Chapter 31
Jack
“I’LL BE QUICK,” Nora tells me, as we pull up outside of her condo later that night.
Montgomery and Stafford took Stella and Sven to the police station and Frank took Connie back home. To my surprise, before they left, Connie ended up apologizing to us for her behavior toward us. She also explained that it was the husband of her nosy neighbor (aka Botox lady) who had found my sweatshirt hanging on the fence. This morning Connie had run into Botox lady on her way to turn in the sweatshirt to security (aka Sven on his way out for the night) and recognized it as mine from when she’d seen me last night with the tow truck. Hence her comments about me hopping fences to get into the subdivision. Then she said I could probably get it back now that Sven is in custody.
While it’s nice to know how my sweatshirt played into all of this, I won’t try and get it back. I have other things on my mind. Or really just one thing: Nora.
Out of a sense of duty, I did offer to stay and help Anderson with paperwork and things, but he laughed in my face and–for the second time today–told me to get the heck out of there with my wife.
Which I gladly did. I am more than ready to be back home with Nora. Of course, I wasn’t expecting Nora to ask to make this little detour to her condo first, but like Mel said, men do the stupidest things for the women we love. And, despite the fact that I told Nora the guys had agreed to come help pack up her stuff this weekend, she insisted there was something at her condo that she needed tonight. So now–because I am in fact completely in love with her–we’re going miles out of the way to stop at her condo when all I really want to do is take her back to my house and kiss her all night long.
Among other things.
“Not so fast,” I tell her, turning my car off. “I’m coming in with you.”
“What? Why?” She sounds alarmed.
“Do you not want me to go in with you?” I ask, mollified.
“No, it’s not that,” she says in a way that very much makes it clear that it is that.
“Nora,” I narrow my eyes at her, “what’s going on here?” Earlier today I might have read into her not wanting me to go in with her, might have thought she wanted space from me. But seeing as she spent the entire car ride here with her head on my shoulder and our hands intertwined, I’m pretty sure this isn’t a space issue. Nope, this is something else.
Something suspicious.
“What? Nothing’s going on!” She laughs nervously. “Why would you think something is going on?”
“Because your voice sounds like it belongs to a chipmunk named Alvin.”
“What— no it doesn’t,” she denies, lowering her voice to a register usually reserved for Darth Vader. She coughs, then clears her throat. “It’s just a little messy inside, okay? It’s embarrassing.”
“You do know I was in there last night, don’t you?” I remind her. “I’ve seen it already. And it really wasn’t messy.”
“That’s right, you have been in there already,” she cries. “Unsupervised!”
“What’s your point?”
“Jack!” She puts fisted hands on her hips. “I can’t have you in my house right now, okay? You appear to have made it in and out unscathed last night, but it was dark and you were focused on the task at hand. I doubt I’ll be so lucky the second time around.”
“What are you talking about? Unscathed?” I take a step toward her, itching to take her back in my arms. Even all riled up she looks gorgeous standing there. Maybe even especially gorgeous all riled up. “Is there something in your house that you’re worried is going to attack me?”
She flushes a pretty pink. “Noooo,” she stretches the word, then finally looks me in the eye and gets to the crux of the issue. “Fine, you can come inside, but I don’t want to hear a word about anything you might see that might make you think…things. Okay?”
I’d really like to ask her again what the heck she’s talking about—think things? What does that even mean—but I don’t want to push my luck. She said I could go in with her, and that’s enough for me.
“Okay,” I agree, offering my hand out for her to shake. She takes it and I seize the opportunity to pull her toward me for a kiss.
“Jack,” she chides as we separate a minute later, “what will the neighbors think?” But there’s no real censure in her tone, only twin spots of color on her cheeks and a shine to her green eyes. So I pull myself up next to her and sling my arm around her waist, giving her butt a little tap on the way there. “Jack!” she giggles.
“What?” I feign innocence.
“Focus, mister.” She waggles a finger at me. “We are on a mission.”
“I’m pretty sure I have a different mission than you,” I reply, earning myself a little swat on the chest even as her flush of pleasure grows.
“No more funny business,” she instructs with stern eyes but twitching lips. “We’re getting in and out of there. And I don’t want to hear a word about what I come out with. It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
She’s making no sense, but I’m too far gone to care.
As soon as we’re in the house I kiss her again, backing her up against the foyer wall and taking my sweet time with her mouth. Who said this needed to be a quick trip? Not me.
When we finally pull apart, Nora’s eyes are lidded and her breathing is fast— she looks perfect.
“Jack,” she breathes, temporarily forgetting her qualms, but then the desire fades from her eyes and she swats me again. “Jack! I said no funny business.”
“Oh I wasn’t trying to be funny,” I say huskily.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
She sucks in a breath, but then shakes her head and steps out of my grasp, dancing away from me. “I just need to grab one thing. One tiny thing. So stay.” She holds up a hand like I’m a dog. “Stay,” she repeats firmly. Unfortunately for her I’m not a very good dog, and as soon as her back is turned I take off after her.
My steps falter, though, as my gaze hitches on something hanging on her coat rack. Last night I came in through the back door, plus it was dark, so I may have missed this item either way. But tonight I can see it perfectly. I lift a sleeve on the familiar navy blue sweatshirt. One that reads Grand Rapids Police Academy across the chest and Reynolds across the back. I’ve been missing this sweatshirt for three years.
No, not missing it. I knew Nora had it. After all, she was wearing it the night I proposed.
But I always assumed she’d gotten rid of it or at the very least hidden it away.
Yet here it is, hanging on her coat rack, like she wears it all the time. I grab it off the hook and hang it on my forearm, my curiosity suddenly peaked.
Nora didn’t want me to come inside. Is this sweatshirt, my sweatshirt, part of the reason why? And are there more things like it?
I step further into her condo, keeping my eyes peeled. I’m probably being stupid. The sweatshirt is likely just a one off. After all, it was her favorite when we were dating, so it makes sense she’d still wear it now and again.
Even if it does have my last name on it. The last name she claims not to want to take as her own.
Which is something I’m fine with.
Or at least that I’m trying to be fine with.
My feet come to a halt as I enter her kitchen. I didn’t come in here at all last night, and as I look around my mouth lifts in a smile. There’s a box of tea on the counter, a cheery red teapot on the stovetop, and there on the fridge is a magnet that says: “But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.” -Jane Austen.
I got her that magnet. I stride over to the fridge and pull it off. A folded up paper falls to the floor, and I bend to retrieve it, unfolding it to see my own handwriting scrawled across the paper.
Some hot tea for you, my love because that is what you are: a hottie.
I remember writing this note. Nora had gotten sick with the flu, and I’d come over to check on her. While I was over here I made her a cup of tea and wrote her this note in hopes of bringing a smile to her face.
And she kept it all of these years. Tucked away behind a magnet I gave her. I add both items to my pile and head out of the kitchen. I’ve lost track of Nora, so I simply head to the living room next, wondering if I’ll find any relics of our relationship in here to add to my growing pile.
I don’t have to wonder for long. As soon as I walk in I spot it: a framed photo of Shadow, one of the horses I sold a few months ago and also the horse I taught Nora to ride on.
I walk over to the wall and lift the photo off its hook, adding it to my haul. I’m not even surprised when a paper falls to the floor this time. I scoop it up to find another handwritten note.
Nora,
Yesterday you accused me of letting you win our little horse race on purpose…today I confess that this might have been true. But, it wasn’t for the reason that you thought. I wasn’t, as you suggested, trying to give you a false sense of confidence. The truth is—I just like staring at your butt. There, I said it. I like your butt, Nora. And it looks extra good on a horse.
So tell that to your sense of confidence. Give it a well-deserved boost.
Yours always, Jack
Wow. I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. Of all the notes for her to keep.
A loud thump from her bedroom draws my attention away from the note, and, after adding it to my collection, I hurry toward the room.
“Nora?” I call as I approach.
“Jack?” Her voice is frantic. “Don’t come in here! I’m…I’m…changing!”
I’m right outside the door now, so I stop, deciding to tease her a little bit.
“Ah, yes, but we’re married now,” I call through the door. “I’m allowed to see you—” I can’t finish the sentence. I’d intended to tease her, but instead I’ve gone and wrongfooted myself. The very idea of seeing Nora without clothes on is too much for me.
“Jack!” Her voice right on the other side of the door pulls me out of my undone state. A second later it pops open a crack and I see her wide eyes peering out at me. Disappointingly she appears to be fully clothed. “Please just give me a couple more minutes.” Her gaze drops to the bundle of stuff in my arms and her eyes somehow pop even wider. “You were supposed to stay by the front door,” she says faintly.
I place a hand on the door and push it gently, testing her resistance. The sight of all this relationship memorabilia must’ve stunned her into releasing her grip on it, because the door pops open revealing the first mess I’ve seen in her supposedly messy house.
Her dresser drawers have been flung open. There’s an overturned box on the floor that appears to have been the source of the thump. And piled on the bed is a random assortment of items: sweatshirts, a candle, a water bottle, two baseball hats, a cowboy hat and, oddly enough, a bottle of Dove shampoo.
“Nora, what is all this?” I ask, stepping forward to the bed. “Wait, is that…” I trail off, picking up the candle off the bed and reading the name: portable fireplace.
“The candle you bought me because I once mentioned I’d always wanted to have a fireplace,” Nora finishes for me, then snatches the candle. “No,” she adds quickly. “It’s not that candle.”
One of my eyebrows pops up. I pick up another item. The cowboy hat. “And I suppose this isn’t my hat either?”
Nora flushes, grabbing for the hat too. “Nope. Not yours. Mine.” She places the hat on her head and it immediately slides down her forehead—too big.
“How strange,” I say indulgently. “Because I've been missing that very same hat for three years.”
“Strange indeed,” she says, not backing down. That’s fine. I can go for a while with this. I deposit my own collection of stuff next to hers on the bed and hold up the Jane Austen magnet. “Still a tea girl, I see.”
Nora reaches for the magnet, clutching it to her chest. “Yes, well. I do drink coffee sometimes. You know...” She falters under the weight of my gaze. “When tea isn’t readily available,” she finishes breathily.
“I see.” I pluck the tea note from the pile and wave it around. “And let me guess, you just plumb forgot this note was behind it, Miss Hottie?” I wink at her. “By the way, I stand by my statement. You are without a doubt a total hottie.”
Nora’s answering blush lights my body on fire and just like that I’m ready to be done calling her out for keeping all my stuff.
Or at least I was, until I realize she’s clutching something else in her hands, right between the candle and the magnet. It looks like a photo. And I kind of really want to know what it’s a picture of.
I step slowly toward her so as not to arouse suspicion. Dang, she’s so beautiful. I have to forcefully restrain myself from pulling her to me and crushing her lips with mine.
“Nora,” I say raspily, “why did you keep all of this stuff?”
She doesn’t answer, just opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. I’m directly in front of her now and–while she’s in her flustered state–I lift my hands up and take hold of the photo in her hands, yanking it free from her grasp with one big tug.
Emotion wells behind my eyes as I stare down at the photo. It’s a picture of the two of us. A selfie we took while riding together on my old horse, Bandit. It was slightly chilly that day, so we’re both in sweatshirts and the arm that isn’t occupied taking the photo is wrapped snugly around Nora, holding her close to me. We look so happy.
A lump forms in my throat.
I don’t have to note the fact that in this photo she’s wearing my police academy sweatshirt–the one with my last name on the back–to know that we took this picture the day I proposed to her. Seeing her looking flushed and happy in my sweatshirt, I’d been so overcome with certainty that she was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. So much so that instead of waiting to do the elaborate proposal I’d planned out for later that week I’d been unable to stop myself from proposing to her right then and there.
The lump grows as I remember the look of shock on her face, the way her lip started to tremble and how she backed away from me, shaking her head, accusing me of ruining everything. Why can’t we just continue to be boyfriend and girlfriend? she’d pleaded with me later, right before I walked away from her. My pride wounded deeply.
Fresh pain runs through me at the memory, and I stumble backwards onto the bed, landing on the remains of our previous relationship.
“Jack?” Nora is by my side in an instant. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I look up at her through my haze, trying to escape the hurt haunting me, realizing with blinding clarity that in all of the chaos Nora never did say she wanted to stay married to me. Sure, it seemed to be implied by the way she kissed me right after I said I wanted to stay married to her, but now that I think about it—she never agreed. Maybe to her, us getting back together is all temporary.
Fear grips me. How could I have overlooked this?
But of course—I was blinded by my own desperation for her.
I hold up the photo. “Why?” I manage to croak only that one word.
Nora’s eyes dart to the photo then back to my face. “Why what?” she whispers.
“Why did you say no?” The words rip from me, leaving my soul bared for her to do with as she will. Because to my utter shame, even if Nora doesn’t want to stay married to me, if she just wants us to date or whatever—I’ll stay with her. I won’t be able to walk away this time. I’ll take whatever part of her she’s willing to give me.
“Because I didn’t want to be like my mom,” she whispers so softly I almost don’t hear her. I frown in confusion, but she’s not finished. “Growing up I watched my mom treat marriage the way most people treat shopping for jeans. If they look good in the store, take them home—if you change your mind you can always return them and get new ones. She’s been married eight times. Eight. It wasn’t until I was in college that I discovered that she wasn’t the one returning the jeans. The jeans were returning her.” She grimaces. “Wait, that metaphor doesn’t actually translate. The point is, my mom wasn’t the one ending the marriages. She was the one being left.” Nora’s voice breaks, but she presses on. “And in turn she always left me.” Her eyes are shining with tears, and now I’m no longer thinking about my own pain—I’m too focused on hers.
“Nora,” I begin, but she shakes her head.
“Jack, please,” she pleads, “let me finish. I-I need to say this. Need you to know how I feel about you.”
This last sentence stills my whole body.
“I started to think,” she goes on, “that maybe I was just like my mom, that perhaps that’s why she always left me—because the two of us weren’t worth anyone staying around for. But then I met you, and you,” she swipes at her glimmering tears as they slip from her eyes, “you made me feel so cherished. So loved. And I loved you so much in return. But when you asked me to marry you, all of those old fears shot to the surface. It sounds so ridiculous, but my first thought was that marrying you would just be the beginning of the end of us. And the last thing I wanted was for us to end. Only of course, then you left anyway.”
There’s no accusation in her voice, it’s simply a statement of what took place three years ago. Even so, regret and guilt meld together inside me like a knife forged and pounded into a deathly point: I left her.
“Nora,” my voice sounds about as weak and pathetic as I feel, but for once I embrace the weakness, because doing so is the only way forward with her, “I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you anymore. I left because you wounded my pride, and I stupidly thought that without my pride I had nothing. But the truth that I’ve learned these last three years, is that it was never losing my pride that was going to leave me with nothing—it was losing you.” Raw emotion sticks in my chest, each word costing me more and more of my pride, but freeing me to live without it.
“And, Nora,” I press on, “I don’t want to rush you, but I do want you to know that I want to be with you. I would love for us to stay married, but if you need time to just date again, I will wait for as long as it takes.” I hold her gaze, desperate for my words to permeate the lies she’s been believing about herself. “I won’t walk away from us ever again. And I know that my words might not be enough, so all I can do is sit here and beg you to let me show you starting now and until forever that I love you and I will never leave you.”
“You love me again already?” she whispers, vulnerability in her features.
“No,” I say, then take her face in my hands before she can shy away from me. “I never stopped loving you,” I say fervently. I drop my hands, swallow, then lay my pride down in front of her to ask, “Is there any way you might love me too?”
“Oh, Jack,” she breathes, then gestures to the room around us. “Look around,” she tells me. “Do you think I would have kept all of this if I didn’t love you?” She reaches over and lifts the police academy sweatshirt off the pile, turning it over to display the name on the back. “Do you think that I would have spent the last three years coming home after hard days and wrapping myself in this sweatshirt with your name on the back, if I didn’t still love you?” She doesn’t give me time to answer. “I love you, Jack Reynolds, and I want to share a life with you: a home, a family, the good things and the bad things, your burdens and mine. I want to have your babies and ride horses with you and sit next to you in a church pew every Sunday playing footsie, and,” she clutches the sweatshirt to her chest, “I want to share your last name.”
And with that said, my forever wife kisses me. I forget about everything else as love for her consumes me. I get lost in the feel of her, the scent of her, the taste of her—until something sharp claws my leg.
“Youch!” I exclaim, looking down to see Briggs at my feet. Wait, not Briggs. Just a cat that looks a heckuva lot like him.
“Oh! Jack!” Nora cries, bending down to scoop the cat up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, very much used to cat claws. “I didn’t know you had a cat. Is that what you had to come and get?”
She nods. “How did you get out of your travel carrier, mister?” she asks the cat who simply yawns, then starts grooming his feet.
Or possibly sharpening his claws. I swear I just saw him extend and retract them a few times—then look right at me.
“But why were you embarrassed about needing to get your cat?” I ask in confusion.
“Oh, well, it wasn’t really the cat,” she explains. “It was more that I didn’t want you to come in and see all of this.” She gestures to all of the stuff still on the bed.
“But see it all I did.” I can’t help but smirk as I pick up the Dove shampoo. “Sniffing this late at night to remind yourself of me?” I tease.
“W-what?” she sputters, cheeks turning apple red. “Of c-course not.”
I study her, suspicion dawning. “You did do that, didn’t you?”
She doesn’t answer, but her blush intensifies.
“Nora, my love,” I drawl, “that is perhaps the cutest creepy thing I have ever heard.”
“Jack!” She shoves me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you,” I protest. “I think your sniffing thing is adorable and very flattering. Do you want to sniff my head?” I bend my neck and offer it to her. “It’s yours to sniff whenever you want.”
“Don’t make me sic my cat on you,” she threatens.
“Yes, we should talk about this cat of yours,” I agree amiably. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that this cat looks an awful lot like my cat. Care to explain?”
“I’m not sure why an explanation is needed,” she replies primly. “I have a gray and black cat, and you have a gray and black cat. Case closed.”
“Fine,” I relent, mostly because I’d much rather be kissing her than discussing our identical cats.
“What do you say we put, uh, what did you say his name was again?”
For some reason this question makes her blush again. “I didn’t.” I wait for her to say the name, but she doesn’t.
“Right. Well what do you say we put your cat-who-shall-not-be-named in his carrier and pick up where we left off?”
But she’s not finished with the discussion. “Listen, Jack, it’s not like I named the cat, okay? I mean, after we broke up I was missing you and I just thought maybe getting a pet would make me feel better. You know how much I loved Briggs and your horses. So I went to the shelter one day and there this guy was.” She looks fondly at the cat in her arms, who promptly hisses in response. “He’d been there for almost six months, probably on account of his poor manners.” She says these last words directly to the cat, then looks back at me. “But you know how it is with animals–when you know, you know. And I knew when I saw him that he was going to go home with me.”
“I get that,” I tell her. “That’s how I felt when I picked you up on the side of the road.”
“Jack!” she exclaims, and seriously if I had a dollar for every time I’ve made this woman blush in the last few minutes alone, I wouldn’t have any more trouble paying Joy’s bills.
“Kidding,” I say with a wink. “Although I’m not mad that in the end it worked out that way. Tonight you are going home with me…to our home.”
“To our home,” she echoes with a smile.
The cat hisses again.
“Right, but first you were telling me about how you ended up adopting grumpy pants over there.”
“Yes.” She draws in a breath. “So, as I said, I’d already mentally committed to adopting him. Then one of the employees mentioned that he’d been especially sad lately because a week ago his sister Jill had been adopted. That’s when I first looked at the name plate on the plexiglass of his enclosure and realized that his name was—”
“Oh my gosh your cat’s name is Jack,” I interrupt.
“Yes!” she cries with a horrified squeak. “But it’s not like I named him that! And he’d already been through so much in his two years of life, I couldn’t just change his name on him too!”
“Your cat’s name is Jack!” I say again, and I can’t help it, I start laughing. Big, deep belly laughs that earn me more hisses from my animal namesake.
“Oh my goodness,” Nora groans. “You must think I’m completely nuts! But I swear it was just happenstance! Not like I was just so obsessed with you that I had to name my cat after you! He came with the name!”
“Give me the cat, Nora.” I reach over and take Jack from her arms, careful to avoid his claws as he attempts to draw blood by any means necessary.
“He came with the name!” she repeats, barely seeming aware of me. “And sure, I kind of liked still having a Jack in my life, but I don’t think that makes me crazy.” She continues to ramble on about Jack the cat, but I’m only half-listening. I’m all done discussing him. I walk over to her bedroom door, set the cat in the hallway, then close the door behind him. Then I turn around to face a wide-eyed Nora. “So,” she says, “I bet now you think I’m completely crazy and totally obsessed with you.”
I cross the room toward her. “Nora Reynolds,” I declare, “if you are even half as crazy about me as I am about you, that would make me the happiest man alive. But since you went ahead and out-crazied me by naming your cat Jack—”
“I told you,” she interrupts, “I didn’t name him th—”
“By naming your cat Jack,” I speak over her. “There’s really only one thing I can think to do to show you that I am even more crazy about you than you are about me.”
This silences her protestations and I watch with satisfaction as her breath hitches. “And what’s that?” she murmurs, eyes fixed on me.
“We’re going to have to name our first daughter after you,” I reply simply, then I sweep everything from our past relationship off the bed and onto the floor and pull Nora down against me, kissing her with unrestrained passion.
It’s time for us to start our new relationship as husband and wife.
Till death do us part.
The End!!
Thank you so much for reading Jack and Nora's story!
If you enjoyed Playing Along please consider leaving a review! And don't forget to check out the other books in the series!