CHAPTER TWENTY #2
I see this boy in the Jake I know now. The same set of his shoulders, the paradoxical warmth and reserve of his expressions.
The occasional wide-open laugh. The photos are a vivid reminder of the nature of time.
Of what fate really means. If any of the moments captured here had happened differently, our paths would have never crossed.
Choices made in parallel.
There’s a family portrait where Jake looks to be around ten or eleven.
They’re on the terrace of a home even more stately than Marleigh.
The Frost siblings stand like stairsteps in front of a vibrantly gorgeous Helena in an emerald-green ankle-length coat.
The man who stands beside her holds baby Indi in one arm, and his other hand rests on Jake’s shoulder.
There’s a smiley sticker over the man’s face. This must be the senior Frost, then. In this photo, Jake is the only person not smiling. His father is the one little advent door he won’t let me peek behind. I have the unhinged urge to peel the sticker back with my fingernail, but I move on.
The room at the end of the hall is larger than the other bedrooms. A shared room.
One side has a green plaid quilt on the bed, and bookshelves loaded with fantasy novels and nature field guides.
On the walls, beautifully illustrated human and animal anatomy posters, a chart of the Milky Way.
All three of the Lord of the Rings movie posters—bonus points for those.
The other side has to be Jake’s. It’s almost as shockingly sparse as his penthouse flat in London.
The quilt is heather grey, and the wall is decorated only with a grid of amateur photography in individual frames.
A mounted shelf above the headboard is lined with small trophies, and there’s a small bookcase filled with comic books still in their protective plastic sleeves.
Obviously, it’s been more than a decade since he actually lived here, but it’s missing the inhabited vibe his siblings’ spaces seem to give off.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Jake says behind me, and my whole body lights up.
It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since we left the cottage this morning.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.” He steps past me into the room, crosses to his bed and hands me the small plushie from his pillow. “This is Meatpie.”
It’s squat and stocky. A bear, I think? Its fur is entirely gone in some places, obviously from being well-loved by a child. I finally meet Jake’s eyes.
He sits on the bed, patting the space next to him for me to sit. “He’s the only toy from my childhood I still have. Cait hid it in her things when our father binned all of my other stuff. He said something about how young men rely on dignity, not teddies. I was thirteen, I think?”
The immediate sting of tears floods my eyes. My heart breaks for the little Jake I saw in the photos. But it’s not only that. This eruption of emotion is about the man Jake is now.
A man who could be mine for the taking.
The tears overflow when I blink, plopping onto Meatpie’s belly.
Handing the plushie back to Jake, I sniff hard and tilt my head back to contain the tears, but all it does is make them race down my cheekbones and into my ears. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—” I swipe the heels of my palms across my cheeks.
He chuckles and rubs one of the bear’s worn ears between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s all right. This isn’t the first time he’s been in the splash zone, love.”
* * *
Later, Jake and I take a Boxing Day walk in the woods, and I get to give my new wellies their first taste of clean Cotswolds mud. The chill snaps against my face and neck, but the sun is so bright I imagine I can smell it. Crisp, bright, and pure.
Jake’s hair is winter wheat in the sunshine.
He’s rugged today, dressed in flannel, jeans, boots.
Before we’re off, I zip his coat up to his chin and tug his hat down to fully cover his ears.
His nose is red and his voice is raspy from the cold, and he smells like weathered wool and that unique alchemy of cold air on warm skin after hours outdoors.
Being here makes me realize how nature-starved I am.
New York City has green space, and Central Park is more wild than most people outside the city realize.
There’s also a surprising amount of gorgeous nature within day-trip driving distance from New York, but I never seem to find the time to go.
And even if I did, it’s not the same as this.
“I really love your family, Jake. I’ve never met people like them.”
A brisk wind makes the tree branches shed snow like glitter.
“Well, you’ve never met anyone like me, either.” A playful brow quirks upwards, his voice low. “Makes sense I’d come from this sort of stock, yeah?”
“One year, when I was still in college, Maddie and I went home for Christmas with one of her friends. They were a super-close family, too, but it was chaotic and overwhelming for me. It seemed exhausting. After that, I really thought my family’s disconnectedness was preferable.”
“Are you saying you can see yourself spending more time with my family?”
I’m sprouting tiny roots, like I’m a windblown seed that’s finally landed where I’m meant to stay. I could spend my life in a place like this. I don’t answer with words, but I clutch his hand tighter. “Why do you live all alone in London when you have such an incredible family here in the country?”
Jake’s tilted smile is fleeting. “Technically, Cait and Maeve are in London too—”
I fix him with a mock-stern look. “Jake.”
His soft chuckle is more rueful than amused.
For a moment, he presses his lips together, and his jaw flexes like he’s sorting around for the right words.
When he finally responds, his voice cracks a bit.
It’s one more thing that breaks my heart and stitches it back up in the same breath.
“When we get back to London, I’ll show you. ”
* * *
Two days after Christmas
We say our goodbyes to Jake’s family mid-morning on the day after Boxing Day. There are no tears, only hearty hugs and see-you-laters. They know I’m leaving early next week, but it’s like they know I’ll be back someday.
I’m utterly in love with his family, despite every warning that pings like sonar inside my heart. Getting close to a family means there’s more people to lose. If feeling like this was a choice, why would I choose it again? When I know how it aches to lose it?
The scenery from my car window during the trip back to London is the same as it was when we came, simply in reverse.
But now I see it as a woman leaving a place that feels like a home, rather than someone journeying to meet strangers.
Jake is quiet on the drive back, but it’s a warm, expansive silence, not a distant one.
It’s like he knows I need time to sit with what I’ve just experienced.
I’ve finally accepted where this is going. Love doesn’t have to feel like a test I might fail. We can figure this out. Together.
We’ve reached the outskirts of London when Jake says, “We’ve had eleven dates, you know. I promised you twelve. Are you up for a bit of shopping and dinner?”
And just like that, we’re back to where we began, dating in London. And this, too, feels a lot like coming home.