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“Speaking of family shame, whatever happened to your father?” Jakob asks.
I recount in more detail the circumstances of moving to England and striking out on my own.
“Father’s still keeping busy pickling his liver in England, the last I checked. Still bitter that I don’t send enough money. Still angry that I ran off. Still thinks the world owes him something even after all his get-rich-quick schemes never worked out.”
“I’m sorry,” Jakob says, giving my hands a squeeze. I have good friends in Mirror Lake, but a touch from a friend never felt this comforting. This thrilling, this…sustaining.
“Thank you.”
I look down at the table, embarrassed that my cheeks are heating and my pulse races at the intensity of his blue eyes on me.
“Looking back, it’s beginning to make sense why I never received those letters when I was in England,” I muse. “My father said when we moved that he never thought you were good enough for me. He most likely held the letters back, prevented me from seeing them. How he would react now, knowing you’re twice the man he ever was.”
Jakob sits back suddenly, letting go of my hands. I sip my coffee, wondering what I said wrong.
“But what doesn’t make sense is why they were never returned to you,” Jakob says. “And how did they end up finding their way to you now?”
I sigh. “Who knows? Surely my father had a hand in it.”
Jakob’s gaze is thoughtful, then he reaches across the table once more. This time, his fingers lightly brush against mine, sending a buzz of excitement down my spine. “I always assumed my letters to you had been lost in the void.”
Before long, we lose track of time, our conversation keeping the world around us at bay.
“We might not have all the answers today,” I say, “but it might be fun to trace it back to the source.”
Jakob’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“We could go to Arenhammer, speak to the postmaster, and find out where and when those letters were delivered. And work our way backward from there.”
He stiffens. “Perhaps,” he says. “I don’t go out much, though. This is the first time I’ve ridden a train in years. And honestly I’d rather spend some time away from the city.”
Compassion floods me, and I squeeze his hand.
“We don’t have to do that, then. Baby steps.”
“Baby steps,” he echoes.
“And I’ll be with you for every step along the way,” I tell him.
“Good. Because now that you’re back in my life, you’re stuck with me.”
Stuck with him. Oh, I like that a lot.
Jakob’s gaze transforms from intense to smoldering.
“I’m really happy I got those letters. And I’m really glad we did this,” I say, feeling like none of what I’m saying is enough. It’s not deep or profound or fitting the importance of this moment.
But that’s all that I have in my head because Jakob’s blue-eyed gaze steals my breath as well as my limited ability to spout fancy words.
As our hands remain clasped across the table, Jakob leans in a little closer.
I swallow hard and lick my lips.
This I’ve been dreaming about.
6
Jakob
