Page 48 of The Perfect Heart

But hope springs eternal.

It was all wishful thinking, of course. The small part of me that hoped the humanity in Jack would win out was overshadowed by the knowledge of who he was and the history I had with him that told me any chance of that was slim to none.

It was why I still paid for everything in cash and kept the gum wrapper on my door while I was gone. It was why the dresser got shoved in front of the door when Nash wasn't sleeping over. It was why I usually asked someone to give me a ride home at night.

Mom hadn’t heard anything from Jack, thank goodness, and I still hadn’t opened up to her about why I had left. But she never pushed, never asked questions, only wanted to make sure I was doing okay. She was also thrilled that Nash and I were dating and that I was working with him every day—as thrilled as I was—and watching him thrive. When I had told Mom, she had been nothing but congratulatory, telling me that she had always hoped we would end up together.

That was news to me—Mom had never pushed me one way or another, though I knew she had adored Nash and appreciated our friendship nearly as much as I had. But I sensed that she was far happier about Nash than she had been about Jack. Her response after meeting him had been lukewarm, and her congratulations when I’d told her that Jack and I were getting married had been missing something, though I had ignored it at the time. I had never asked her, but I had a feeling she had been happy, at least, that I would never want for anything with Jack as I had growing up, relieved that I would never have to penny pinch or choose new shoes over dinner for the week again. But I was almost positive that, a few times, I had heard relief in her voice when she asked if I was still in Leavenworth, even before I had told her about my budding relationship with Nash.

But since I had left Jack, she hadn’t once asked if I was getting back together with him, whether I missed him, or even if I thought about him. Instead, she wanted to know more about Nash and me, our relationship, his life, and what he had been up to over the past years.

Someday, I would open up to her about what had happened. Someday, when I didn’t feel so embarrassed and terrible, when I could look back and say I’d made better choices and learned from my mistakes. I knew Mom wouldn’t judge me, even now, but I was still too ashamed.

Nash I would end up telling sooner because I had to. He had a right to know if we were to continue this thing between us. I had been opening up to him bit by bit—the mention of my nights out with Jack had opened a crack in the dam keeping everything back, and it had trickled out slowly since. The rift widened a little bit more every time we talked, and Nash listened intently, sharing his compassion and support instead of judgment and criticism.

I would tell him. I just needed to find the right time.

For now, I felt safe with Nash, and that was all that mattered. I couldn’t remember when I’d felt so secure or valued for being me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had lain in a man’s arms and felt so entirely at peace, including my husband.

The car slowed and pulled into a parking lot, nearly empty, as the sun sank closer to the horizon under the leaden sky that promised rain here and snow in the mountains. I pulled my coat around me as we stepped out into the chill, Nash with a brown bag with grease stains on the bottom clutched in his hands as I grabbed the two takeaway cups.

We had come to Seattle on a Monday when the bar was closed. We would drive here in high school when we had the time and could afford the gas, usually during breaks from school or the summer. After we had picked up our favorite burgers and fries, Nash had started driving. He hadn’t said exactly where he was going, but I’d known anyway—our favorite park right on the water with an incredible view of the boathouses and downtown.

We sat high up on a hill, side by side, on the cusp of afternoon and evening, watching as downtown lit up with lights so varied it almost looked like a Christmas tree. The water lapped at the shore below us as a couple walked with a stroller and a runner lapped them. But other than that, we were alone as we ate our burgers, worked through an order of fries, and drank our milkshakes.

“We should do this more often,” Nash finally said, balling up the greasy paper and tossing it into the bag before wiping his hands and mouth on a napkin.

We’d spent the day wandering, visiting places we hadn’t seen since we were high school students, playing tourists, wandering in and out of stores downtown.

“Come to Seattle?” I asked before I stuck a fry in my mouth.

“Well, that, but I mean do things together. See places, see things. Just”—he looked at me and gave me a crooked grin—“do things together.”

I laughed. “Haven’t we been doing things together?”

Between sleeping at each other’s places and working together, it felt rather domestic in a comforting way.

“I mean, do more than just eat, work, sleep, and watch the occasional movie. I miss exploring life with you, Halle. I want to do it again.”

“That sounds suspiciously like planning for the future,” I pointed out.

Nash shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be. I just want to do things with you, Halle, now and in the future.”

I smiled, looking down at the pile of napkins in my lap even as my cheeks grew warm with pleasure.

My phone rang in my purse. Wiping my hands, I fished it out and glanced at the number—unknown. But I’d been waiting for a call from the man Marie said was supposed to come and fix the thermostat, so I answered.

“Hello?”

But instead of a voice, I heard silence.

“Hello?”

I listened, but no one said anything. Instead, I heard something that might have been breathing or just the sound of the phone line, and I hung up.

“Who was that?” Nash asked.

Shrugging, I shook my head. “No idea. No one answered.”