Page 18 of Surrender

This man cannot be for real.

Bennett cries from his car seat, waking from his afternoon nap. While Jack starts his laundry, I pick up my boy and bounce him in my arms to soothe him.

“What else do you need before I go?” Jack asks, emerging from the hall.

He leans a shoulder against the wall, watching me with his arms crossed over his wide chest.

“You’ve done more than enough.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“What?”

“I didn’t ask if I did enough for you. I asked what else you need.”

“I’m fine.” I dip my head and inhale Bennett’s warm baby scent.

“Whitney.”

“Yes?”

He jabs his finger toward the front door. “A blizzard’s coming.”

My brows knit in confusion. “I’m aware.”

“Up to thirty-six inches of snow over the next two days.”

Shock releases my jaw, and it falls open. “I’m sorry, how much?”

“When I walk out that door, I won’t be able to return for a couple of days, so I need to make sure you and your kids have everything you might need.”

My pulse quickens. I try to comprehend the amount of snowfall expected but come up short. I don’t remember ever seeing that much snow in one storm. Over an entire winter? Sure. Minnesota gets a lot of snow. But all at once?

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information. I don’t know what food we have. I didn’t even get myself a decent pair of gloves after Jack suggested it yesterday. How am I supposed to shovel or clean off my car in three feet of snow without snow pants? A band cinches tight around my lungs.

“Food?” I croak the word.

“The fridge is full. The pantry too. I keep it pretty well stocked, but I went out yesterday, unless you need something in particular.”

I’m already shaking my head before he finishes.

“You have enough diapers? Baby formula?”

“Yes. I should have enough.”

Jack stares at me as if he’s waiting for me to give him an answer. I just keep on bouncing Bennett.

“You look dead on your feet. What can I do to make this easier?”

I blink at him. Has anyone asked me that question before? I look around the room as if the answer is written on the wall.

Jack watches me with sharp eyes. “How about this? I’ll throw a lasagna in the oven. There’s one in the freezer. And if you need a few minutes to yourself while that heats, I can sit with your kids.”

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that.” The words are firm but soft.

I don’t want to insult all he’s done for us, but at the same time, this version of him is a total stranger. My gut says I can trust him after he’s been nothing but kind to me since I rolled into town. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t really know him.

If I didn’t even truly know my own husband, who’s to say I can trust my gut about Jack? Even if we weren’t total strangers when we were growing up.

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