Chapter 16
Stella dropped her purse on the floor as Jack closed the cottage door with his foot, then reached back to twist the lock on
the doorknob, never once breaking from their kiss. He slow walked them into the living room, and they moved as one, as though
they couldn’t separate long enough to decide where to go.
A frenzy of longing overtook her. She couldn’t keep her hands off him. Every time her fingers grazed his skin she felt the
pull to him grow stronger and more intense. For the first time in a long time, Stella’s thoughts were full of one person and
nothing else. There wasn’t enough space in her mind for anything but Jack—his kisses, his touch, his hands in her hair.
Her legs backed into the couch. Jack pulled away and looked at her. The streetlights cast a dim glow into the room, just enough
to see his features.
“This is fast,” he said. “Too fast?”
Stella pressed her lips together and tried to gather a response, but all she could think was how life-giving, soul-soaring it was to be kissed by him.
Kissing Jack might not be the best decision, with him leaving soon, but now that she’d been close to him, she craved more. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.
His arms rested around her waist, and he slid one hand up to her neck and then to her cheek. “I can tell you good night. I’ve
seen you to Arnie’s safely.”
She still felt the imprint of his lips pressing against hers. “I don’t want you to go.”
His hand warmed her skin. “I don’t have to.”
“Then don’t,” Stella said, surprised at her boldness.
Jack kissed her again. He guided their bodies down toward the couch. When Stella sat on the cushion, she hesitated and pushed
them back to standing.
“We can’t,” she said.
Jack tensed in her arms. “Okay.” He released his hold on her and took a step back.
Stella wrapped her arms around his waist. “No, I mean, we can’t get on Arnie’s couch. It’s leather, and we’re soaking wet.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled. He pressed kisses up the side of her neck. “We have a few options.”
Stella’s eyes closed, and she leaned her head to the side to give him easier access to the sensitive skin on her neck. She
slid her hands up his chest and sighed. “I’m interested in hearing them.”
“There’s the floor,” he said, kissing along her jawline. “There’s Arnie’s room, but that seems inappropriate.” He kissed her
cheek. “There’s the couch, but we’d have to lose the wet clothes. Your choice.” He kissed her lips.
Stella’s whole body quivered. Is this really happening?
Then anxiety clawed at her—a bitter, familiar warning—but she forced her thoughts into the present with Jack.
She wanted to enjoy this moment. Let her excitement soar.
Give herself permission to feel light and blissful—emotions no longer foreign.
The desire to let go and be reckless overtook her.
She’d been playing it safe and disconnected for months, perhaps even years.
But now she didn’t want to detach herself from the hot ache searing through her body. She didn’t want to push Jack away.
She lifted one side of his T-shirt and touched his bare skin. He watched her, and his mouth tugged up on one side, causing
Stella’s heart to thump.
“I like your choice,” he said and reached for a button on her blouse, easily undoing it.
Then Jack kissed her so deeply that she fisted her hands in his shirt and held on.
Friday morning Stella opened her eyes to 1940s music playing at low volume. She inhaled the scent of coffee and bacon cooking.
Pushing up on one elbow, she glanced toward the kitchen where Jack was moving around. Was he cooking breakfast?
Discarded shoes and clothes were scattered across the floor. A Jimmy Dorsey record spun on Arnie’s record player in the corner.
Stella wore a white undershirt she’d pilfered from Arnie’s dresser drawer. The shirt was too big for her but only fell to
mid-thigh. She reached for the blanket and pulled it up to her waist, covering her bare legs. Sunlight drenched the living
room with pale summer light. As her mind fully awoke, she replayed last night in her mind, and her body tingled with the memory.
“Good morning,” Jack said.
She repositioned herself on the couch so she could see him. “Hey.”
“Hungry?” he asked. “I made eggs and bacon. Biscuits are almost ready. Want coffee? Arnie doesn’t have creamer, but there’s plenty of sugar. I know you like yours sweet.”
Jack stood in the kitchen wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. As if that wasn’t the most distracting sight she’d ever seen.
A cowlick at the back of his head caused his dark hair to stick up in one spot, which was completely adorable. Stella stared
at his physique for a few seconds before answering.
“This feels like a dream,” she said. He’d woken up and made breakfast. For her.
Jack grinned and returned to the stove. “‘All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.’”
“You read Poe?” Stella asked.
“I’ve had a lot of time,” Jack said. “If this is a dream, I’d prefer to stay asleep. Don’t wake me up, okay?” He leaned over
to glance at the biscuits through the glass oven door. “But being here with you feels like I’m truly awake, and the rest of
my life has been a dream.”
Stella stared down at her lap before getting up off the couch. “Be right back.” She went to the bathroom and searched through
Arnie’s cabinets until she found an unopened toothbrush so she could brush her teeth. Then she wet her hair and combed her
fingers through her tangled curls. In the bedroom she found a pen on Arnie’s side table and used it to pin her hair up in
a messy bun. When she walked out, Jack stood in the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee for her. She self-consciously pulled
at the T-shirt, trying to tug it lower.
“You’re a real dish, you know that?” he said sweetly.
She chuckled and walked to him. “Thank you.” She grabbed the mug.
Jack kissed her cheek. “I could get used to this, seeing you first thing in the morning, making you breakfast, drinking coffee
with you.”
What would that life be like—a life where a handsome man wanted to be with her every morning? Hope rose inside her, hesitant and unpracticed, as though it wasn’t sure if it was safe to
stretch out. She sipped the coffee and hummed in approval as the warmth slid down her throat and filled her chest.
Jack had set the table for two, and Stella sat in one of the chairs. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, ma’am. I have this under control.” He removed the biscuits from the oven. Their buttery scent filled the kitchen, and
her stomach growled in response. “How’d you sleep?”
Stella glanced at the couch. “Not bad. For a couch.” She’d never slept on a couch with anyone before. She assumed it would
be too uncomfortable and cramped to sleep much, but it hadn’t been that bad. She’d been content to sleep pressed against Jack’s
side with her head on his chest. Once she’d fallen asleep, she didn’t remember anything else about the night other than having
a sense of peace and relaxation. “You?”
“Like a dream,” he said and winked. “Like I said, I could get used to this.”
While he finished making breakfast, Stella reached for a paper napkin and a pen left behind on the table. Words blew through
her like a traveling breeze.
Your shadow on the wall quickens my pulse,
the outline of your sleeping form
illuminated by the starlight.
The heat of you stretching across the couch,
reaching me and pulling me nearer.
The steady rise and fall, the calming sound
of your sleepy breaths,
pressing me into sleep.
In this half dream,
if we can make promises
that we don’t have to keep,
will you promise to never leave?
She folded the napkin in half and slid it to the side of the table. The song changed on the record, and Stella watched Jack,
allowing herself to savor this time with him. For a brief moment she thought about the purple words from yesterday and their
reference to an excruciatingly handsome man. Whose story were they telling? Hers? Would more be coming? She opened her eyes
just as Jack brought over the food. Were the words connected to Jack?
“This is extravagant,” Stella said. She filled her plate with scrambled eggs, pieces of bacon, and a biscuit covered with
melting butter. “I can’t remember the last time I had a sit-down breakfast. Maybe it was when we celebrated Arnie’s birthday
and went over to Grits & Gravy, the diner up the street.”
Jack slathered jelly on his steaming biscuit. “My brothers couldn’t be bothered with the kitchen, but I remember being fascinated
by my mama cooking and baking. She’d pull a chair over to the counter when I was young, and she’d let me help her with the
easy stuff—rolling out biscuits or mixing cookie dough. When I got older, I cooked a lot because I enjoyed it.”
Stella swallowed a mouthful of eggs and reached for her coffee. “Your author created all that backstory?”
Jack shrugged. “No idea,” he said and then chuckled. “But it’s all here.” He tapped the side of his head.
“I’m an awful cook, but I’m a whiz with the microwave.” After a sip, she asked, “Do you know what a microwave is?”
Jack laughed. “Of course. I’ve been here enough to learn more about technology. As for cooking, I can teach you.”
Stella almost smiled, but she instantly realized that if Jack were to teach her how to cook, he’d have to be around, and according to the time clock in her head, he would be gone in less than three days. Gone.
He reached over and touched her hand. “You okay?”
She breathed past the tightening in her chest. Enjoy yourself while you can. You knew this was temporary. But life is temporary. Hold on to this moment. She let her eyes trail over his handsome face, the straight lines of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
“Just thinking about what a terrible time that would be for you. I’m a disaster in the kitchen. All thumbs, I think. Percy
and I tried to make a cake one year for Dad’s birthday, and it rose lopsided and was as grainy as dirt. It kinda tasted like