Chapter Fifteen
Jackie
Jackie wasn’t sure what she expected as she approached the beachside restaurant, butterflies flailing uselessly in her stomach, like they had forgotten how to fly over the years. She was both nervous and, if she was honest with herself, a little bit excited.
Deep down, she knew Mitch would be waiting for her. But a small voice reminded her that her assumption applied to the old Mitch. She didn’t know anything about the man sitting in the corner table.
He was resting his chin on his laced fingers, his head turned toward the sea. His elbows were propped on top of the white linen, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up.
Jackie gulped, imagining a wedding band on his left hand.
It wasn’t there, but the ghost of it still lingered in the air.
She wasn’t sure if he sensed her presence or if he got bored of watching the sun set over the calm water—either way, the moment her right foot connected with the first slab of the wooden decking, his head swiveled around, and his eyes found hers.
A waitress nodded to her as she walked past. “Miss van Moetlier.”
Jackie smiled at her, annoyed at herself for not remembering her name. She should’ve done—normally, she was good with names. But right now, her mind was blank. What was even her own name again?
Aware of every step drawing her closer to Mitch, Jackie’s heart rattled in her chest. Absolute traitor, she thought.
Was it her imagination or did Mitch not blink, not even once, until she’d reached the table?
She grabbed the back of the chair, her knuckles white. “Sorry I’m a bit late. My mom called.”
His eyes crinkled with a smile. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”
Her lungs clenched. He didn’t say “again” but the unspoken word festered between them, weakening her knees. She pulled out the chair and slid on it, crossing her legs at the ankles and hiding behind her menu.
She should look into reprinting the menus on a thicker paper, because this one did nothing to shield her from the heat of Mitch’s gaze. Every breath she took warmed her skin; she knew she couldn’t hide from him forever.
Before long, the waitress approached their table. “Good evening. Are you ready to order?”
Mitch bit back a smile, his gaze still steady on Jackie. “I don’t know, are we?”
Jackie pretended to scan through the list of main dishes to regain control of herself before facing him, even though she already knew what she was getting. Discreetly, she glanced at the waitress’s name tag. “Arroz a la tumbada, for me. Thank you, Gemina.”
Mitch leaned back in his chair, his smile now on full display. “You’re still as decisive as I remember.” He looked to the waitress. “Lamb birria for me, please.”
Gemina nodded, scribbling the orders on a small pad. “Great choices. And can I interest you in any wine tonight?”
“We’ll have a bottle of house Tempranillo,” Jackie replied without even pretending to consult the menu.
Mitch chuckled. “What she said, thanks.”
Gemina bowed her head and walked away.
“No Long Island Iced Tea for you?” Mitch’s eyes crinkled with a smile.
Jackie sucked in a breath, swallowing down the memories before answering: “Not tonight.”
“Shame. They always remind me of you.”
She loosened her shoulders, willing her thoughts to slow down.
The conversation with her mother played on a loop in her mind, not helped by having Mitch sitting in front of her in the flesh.
But her mother was being fanciful, ridiculous even.
She didn’t still love him, that’d be absurd.
The only reason she hadn’t denied it was because the mere notion of it was preposterous.
“So, how are your parents? Does Fred still enjoy a round of golf?” Mitch asked, all nonchalance and friendliness.
The question absorbed a bit of her tension. This—talking about anything other than them—was something she could do. “You know how he is. He managed to wrangle a game at the Old Course in St Andrews for his seventieth birthday.”
“Good for him. He’s the one who taught me how to play.”
Jackie inhaled sharply. She couldn’t forget anything about Mitch, no matter how much she’d tried to over the years. “Do you still play?” she asked instead, wanting to push focus away from the time when there was a them to the present.
Gemina came back with a bottle of wine and showed the label to Jackie. She gave a single, absentminded nod and watched ruby liquid fill her wineglass.
A moment later, they were alone again.
“Actually, yes, I do. I’ve played regularly with my friend, Hunter, until he ditched me and moved to Scotland.”
Jackie took a sip of her wine, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “Scotland? That’s … well, quite far.”
Mitch coughed out a laugh. “I’m aware. But what can you do. He fell in love, with both a woman and the country. They’re married now.”
Goosebumps erupted all over Jackie’s body. She tried to swallow but her throat was bone-dry. She’d told herself she’d wait to ask, but apparently, she wasn’t going to be able to hold back a minute longer.
Her gaze zeroed in on Mitch. “What happened at your wedding?”
He snorted into his wineglass, overcome by a coughing fit. “Throw a grenade before I even have a glass of wine, why don’t you?”
“Sorry,” she whispered, the word wrapped in sincerity. She didn’t want to hurt him by asking, yet she couldn’t help but wonder.
Mitch set his half-empty glass on the table.
He scratched the back of his neck, eyes down.
“She cheated on me with her client minutes before the wedding. There was a screen in the chapel where a montage of our childhood photos was meant to play before she walked down the aisle. But instead, when it came on, it was a live feed of … them.” He winced, spluttering the end of the sentence as though acid burned his tongue.
Jackie pressed her open hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “That’s dreadful. I can’t even imagine how someone could do something like that.” Her wide eyes blinked as she grasped what happened.
Mitch shrugged, like he could’ve sensed her unspoken question. “Apparently, someone clicked the wrong button, or something. I don’t care, to be honest. Even if I knew exactly what happened with the technology, it wouldn’t change the facts.” He still didn’t raise his gaze.
Jackie bit the inside of her cheek, wishing he’d look at her, wishing he’d see how sorry she was, without her needing to say the words aloud.
Because whatever came out of her mouth, it’d fall short of her feelings.
She was deeply sad for Mitch, of course.
But she was also furious at that nameless woman who’d had the nerve to hurt him like that.
How could she have done it, knowing this wonderful man was ready to give her his heart on a silver platter and promise her forever?
How was what you did any better? You broke his heart, too. You hurt him, too.
She shook off the biting whisper in her ear and drew in a steadying breath.
Mitch downed the rest of his wine and finally looked at her. “Clearly, it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackie tried, but the words leaving her lips sounded hollow even to her own ears.
He tilted his head, twisting the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. “It is what it is.”
“How long were you together?”
“About three years, give or take.” He bit down on his lip, averting his gaze again. “And before you ask how we met, she brought an injured deer into my practice.”
Jackie beamed at him. “So, you are a vet. Like you’ve always wanted.”
Mitch mustered a smile and nodded. “I am. Equine veterinarian. I have my own practice on the outskirts of Oklahoma City.”
“That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.” She leaned in, cheeks hurting from holding up a smile; but she couldn’t stop herself. “Still allergic to dogs, then?”
He huffed a laugh. “Yes, Jackie. I’m still allergic to dogs. Although my parents got a small poodle cross, a cavapoo—she’s hypoallergenic, I think? Anyway, she doesn’t seem to affect me as much.”
Jackie hoped that no dog affected Mitch as much as Dixie did.
The local pharmacist kept an extra supply of antihistamines for him behind the counter when he stayed at Brooke’s Plains.
Once, Mimi had suggested she could ask the ranch hands to keep Dixie in the bunkhouse, but he told her there was no way he’d ever kick such a gorgeous girl out of her own home.
He preferred to suffer sniffles, rashes and itching as a price for petting Dixie.
Mitch must’ve strayed into the same memories, as he asked: “How’s Dixie doing?”
Her bottom lip wobbled. “Dixie passed three years ago. She had pancreatitis and it got bad.”
“I’m sorry. She was a wonderful dog.” He hesitated. “How’s Brenda doing?”
“Mimi’s good. Some bother with her knees, and her blood pressure could be better, but otherwise she’s still the same Mimi. Would you believe me if I told you that her and Dustin became a thing?”
Their eyes locked and they both chortled.
“Were they not always a thing?”
Jackie shrugged. “I’ve had my suspicions, as did everyone else, but they denied it every time. Until about, I don’t know, four … five years ago?”
Mitch whistled. “I’ll be damned. Good for them. Dustin was always kind to me.”
Jackie raised her brow. “Was he? I seem to remember you were terrified of him the first summer at the ranch …”
Her voice dropped, the memory of that summer barging in like a cowboy swaggering into a saloon. Her blood sang with the memories of days spent working side by side and nights when they snuck out of the house.
Mitch cleared his throat, his unwavering gaze pinning hers. “I remember every second of that summer. And both summers after.”
His eyes shone like mirror balls, reflecting her own heartbreak.