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“Nora. Nora.” His voice crying my name sounds distant and scared. I’ve scared him. I’ve scared steady, dependable, always-in-control Jack. Oddly it’s this thought that starts to push away some of the panic. I can’t let Jack be scared because of me. Not when he’s the person that has always made me feel safe and secure. The person who has always made me feel brave.
Pushing away the despair squeezing my lungs I use all of my mental strength to tunnel in on Jack standing in front of me. No wait, he’s not standing in front of me. I’m not even standing anymore. I’m on the ground and he’s kneeling in front of me, eyes locked on my face.
“Nora,” he repeats my name. “Can you hear me?”
Slowly I nod and a rush of air bursts into my lungs causing me to shudder.
“That’s right, breathe,” he urges. A second later he moves behind me so that his legs straddle me and his chest presses into my back. He lifts his arm to encircle me and just like that I’m in a cocoon of Jack.
I’ve seen him do this to Joy. It’s not a romantic, cuddly thing, but rather an attempt to provide sensory relief. The force he’s putting on my body is intended to have a calming effect, much like a weighted blanket.
Only, now that I’ve gotten my breath back I’m feeling a lot calmer. Which means this embrace of his is giving me all the romantic vibes he’s not intending. This is very much a cuddle session I am enjoying being a part of.
Jack smells good—better even than the bottle of Dove shampoo I keep on my bedside table—and his arms are strong around me. His breath is warm as it stirs across my hair, and a happy sigh drifts out of me before I can stop it.
His whole body freezes and now I’m panicking for an entirely different reason. He definitely heard that.
I fully expect him to pull away, to scooch himself back, hop up to standing and zoom away. Maybe even suggest we go annul this marriage before I get any misplaced notions about the two of us being a real couple who do real couple things.
But he does none of these things. Instead we simply sit there, his arms remaining securely in place around me.
Perhaps I should be embarrassed that the two of us are just sitting in the middle of the sidewalk of a very ritzy neighborhood, but I’m too busy enjoying these minutes spent in my happy place. For the last three years this was a place I could only close my eyes and imagine, but right now it’s a reality. So, sorry, ritzy neighborhood people, but I’m staying put.
Heck, I’ll stay here for 15 years if I have to, just so I can claim squatter’s rights and take permanent possession of this man.
Wait, no. That sounds kind of weird.
And way off-brand for me.
I’m not supposed to want to be married for real. And I’m definitely not supposed to want to be married to Jack for real. That is way too dangerous a path to go down.
If only Jack had changed for the worse these last three years, but if anything he’s gotten better. He was always thoughtful and sweet and competent in a way that made me feel completely taken care of. He was always funny and strong and crazy handsome. But now he’s all of those things and he’s the man fighting on my behalf. How am I supposed to stop myself from loving such a good man?
“Excuse me, can I help you?” An uptight, nasally voice speaks from above us and I look up to see a woman with a tight bun and even tighter facial skin (botox anyone?) glaring down at us.
I’m about to apologize, but Jack speaks first. “No, we’re good, but thanks.” He releases me and immediately I miss his nearness. A second later he offers me a hand up. I’m avoiding eye contact with the disapproving woman, but Jack keeps on chatting with her, unperturbed by her ire. “Beautiful weather we’ve been having, am I right? You take care now.”
“Miscreants,” I hear the woman murmur as we walk away from her.
“Have a nice day!” Jack calls with a wave back at her. His cavalier attitude is contagious, and I find myself boldly looking back to see how she’s handling his dismissal of her irritation. She’s standing there with her hands on her hips, eyes on us like a hawk to its prey. My own gaze hitches on something just beyond her, and I stumble over my feet.
“Whoops, you okay?” Jack reaches a hand out to steady me.
“There’s a car in Connie’s driveway,” I hiss and his head jerks back to see for himself.
“A black Explorer,” he murmurs. “Not exactly a distinctive car.”
“I’ll say,” I agree. “Half the people at my company drive black SUVs.” I know this because it makes my grandpa’s old truck stand out that much more. Not to mention, just last week Stella got into it with Frank because he accidentally got into her car instead of his. Of course he realized his mistake when the car wouldn’t start, but since he’d already put his uncovered coffee cup in the center console, sloshing liquid across it, Stella was not happy.
In my opinion the whole thing could’ve been avoided by locking her car doors, but sometimes Stella just likes to be mad.
As we watch, the door of the house’s double garage opens and the black SUV glides inside–right next to the white BMW already parked there. Ian’s BMW.
“So she definitely moved the car,” Jack mutters.
“Yup,” I agree.
“What are you two whispering about?” Botox woman demands. “Casing the houses, are you? I’ll report you to security if you don’t get out of here. This neighborhood is going to the pits when we can’t even keep hoodlums like you out. Never thought I’d see the day.”
