Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Jack’s expression is unchanging, but the hand on my thigh is warm and steady. “Would you rather they thought you were boring?”
I snort. “I’d rather they didn’t think about me at all. I used to be invisible at that firm.”
He pours more wine. “People who try to live invisible never do. Trust me.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the food slowly working its magic on my anxiety. I can feel my shoulders relax, the stress slowly evaporating. Jack finishes his plate, sets it aside, and just looks at me, head cocked.
“You want to talk about it,” he says, not a question.
“About what?”
He shrugs. “About your day. About your mom’s text messages. About the cam site, about the fact that your friends all think you joined a cult. About this dude at work spreading rumors about your dating life.”
“Do you think it’s weird?” I ask suddenly, the question popping out of me like an air bubble. “That we’re living together already?”
Jack is so handsome when he looks at me that it almost hurts. “Eliza, you want to be here. So who gives a shit?”
I drop my fork, food forgotten. “I do want to be here,” I say, softer than I mean to. “But I’m still kind of terrified.”
Jack slides off his stool, comes around the island, and pulls me up from my seat. He just stands there, strong arms wrapped around my waist, and lets me lean in as much or as little as I want. I bury my face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of him—soap, spice, and a little bit of smoke.
He kisses the top of my head, lips gentle. “You’re safe here, Eliza. Nobody gets to judge you in this house.”
I let the words sit in my bones for a minute, then pull back. “What if I want to be judged? What if I like being the deviant?”
Jack grins, a flash of white teeth. “Then I’ll judge you all night, in every room of the house. Every surface, even.”
I giggle. “Oh my god.”
He smirks.
“Exactly. Now wipe your chin, sweetheart. You have pasta sauce everywhere.”
He hands me a napkin and I clean up, suddenly shy. He watches me with a warmth that makes my skin hot, but doesn’t push.
When the plates are cleared and the candles burned low, he disappears to the pantry, then returns with a tiny silver-wrapped box.
“OMG, what’s this?” I ask, eyeing the package. “You didn’t have to, Jack.”
My boyfriend shrugs, hands shoved in his pockets. “I wanted to commemorate you moving in, actually. So your timing is perfect, sweetheart. Open it.”
I glance at him, then at the box, then slowly peel back the wrapping paper. Inside is a keychain—silver, cool in my palm—with a tiny, silver meatball attached. How strange! I turn it over, then see the engraving on the back: “June 14th—The BBQ.”
Oh my god! It’s the day I dropped a meatball onto Jack’s foot at my parents’ barbecue! It was the first day we re-met after he retired from the Air Force, and the day our relationship began. The day I began scheming how to entrap my gorgeous Uncle Jack.
I stare at the keychain, heart pounding, and my vision goes blurry.
“A meatball?” I say, the words barely making it out. “It’s sweet. Or salty, should I say? Or savory?”
Jack looks at me, and for the first time ever, he’s nervous. “I wanted you to know you’re not just a guest here. You’re home, Eliza. Even if your dad never talks to us again, even if the whole town thinks we’re deviants. I want you to stay.”
The dam breaks. I start to cry, loud and messy, the kind of sobbing I hate myself for, but Jack just pulls me in and lets me soak his shirt for the second time in twenty-four hours.
“I love you,” I say, voice ugly and wrecked. “Thank you for being so kind. For taking care of me.”
He squeezes me tighter. “I love you too, sweetheart. And now you have the meatball to prove it.”
We stand there for a long time, holding each other, until the candles gutter and the only sound is my sniffling.
Finally, when I can speak again, I hold up the keychain. “Does this mean I get a key to the house?”
Jack laughs. “You’ve had a key since the first night. You just never used it.”
“Oh.” I swallow, cheeks red. “I was scared it wouldn’t work.”
He wipes my face with the back of his hand. “It’ll work. Every. Single. Time.”
I kiss him, slow and grateful, then slip the keychain onto my lanyard, right next to my office badge and the USB drive that holds all my secrets.
For the umpteenth time since I walked in, I feel at home. I feel seen, even with all my weirdness, anxieties, and flaws. I feel wanted. This man is my home, and I adore him with every cell of my being.