperfect timing.
I trace the delicate gold chain around my neck, fingers finding the familiar daisy pendant that's been my constant companion for nine years. Even when I convinced myself I was over him, I kept this part of him against my skin.
As if touching it summoned him, my phone buzzes with a text.
Jackson: Lunch today? Need to see your face.
After eight years apart, two months of professional pretense, and now a week of acknowledged love, I still haven't gotten used to the feeling of being wanted by him so openly, so honestly.
Me: Meet you in the lobby at twelve thirty.
I set my phone down and force myself to focus on the contract language, but my mind keeps circling back to the same question that's haunted me all week.
Can we really make a long-distance relationship work this time? Or are we setting ourselves up for another heartbreak?
Jackson sits across from me, sunlight from the window catching in his dark hair, illuminating flecks of gold I'd forgotten existed until recently rediscovering them with my fingertips.
"You're staring," he says, his mouth curving into that half smile that still makes my stomach flutter like I'm sixteen again.
"Just appreciating the view.”
His eyes darken slightly, gaze dropping to my lips before returning to meet mine. "How has your morning been, Junior Counsel Wells?"
"Distracted," I admit, my honesty surprising us both. "I can't stop thinking about?—"
"Us?" he finishes, reaching across the table to trace his fingertips over the back of my hand. "The impending geographic complication?"
I nod, turning my hand to capture his, our fingers intertwining in a simple, perfect connection. "I'm trying to be practical about this, to see the possibilities rather than the obstacles."
"I've been thinking about it constantly," Jackson says, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "It's not ideal, but we can make it work. I'll fly back every weekend. New York to Chicago is just a couple of hours."
"Every weekend?" I arch an eyebrow skeptically. "With a new division to build? International clients in different time zones? That's not sustainable, Jackson."
His grip tightens slightly. "Then we alternate. I come to you, you come to me. We make it nonnegotiable, build our schedules around it."
I sigh, wishing I could absorb his optimism. "You're being naive."
"And you're being a defeatist," he counters, though his voice remains gentle. "Is this your way of saying you can't do it? That you don't think we're worth the effort?"
The question hits like a physical blow. "No! God, no. That's not what I meant at all."
I lean forward, lowering my voice despite the privacy of our corner booth. "I believe we can do this. I'm willing to try—to fight for us this time. I just want us to be realistic about the challenges."
Relief washes across his features. "Then we'll be realistic together. Eyes wide open, no illusions, but also no surrender before we've even begun."
He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sends heat spiraling through me. "We're not those kids anymore, Tar. We have resources, agency, experience. Most importantly, we know what we're fighting for now."
"Which is?" I ask, needing to hear him say it.
His eyes meet mine, unwavering. "Everything. A future. Together."
The conviction in his voice settles something restless inside me. Maybe he's right. Maybe we can defy the statistics, the conventional wisdom, the ghost of our past failure. Maybe love really can be enough this time.
"Okay," I say finally. "We do this. Together. No matter what.”
“By the way, I’m leaving work a little early today so don’t wait for me. Just come over when you get off.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “What are you up to, Wells?”
“Don’t worry about it, Hayes.”
I move around my kitchen with purpose, the rhythmic chopping of herbs a counterpoint to the jazz playing softly in the background.
The scent of garlic and rosemary fills the air as I prepare Jackson's favorite meal—rib eye steak with herb butter, roasted potatoes, and asparagus.
A proper homemade meal before New York steals him away.
My apartment door opens with the jingle of keys I gave him just days ago. "Something smells amazing," Jackson calls, his voice carrying from the entryway.
He appears in the kitchen doorway, jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened at his neck. His eyes widen appreciatively as he takes in the scene—table set with candles and wine, steaks perfectly seared and resting.
"What's the occasion?" he asks, dropping his jacket over a chair and coming to wrap his arms around me from behind.
I lean back against his chest, reveling in the solid warmth of him. "No occasion. I just wanted to show you that I'm putting in the work for us."
His arms tighten around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. "You left work early to make me dinner?"
"Shocking, I know." I laugh, turning in his embrace to face him. "Tarryn Wells, workaholic extraordinaire, actually prioritizing her personal life."
His hands slide up to frame my face, eyes searching mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "I love you," he says simply. "So much, it terrifies me sometimes."
"I love you too." The words come easily now, the fear of vulnerability diminishing with each repetition. "And I want you to know that I won't run this time. No matter how complicated things get, no matter how our future plays out—I'm all in, Jackson."
He kisses me then, tender and thorough, his mouth moving against mine. I melt against him, hands sliding into his hair, holding him closer as the kiss rapidly deepens.
When we finally break apart, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. "I have some news," he murmurs, his voice rough at the edges.
"Good news or bad news?" I ask, reluctantly stepping back to check on the potatoes.
"Potentially life-changing news," he replies, leaning against the counter. "Miguel called me into his office today. We had a long talk."
I turn to face him, spatula frozen midair. "And?"
"He told me that as much as it would kill him to have you leave, there's an opportunity for you to be junior counsel in the New York office."
The spatula clatters against the counter. "What?"
"Apparently, the expansion plans are moving faster than expected. They need the international division fully operational within six months, not eighteen. And they need strong legal counsel dedicated to the division from the beginning."
My mind races, processing implications. "So, I could… we could both be in New York?"
"Together," he confirms, watching me carefully. "If you wanted."
I sink onto a kitchen stool, overwhelmed by the possibility. "But what about my position here? I just started as junior counsel."
"Miguel said you've more than proven yourself. The partners are willing to transfer your appointment if you want it." He moves closer, his hand finding mine. "No pressure, Tarryn. This is entirely your choice."
"New York," I breathe, the word both thrilling and terrifying. "Us. Together."
"Together," he repeats, squeezing my hand. "No long distance, no weekend flights, no missing each other."
The possibility unfurls inside me like a flower opening to the sun. But as quickly as hope blooms, practical concerns follow.
"Our families," I say, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. "My dad's health. Your father's procedure."
Jackson nods, understanding immediately. "I've been thinking about that too. It's not an easy decision."
"Let's eat dinner," I suggest, gathering my composure. "Talk it through. We don't have to decide tonight."
Later, as we sit at my small dining table, candlelight flickering between us, we map out practical considerations. Financial implications. Career trajectories. Family obligations.
"My dad's doctors are at Northwestern," I say, wineglass cradled between my palms. "There are excellent specialists in New York, but would he be willing to change his entire medical team?"
"My father's procedure is scheduled for next month," Jackson adds. "I need to be here for that at least."
We continue like this through dinner, laying out concerns, examining options no matter how far-fetched they might sound. By the time we finish dessert, we've agreed to sleep on it, to consult our families, to make this decision deliberately rather than reactively.
Jackson stands, clearing our plates despite my protests. When he returns from the kitchen, he extends his hand to me. "Dance with me?"
"There's no music," I point out, even as I place my hand in his.
He leans over to my phone that’s still connected to my speaker, tapping the screen a few times until soft music fills the apartment. Then he draws me to my feet and into his arms, one hand at the small of my back, the other holding mine against his chest.
We sway together in the candlelight, my head resting against his shoulder, his cheek pressed to my hair. The familiar scent of his cologne mingles with the lingering aroma of our dinner, creating a moment so perfect, so complete, that tears prick behind my eyelids.
"Hey," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to look at me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," I whisper, blinking back tears. "Everything's right. That's what scares me."
His hand rises to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "We're allowed to be happy, Tarryn. After everything, we're allowed this."
I turn my face into his palm, pressing a kiss to his lifeline. "I want this. Us. A life together. I'm just afraid?—"
"Of losing it all again," he finishes for me, understanding in his eyes. "I know. I'm scared too. But we're not surrendering to fear this time."
He pulls me closer, our bodies fitting together with the perfect alignment that still amazes me. "Whatever we decide about New York, we decide together. And whatever happens after, we face it together."
"Together," I echo, the word a promise and a prayer as we continue swaying to music that seems to have been written just for us, just for this moment.
"New York?" My mother's voice rises with excitement through the phone. "Oh, Tarryn, that's wonderful! You and Jackson both?"
I pace my living room, phone pressed to my ear, surprised by her enthusiasm. "You're not upset? About me moving farther away? With Dad's health issues?"
"Sweetheart," she says, her voice softening. "Love doesn't come with geographic limitations. We'll always be family, wherever you build your life."
I sink onto my couch, emotion tightening my throat. "But what if something happens with Dad? What if you need me?"
"Planes exist for a reason," she replies pragmatically. "And your father would never forgive himself if you sacrificed this opportunity because of him."
"Are you sure?" I ask, still uncertain.
"Live your life, darling. Build it with Jackson. Do what's best for you both." Her voice wavers slightly. "Just come home soon for a visit, okay? It's been too long."
Guilt twists inside me. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry. I've been so focused on work."
"That's what telephones are for," she teases. "But we understand. And we're so proud of you, Tarryn. So proud of the woman you've become."
After we hang up, I sit motionless, her wisdom settling around me. My entire adult life has been shaped by the fear of being vulnerable, of losing control, of repeating past mistakes. But maybe the real mistake was letting that fear dictate my choices.
A few moments later, Jackson arrives with the takeout he picked up on his way over from the gym.
“Hey, baby. You’re not going to believe what my dad said to me today.
” He plants a kiss on my lips. "I talked to my parents," he says, unpacking containers of Thai food onto my coffee table.
"About New York, about us, about everything. "
“Oh yeah?” I giggle at what appears to once again be cosmic timing. I curl into the corner of my couch, watching him move with easy familiarity through my space. "And?"
"My dad said, and I quote, 'If you let that girl go again, I'll disown you.'" Jackson laughs, the sound rich and warm. "Apparently, they've been hoping we'd find our way back to each other ever since we reconnected at Blake."
“Really?" I ask, relieved, always slightly worried that deep down they hated me for breaking their son’s heart all those years ago.
"My mother pointed out that my father's health issues have given them perspective on what really matters." He sits beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. "She said life is too short to prioritize anything over love."
“I also had a great talk with my mom today. She said almost the same thing, that love doesn't come with geographic limitations."
Jackson's hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with practiced ease. "Seems our families are wiser than we gave them credit for."
I turn to face him fully. "Let's do this," I say, squeezing his hand. "Let's move to New York."
His eyes widen. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure about you," I reply, leaning forward to press my forehead against his. "About us. The rest is just logistics."