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Yours always, Jack
Wow. I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. Of all the notes for her to keep.
A loud thump from her bedroom draws my attention away from the note, and, after adding it to my collection, I hurry toward the room.
“Nora?” I call as I approach.
“Jack?” Her voice is frantic. “Don’t come in here! I’m…I’m…changing!”
I’m right outside the door now, so I stop, deciding to tease her a little bit.
“Ah, yes, but we’re married now,” I call through the door. “I’m allowed to see you—” I can’t finish the sentence. I’d intended to tease her, but instead I’ve gone and wrongfooted myself. The very idea of seeing Nora without clothes on is too much for me.
“Jack!” Her voice right on the other side of the door pulls me out of my undone state. A second later it pops open a crack and I see her wide eyes peering out at me. Disappointingly she appears to be fully clothed. “Please just give me a couple more minutes.” Her gaze drops to the bundle of stuff in my arms and her eyes somehow pop even wider. “You were supposed to stay by the front door,” she says faintly.
I place a hand on the door and push it gently, testing her resistance. The sight of all this relationship memorabilia must’ve stunned her into releasing her grip on it, because the door pops open revealing the first mess I’ve seen in her supposedly messy house.
Her dresser drawers have been flung open. There’s an overturned box on the floor that appears to have been the source of the thump. And piled on the bed is a random assortment of items: sweatshirts, a candle, a water bottle, two baseball hats, a cowboy hat and, oddly enough, a bottle of Dove shampoo.
“Nora, what is all this?” I ask, stepping forward to the bed. “Wait, is that…” I trail off, picking up the candle off the bed and reading the name: portable fireplace.
“The candle you bought me because I once mentioned I’d always wanted to have a fireplace,” Nora finishes for me, then snatches the candle. “No,” she adds quickly. “It’s not that candle.”
One of my eyebrows pops up. I pick up another item. The cowboy hat. “And I suppose this isn’t my hat either?”
Nora flushes, grabbing for the hat too. “Nope. Not yours. Mine.” She places the hat on her head and it immediately slides down her forehead—too big.
“How strange,” I say indulgently. “Because I've been missing that very same hat for three years.”
“Strange indeed,” she says, not backing down. That’s fine. I can go for a while with this. I deposit my own collection of stuff next to hers on the bed and hold up the Jane Austen magnet. “Still a tea girl, I see.”
Nora reaches for the magnet, clutching it to her chest. “Yes, well. I do drink coffee sometimes. You know...” She falters under the weight of my gaze. “When tea isn’t readily available,” she finishes breathily.
“I see.” I pluck the tea note from the pile and wave it around. “And let me guess, you just plumb forgot this note was behind it, Miss Hottie?” I wink at her. “By the way, I stand by my statement. You are without a doubt a total hottie.”
Nora’s answering blush lights my body on fire and just like that I’m ready to be done calling her out for keeping all my stuff.
Or at least I was, until I realize she’s clutching something else in her hands, right between the candle and the magnet. It looks like a photo. And I kind of really want to know what it’s a picture of.
I step slowly toward her so as not to arouse suspicion. Dang, she’s so beautiful. I have to forcefully restrain myself from pulling her to me and crushing her lips with mine.
“Nora,” I say raspily, “why did you keep all of this stuff?”
She doesn’t answer, just opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. I’m directly in front of her now and–while she’s in her flustered state–I lift my hands up and take hold of the photo in her hands, yanking it free from her grasp with one big tug.
Emotion wells behind my eyes as I stare down at the photo. It’s a picture of the two of us. A selfie we took while riding together on my old horse, Bandit. It was slightly chilly that day, so we’re both in sweatshirts and the arm that isn’t occupied taking the photo is wrapped snugly around Nora, holding her close to me. We look so happy.
A lump forms in my throat.
I don’t have to note the fact that in this photo she’s wearing my police academy sweatshirt–the one with my last name on the back–to know that we took this picture the day I proposed to her. Seeing her looking flushed and happy in my sweatshirt, I’d been so overcome with certainty that she was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. So much so that instead of waiting to do the elaborate proposal I’d planned out for later that week I’d been unable to stop myself from proposing to her right then and there.
The lump grows as I remember the look of shock on her face, the way her lip started to tremble and how she backed away from me, shaking her head, accusing me of ruining everything. Why can’t we just continue to be boyfriend and girlfriend? she’d pleaded with me later, right before I walked away from her. My pride wounded deeply.
Fresh pain runs through me at the memory, and I stumble backwards onto the bed, landing on the remains of our previous relationship.
“Jack?” Nora is by my side in an instant. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I look up at her through my haze, trying to escape the hurt haunting me, realizing with blinding clarity that in all of the chaos Nora never did say she wanted to stay married to me. Sure, it seemed to be implied by the way she kissed me right after I said I wanted to stay married to her, but now that I think about it—she never agreed. Maybe to her, us getting back together is all temporary.
