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)
He is right. So much of this year has been about Jack and me, and so much of last year was about us too.
Let’s give them two weeks.
Jack watches me wrestle with my feelings, his gaze softening by the second. “Lauren . . .”
“I don’t have enough supplies to get through two weeks. Did you bring enough clothes? Food? Toiletries?”
He grins. “You must’ve had a lot of that packed already because there are bags of linens and toilet paper and toothpaste in the back of my truck.”
Michael must’ve grabbed what I’d packed from the garage. I didn’t even notice.
I hold my temples, the thought of making do with heaven knows what kind of supplies causing my head to throb.
But I could do it. If they took all the bags from the garage, and if Maddie packed me some clothes, I could make it work. I already had a blank work schedule for two weeks. The refrigerator at home is practically empty. The mail is on hold. I could have Billie swing by and make sure the blinds are down and the thermostat is turned up . . .
“Dad said he had groceries coming,” Jack says with a smirk. “I’m guessing that’s you.”
“I’m going to give your dad a piece of my mind.”
Jack chuckles. “I bet he’s scared.”
“I’ll stay on the couch,” I say, my voice resolute.
“Not happening.”
“It’s okay, Jack.”
He growls. “Can you just let me be the man, please? I know it kills you to let me try to be nice to you—”
“Fine,” I say, louder than necessary. I glance at the door to make sure the kids didn’t hear me. Get it together, Lauren. “If we do this, we aren’t doing this. We aren’t going to fight.”
“Right. This is for them.”
“Right.”
This is a horrible, terrible idea.
Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Dad doesn’t know anything is wrong. He truly thinks I was working too much at the shop, and you were playing along to not rock the boat.”
Oh, great.
“And, Lo . . . I don’t want him to know.” Jack’s eyes shine with a vulnerability that slices me to my core. “You should’ve seen the look on his face when we pulled up to his house. He had his shit packed—practically beaming. I just can’t drop this on him. Not right now. Not here.”
“Jack . . .”
“I’m begging you, Lauren. Please.”
For the first time in a very long time, I want to wrap my arms around Jack and hug him.
It’s a throwback to the old Jack—the kind, sweet man I fell in love with. When I look at him these days, I see a wall—a cold steel door locked over his emotions. But when he talks about his dad or the kids, I get a glimpse of my Jack. The Jack I used to know. And I know watching his father begin to deteriorate is killing him.
“So, what? Just pretend like everything is normal?” I ask.
“As normal as you can.”
How the hell did I get here? Just a few hours ago, I was planning on organizing my office. Now I’m constructing a fake happy marriage for two freaking weeks.
How do I get in these predicaments?
“We can do this, right?” I lift a brow. “We can barely have a conversation without bickering, and you want to pretend like everything is fine?”
One corner of his lips draws toward the sky. His shoulders drop to the ground. He moves his head around his shoulders as if he can’t figure out his next movement.
That’s okay. Neither can I.
Finally, he comes to a rest facing me—a few inches closer than before. His scent drifts through the air, tempting me in some kind of dance that makes me rethink the possibility of this situation.
Jack sets Snaps down. Then he reaches out and plucks a lock of hair stuck to my neck. His fingertips dust my skin. They might as well be electrodes.
I gasp quietly, my arms breaking out in a flood of goose bumps. He notices. Of course he does. His only acknowledgment of my reaction is a slight smirk kissing his lips.
“We did this for twenty years, babe,” he says softly. “Pretty sure we can do it for fourteen days.”
Snaps barks.
Jack doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns to the door, the puppy at his heels.
“I’m not sleeping with that dog,” I say. That’s probably what this is. He wants me here to take care of the damn puppy. “And I’m not cleaning up after it either.”
Jack’s head shakes as he yells for the kids, leaving me standing in the middle of the yard.
This is going to be the longest fourteen days of my life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JACK
The cabin door screeches as it slams behind me. That needs some WD-40.
A warm breeze flows through the open kitchen window, across to the living room, and out of the curtains on the far wall. The air is hot and grossly humid, but the place needs a good airing out before we start the climate control. It’s wild to think that we didn’t have an air conditioner until five or six years ago. But the older we got, the hotter it seemed to get, and it turns out that we’re no longer cut out for Ohio’s hundred-degree temperatures without the ability to cool off.