Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(61)

“Do you feel like that when we argue?” I hold my breath waiting for his response. If he says yes, I’ll never forgive myself. And I wonder when exactly this happened. When did Jack go from someone I hoped would step on a nail to a man who has warm flesh and blood and a golden heart beating under his cozy knit shirt. A heart I very much care about.

He smiles so soft it’s made from the same silk as my favorite PJs. “I never feel that way when we argue. It’s always been different with you.”

“Why?” I need to know.

“I think because when we would fight, I’d show you my absolute worst again and again, and you kept coming back for more. You never shut the door on me. My thoughts and opinions have always been safe with you. And God, Emily, I can’t tell you how good it is to always know exactly what you’re thinking with no mind games in the way.”

I know what he means. I feel the same way. I have freedom from perfection with him, and that’s the best gift I’ve ever received from anyone.

“But to answer your earlier question, no, Zoe didn’t keep me from socializing with the teachers. I did that all on my own because I don’t . . . I don’t like to get too close to people. I always have this feeling like something will go wrong if I do—so it’s been easier to keep to myself. Even with Zoe. So that’s what I mean when I say it wasn’t all her fault. She probably felt lonely in our relationship too. That’s why I can’t hate her.”

I have to turn away so I don’t wrap my arms around him and squeeze. He’s just so . . . he’s so good. His heart is kind and empathetic. And I really, really like him. It’s a big problem to have when I’m trying to convince myself not to do anything about my feelings. “Listen to me, Jack. No matter what you say, you did not deserve to be cheated on. If she was lonely, she should have ended it before moving on to someone else or communicated with you to fix it. Don’t take on the responsibly of her mistake.” I pause. “But if you don’t want to hate her, fine. I’ll hate her enough for the both of us.”

“Thank you,” he says with a soft grin, then shifts uncomfortably on his feet, clearly ready to be finished talking about Zoe. “All right, let’s find this damn laptop.”

We both leave the dining room and walk down the hallway. I shine the flashlight against the wall of photos and find a slew of images of Bart as a young man with a woman I don’t recognize.

“Strange to think of Bart with a wife, right?” Jack says, coming to stand beside me.

“I’ve never seen a picture of her before.” All I know is that she died at some point in the ’90s.

“Yeah. And he doesn’t talk about her much. But that morning I came over for breakfast, he did tell me he hasn’t changed a thing since she passed. That’s why the house looks frozen in time.”

My heart squeezes with recognition. I know that kind of pain. The grief that makes you terrified to let go of the time you were once happy. Suddenly I wonder if this will be me one day: living in a home that I’m afraid to change, afraid to grow in because I’m so scared of leaning into the pain of change.

It feels lonely in here. And maybe it’s just because the lights are off, but there’s an eeriness to it. I don’t want to live in a house like this one day.

But I’m not quite as stagnant as I used to be, am I? I wrote a book. And I’m taking a chance on myself and sending it to the best agent out there. And I’m breaking and entering with my ex-nemesis who is now my friend. There’s hope for me yet.

“Emily,” Jack calls from down the hall. I was so lost in thought I didn’t even realize he had walked away. “I found his laptop.”

The relief that floods my body could rival a tsunami. I hurry in the direction of his voice and hang a left into the home office where Jack is seated behind Bart’s desk. The screen lights up, illuminating Jack’s face when he opens the lid. He looks like a cartoon character who’s just discovered a treasure chest.

“Is it password protected?” I ask, coming around the side of the desk.

Jack’s slow smile is all the confirmation I need. “Nope.”

“God bless Bart and his trusting heart. Do you see the email?”

Jack doesn’t get to answer me. In the next moment our gazes snap to each other as the sound of a key rattling in a door lock trickles through the room. “Is that . . . ?”





Chapter Nineteen


Emily


“Someone’s coming in the back door,” Jack says, snapping the lid of the laptop shut and standing. “I thought you said he was coming tomorrow?”

“That’s what Shirley said! What are we going to do now? I was bluffing earlier. I only bought eight boxes of Girl Scout cookies! That’s not nearly enough to keep me out of jail.”

As I’m frantically whining, Jack has placed his hand on my lower back and is pushing me toward a closet we passed in the hallway. He opens it and nudges me inside with the coats and cleaning supplies. He follows right behind me.

The closet is so small, we barely fit in here together.

My heart is racing but quiets a little when I shine the flashlight up and see Jack’s lazy smile. I’m not here alone. I’m with Jack.

We listen silently as the back door opens and there’s the sound of someone humming that we both recognize. Bart hums eighty percent of every day.