Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
This is precisely what I don’t want.
There’s no way for this to end well. Either we end up in a heated conversation about something inconsequential—where we’d then have to contend with animosity between us for the next two weeks—or we manage to be civil. Where would that get me?
I’ve fought too hard to get here—to the stage of apathy that Jack has deemed worse than heartbreak. I’m finally to the point where I’ve accepted my marriage for what it is . . . and what it isn’t. And life is easier when those lines aren’t blurred.
Why bother blurring them now? It’s one dinner, Lo. You are totally overthinking this.
“I guess it’s just me and you,” he says. “This is still warm. Want to eat now?”
I face the window and close my eyes for a moment.
“We could go sit out back,” he says. “Maybe I could clean out the firepit, and we could pull up some lawn chairs.”
A smile ghosts my lips as I open my eyes again.
“Or we could just pack this back up and drive out to where I proposed.” His voice is a touch shakier than before. “I don’t think the mosquitoes are as bad as they were that night.”
My heartstrings pull just enough to loosen the guard around my heart a little bit more.
“And ticks,” I say, still not facing him. “That year was so bad for the tiny ones. I wore my brand-new engagement ring into the dollar store and bought lint rollers to try to get them off us.”
His chuckle caresses me from the other side of the room.
“That was one of the happiest days of my life,” I say, the words fading into the evening.
Jack moves quietly across the kitchen before coming to a stop behind me. His presence is that powerful, that familiar, that I don’t have to turn around to see if I’m right. My body instinctively leans toward him, and it’s all I can do to fight it.
“That was one of the luckiest days of my life,” he says softly.
“Not the happiest?”
“I think I was too awestruck that you actually said yes to be happy.”
My chest bounces with a suppressed laugh.
“Lauren Madeline McKenzie, I can honestly say you weren’t looking your best the night we met,” Jack says.
I laugh and hold tight because this is going somewhere. Something is on his mind, and it has been all weekend. The impromptu trip to the cabin. His inability to sit still. The odd suggestion of a picnic and the coincidence that Mrs. Shaw had a picnic basket ready at the Cupboard.
His face smoothens and then grows serious. A bubble of anxiety mixed with excitement grows in my stomach.
“Jack—”
He places a finger against my lips. “But even then, with your alcohol-poisoning fears and vomit breath, I knew you were the one.” His shy smile melts my heart. “I loved you then, but I love you even more now.”
My heart pounds. Is he . . .
“Marry me, Lo.”
I gasp. “Jack . . .”
He chuckles nervously. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a . . .” I blink back tears and fling myself into his strong arms. “I would be honored to marry you.”
“The happiest day,” he says, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder, “is the day you followed through with it and married me.”
Tears cloud my eyes. The emotion in his voice—the genuineness, the hope, maybe—stirs a barrel of similar feelings in my heart.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, not pulling away as his knuckles slide down my arm.
“What exactly do you think I’m doing?”
I exhale and pivot on my heel.
The depths of his brown eyes knock me off-balance. There isn’t a shield separating us. No levity can be found. It’s just Jack. My Jack.
“What do I need to do to fix this, Lo? Tell me.”
I sigh, walking around him in a wide circle. My head and heart collide. They both want what’s best for me. The problem is that they don’t agree.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he says, frustration thick in his tone. “Talk to me.”
“Why? Because you decided that right now is convenient for you?”
I stop at the far end of the table and face him. It’s enough space to give me room to think.
His lips part for what I’m sure is going to be a sarcastic reply, but he stops himself. Then he restarts. “That’s fair.”
I look at him, mouth gaping. My brain spins at this unexpected twist of events.
“Lauren, I’m sorry.”
Blood pushes through my veins at warp speed. “Sorry for what?”
“When it all boils down, I’m sorry for putting you in a position where you think the only way you can be happy is to be without me.”
I steady myself against the chair in front of me.
“I had no idea you were thinking about divorce,” he says. “And it’s bullshit that it took that to make me realize what was going on. That’s probably a symptom of the problem. But, Lo, there has to be a way for us to work on this. To fix it. Please.”