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I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell Jack about us, but as I finished the last sentence on my story, I knew what I was going to tell my boss.
That I was done with this kind of writing.
I had seen so much good in Chance Rapids, a lot more good than bad. I finally understood the appeal of the Christmas movies. I didn’t want to write something dark. I wanted to focus on the upbeat, the positive, the light – and write something that would make other people feel it too.
The battery on my phone died before I got a message back from Jack. And, I had no idea what time it was – but my story was finished – and I was exhausted.
I added a few more pieces of wood to the fire, blew out the candles, and fell asleep with butterflies in my stomach. I felt like a kid on Christmas eve, wondering what gifts the next day would bring.
The refrigerator whirredand lights flickered and then lit up the cabin. It was still dark outside, but the sun had peeked over the horizon. I plugged in my phone before tiptoeing out of bed to stoke the fire.
While the cabin heated up, I slipped back under the covers. I really believed that I was going to wake up to a lumberjack in the bed, so when I was still alone, I started to worry.
Was Jack okay?
When my phone was charged enough to power up, my fingers trembled as I scrolled through, hoping for a message or to see a missed call from Jack.
My body felt nauseous. There was nothing from Jack. Only a message from my boss asking for an update. Replying to him was going to have to wait – I had more important things to deal with than that stupid assignment.
Jack had rushed off to help the volunteer firefighters. My stomach clenched into a ball as my disappointment at not hearing from him was dwarfed by my new concern about his safety. I threw on my clothes, brushed my teeth, and headed to the main house.
I needed to know that Jack wasn’t…I wouldn’t let myself go there. “He’s fine.” I whispered to myself. “He’s a tough man.” I also knew that he was a brave and caring man, one who would put himself in harm’s way to help someone else.
The tips of my fingers brushed against something in the pocket of the coat. It was the candy cane he’d given me, along with a sweet peck on the cheek. It was a familiar gesture, one that came from someone you were comfortable with, someone you’d known forever; and it had warmed my body from my toes right to my fingertips. I swore that I wasn’t going to get rid of that broken piece of candy until I knew that Jack was okay. It could be the last thing he ever gave me.
Light spilled from the farmhouse windows onto the snow. I rapped on the back door lightly, knowing that Bob and Muriel would’ve been up for hours already.
“Come in,” Muriel shouted.
I stepped into the mudroom and kicked off my practical boots. In the warmth of the kitchen, I was met with the smell of gingerbread and coffee. And smoke.
“Jack.”
He was leaning against the kitchen counter, his face dirty and his eyes tired. I didn’t think. I didn’t worry about the text I’d sent the night before, I rushed to him and he wrapped me in his arms.
The tears came before I could control them. “You’re o-o-o-kay,” I managed to stammer through my sobs.
Jack squeezed me tightly and I felt him smell the top of my head. “Of course I’m okay.”
He pulled away from me and wiped the tears from my face with his thumb. “You were worried about me?”
“Of course I was worried about you.” I smacked his chest. “You left to go fight a fire and I sent you that message and I didn’t hear back and it’s the next day…” I was rambling and Jack stopped the ramble with his lips.
I melted into him. He smelled like smoke and body odor, but I didn’t care. He was alive, and I was in his arms.
He chuckled and I looked up at him. “What?”
“I think that it’s sweet that you were worried about me, that’s all. I really didn’t do much, the real firefighters had everything under control. He paused, “What was in your text? I think my phone is still in my truck.”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” I rested my head against his chest, noticing that Muriel had disappeared from the kitchen.
I don’t know how long I let Jack hold me. It could’ve been twenty seconds, or two hours, I couldn’t tell – in Chance Rapids, and in Jack’s arms, time seemed to have its own set of rules.
“Henri. I wanted to ask you something.”
My heart felt like it stopped, and when it started beating again, it was pounding against my ribcage like someone had given it a sledgehammer. “What?” I whispered, keeping my ear pressed to his chest.
“I was wondering if you’d go on a date with me. A real, proper date.”
