16. LOSE CONTROL
16
LOSE CONTROL
TEDDY SWIMS
JACK
I wake up groggy. Like I can't quite drag myself from sleep and am muddling through the waters of a really good dream. A hazy one. Warm, with freckled skin, easy smiles, and the scent of cinnamon and sugar filling the recesses of my mind.
Fumbling with the sheets sticking to my body, I lift myself from the bed and scoop up Cat before he gets any ideas about using my pants as his litter box again. Though I’m growing used to his antics, I do not love the phase of cat parenting that is litter box training.
We spend the morning lazy, making coffee for me and setting out milk for the little guy. I read a bit, then shoot both Owen and Winnie quick texts to check in. I've been awake for over an hour before I realize I'm not sure what day it is and I haven’t noticed a single Post-it note.
How long was I out? How many days has it been since falling asleep to the sound of Dinah's voice as she read one of her romance books to me? The fact that I don’t have any signs or symptoms of a lingering migraine tells me I’ve missed at least one day. Maybe more.
Meandering through the apartment, with Chipper nipping at my heels, I finally see the speck of highlighter-orange paper posted to the bathroom mirror.
Kissed Dinah.
Will again.
Send roses.
I stare at that offensive piece of paper, and all I see are his words, scribbled like every other note he's left over the past three years. Ranging from important doctor's appointments, rental property or Petals’ updates, and an epic breakup, to topics as ridiculous as what TV shows he's watching or how many reps we should put in at the gym.
But this time the words aren't mundane. They're potentially life-changing. Words I'd give anything to have written myself.
Kissed Dinah. Will again.
Those four simple words propel me forward without further care to the time or day of the week. I charge through my apartment, down the stairs, and barge through our shared door into Dinah's shop.
Something slow and moody plays over the radio, but Dinah's gasp of surprise as I amble towards her is the only soundtrack I'm concerned with. I’ve got a severe case of tunnel vision, and Dinah Knot is the only destination for my path.
“Jack,” she says on an exhale, but I don't give her the chance to take another breath before my mouth crashes into hers. She tastes just like I imagined she would. When her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, the scent that’s infiltrated every facet of my home and mind—warm bread, sugar, and butter—swirls in a cloud around me, deepening the fog I’m already lost in.
I grab her waist, lifting her easily onto the counter and step between her legs. What I thought would nullify my absolute need for her has only intensified my drive to be closer. For more. Electricity hums between us with every push and pull of our lips meeting, mouths tangling, hands clenched so tight to her curves I never want to let go. She fists her hands in the front of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll get away, and if they’re any indication, I know I’m not alone in this.
I’d like to throw Dinah over my shoulder right now and carry her to the nearest pastor. Make this thing official. She’s so tiny and fits so perfectly in my hands. It’d be easy. I think I might do it.
A sharp catcall whips through the air, and I pull away to Dinah’s dazed, but deliciously flushed face staring at me. A small crowd of cheering sounds at my back and Dinah’s shaking fingers cover her lips, slowly transforming from shock to a bashful grin.
“I taught him all about that neckin’ last month!” a familiar voice shouts from across the room.
“I’ll testify, y’all. My Michael knows all about proper neckin’. Though I’d say it's more appropriate in private and preferably matrimonially.” Mrs. Cotten’s shrill voice sings her husband’s praises as the group of people in Knotty & Nice continue to laugh and cheer behind us.
My eyes nearly pop out of my head, and Dinah erupts into giggles. I drop my forehead to hers and relinquish my hold on her hips, resting my hands on the counter on either side of her.
“I’m honestly afraid to look.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” she says in a quiet laugh against my lips. “Mr. and Mrs. Cotten look like they might just give my customers an encore of our performance and eat each other alive, right here and now. I’m terrified.”
“I’m sorry, Polly.” My thumb grazes the side of her jeans as my hands slide off the counter and we both pull apart.
“I’m not.” She bites her plump, well-kissed lip. “You should probably let me down now, though. Your sister looks like she might lose the chocolate pretzels she just ate.”
Groaning, I run my hand over my face and turn around, stepping in front of Dinah’s legs and shielding her from the embarrassment I caused. “Hey, everybody.”
And I do mean everybody. By the looks of the shop right now, it appears that all of Honey Hill was just hankerin’ for pretzels… and a show. Business, for Dinah, is apparently good.
“Hi, yourself, boy,” Charlie hollers with a wave and slaps a twenty down on the table between herself and Jan. “You just lost me twenty dollars. You couldn’t hold off for another twelve hours, could ya?”
“Technically—” Dinah lifts a finger in the air, just over my right shoulder.
“Don’t.” I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to erase the knowledge that I’ve kissed her before but have no memory of it.
Someone new enters my personal nightmare and looks around Dinah’s shop for help. “Hey, y’all,” the man greets the room with nothing but curiosity and kindness. “Does anyone happen to know if that bike store over yonder is gonna open today? My cables are frayed and the housing could use a good cleaning.”
“It isn’t a bike store!” I feel like hollering, but it comes out as more of a sulky snarl.
“You sure? It says Petals right on the door and there’s a bike out front.” He looks downright bamboozled.
“Pretty sure.”
“It’s a flower shop,” Dinah explains in her friendliest voice. “ P.E.T.A.L.S. Not P.E.D.A.L.S. It’s a homophone. ” She winks at me and kicks her legs back and forth off the counter.
“Oh. Thanks.” The stranger takes a last glance around, sees that every person in the shop is frozen in some sort of mild but awkward voyeuristic trance trained on Dinah and me, and waves his goodbye.
Maloy snickers and slaps his own cash on the table in front of Jan, followed by Winnie—who still looks disgusted—and then my cousin, Griffin, who’s nothing but smirks and wiggly eyebrows.
“Man, just once I thought you’d take longer to get the girl,” Maloy whines, but salutes me before exiting the building.
Jan collects her winnings, looking far too satisfied for someone who barely makes eye contact with people she’s known for years, but who has clearly been making some town-wide investments.
When Dinah continues to giggle into my back, I turn and scoff. “They were betting on us! Aren’t you upset?”
She leans closer and says so that no one can hear, “You just kissed me like I’m a real-life FMC, Jack. Despite what our audience has to say, I’ve got very few complaints.”
“FMC?”
“Female Main Character. It’s a romance thing.”
I throw my hands through my hair and try to collect myself. Solitude, silence, sa — nope. Kissed Dinah, Will again are still the only words on my mind and the action I’d like to repeat right now.
I just had the best kiss of my life in front of my sister, cousins, friends of the family, and oh look, there's Pastor Bill tipping his coffee in the air to me. He was nearby all along.
“Should we maybe go talk in the kitchen?” Dinah asks, linking her fingers with mine. “Or would you like to have this discussion in front of everyone, too?”
“Please, no. Let’s go.” I pull her off the counter and let her guide me to the kitchen with a new roar of catcalls, cheering, laughter, and my sister yelling, “You’re paying for my therapist!” as we make our escape.
“So,” Dinah leans against the stainless counter and beckons me forward with a tilt of her lips. “You clearly received information this morning. What did the note say?”
“You kissed him.” It just slips out, like the words have been sitting on my tongue since they lodged themselves in my brain.
She nods. “How do you feel?” I see her question for what it is. Recognizing that just like my family and friends have done for years, Dinah is giving me room to process. To make sense of the chaos in my brain and connect it to my heart.
How do I feel?
A flurry of emotions fills my chest. Swarming bees of anger. Excitement. Frustration. Attraction. Sadness. And the one I’m most afraid of… hope.
“I’m…” I growl low under my breath and shove away from the counter.
“Are you angry, Jack?” she asks with so much vulnerability I can’t help but reach out to touch her. I run my hands from her fingers up her arms until they settle at the base of her neck, tilting her face to meet mine.
“Of course I’m not mad at you, Polly. And I’m not even angry about the kiss.” I exhale and close my eyes, allowing myself to acknowledge and grieve something I can’t change. “I’m… I hate that I don’t get the memory of it. Of our first kiss… He does.”
She runs her fingers gently over my lips, and it kills me that I don’t know if she’s thinking about the kiss we just shared or the one before.
“I don’t like not knowing…” I trail off, my thoughts feel like too much and my brain feels suddenly clouded by exhaustion or something else. Maybe a lingering hangover from the migraine, or maybe it's the way I don’t feel in control of anything where Dinah is concerned.
“What is it, Jack?”
“You want him.”
“I want you , Jack. Just you and me, remember?”
“I know… I heard what you said the other night… about us both, but—” The admission feels like I shook a bottle of soda and spun the top off. Nothing will stay inside now. “My parents. My siblings. My friends. The stupid cat… Everyone prefers Jackson. They won’t say it, but he’s the J. Jones they remember, ya know? I’m the infiltrator. I’m the new guy no one asked for. The one who doesn’t care as much about baseball or making people happy or showing up to weekly lunch. I’ve already thrown their expectations out the window. This version of me… this J. Jones isn’t the better one.”
“Don’t say that, Jack. I like who you are.”
“You didn’t know Jackson before the accident, Dinah. It’s so freeing and also the biggest burden to bear, because sometimes I find myself hoping you see me more than you see him. Maybe it makes me selfish or childish or just a complete jerk, but I don’t know if I can bear for you to prefer him, too. It… It feels like I’ve already lost so much.”
She covers my hands with hers but then pulls me into a tight hug. Her head rests against my chest, and I know without a doubt, I don’t want to lose whatever is happening between us right now. I could make a home and a life just waiting to be held like I am right now, by this woman.
“It’s messy,” she says and tightens her arms around my waist, turning her face up to look at mine. “You and me. Things aren’t always gonna be easy, ya know? Like makin’ dough. It’s messy and a little difficult to work with, but I honestly think if we try, Jack… the end result could be really delicious.”
A chuckle escapes my lips, and I feel her answering smile hit me in the solar plexus, just above where her chin rests on my chest. “Delicious, huh?”
Stepping on tiptoes, she inches her lips closer to mine. “Tasty?”
I drop a kiss on her forehead and she pouts.
“A real treat,” she tries again and earns a kiss on each cheek.
“Mouth watering?”
I kiss the tip of her pert nose then linger by her lips. “How ‘bout we settle with sweet. ”
When I connect my lips to hers, it’s less rushed than before. Taking my time and savoring this moment—this memory—because the only thing on my mind is showing Dinah just how sweet I think she really is.
She steps back, breathless, but keeps her hands locked around my waist, waiting for me again. Giving me the space she knows I need.
When the noise in my head momentarily dissipates, I nod and agree. Wanting nothing more than to make a mess with this woman. “I want to try.”