Page 71 of Broken Pact

I stand in his kitchen, belatedly realizing I’m not wearing any pants, as he gets me a glass of ice water.

“You hungry, baby? Need something to eat?” he asks, his hand pressed to the island by the refrigerator.

I glance at the clock on the stove and shake my head. “It’s too late to eat. But thank you, for the water.”

He nods a few times. “Bed okay? Need anything else?”

I clear my throat and drag my gaze away from the broad expanse of his shoulders. “Your bed feels like sleeping on a platform of clouds. I’m just having a hard time falling asleep, I guess. It’s been . . . a day.”

He walks toward the living room, patting the back of the couch. “Come sit with me for a minute. Watch the lake and listen to the cicadas. You’ll be drowsy in no time.”

“Maybe just for a minute.” I dip my head in acknowledgment and follow him into the living room, setting my water on the coffee table. A low groan leaves my mouth without my permission when I sink into the plush couch. He tosses a throw blanket over my lap, and I adjust it as I get comfortable. He settles back into his spot on the chaise end of the couch, and I swing my legs over, my feet pointing toward him.

I roll my head along the back cushion, letting my gaze fall to the lake outside. “It really is so bright in here with the moon and all your windows. You’re not going to be able to sleep.”

His bicep twitches as he folds his arms behind his head to stare out the window with me. “I’m not worried about it. I like knowing you’re in my bed.”

I don’t know how to reply to that, so I don’t say anything at all. Time passes, but it’s not uncomfortable or charged. He’s right, I can hear the cicada’s song in the living room, and they remind me of one of those woodsy sound machines.

I used to think scary things happened at night, not exclusively, but just as a general rule. It’s why I never minded the early morning hours as a baker’s life. But there’s something different about this darkness. Or maybe it just feels different because I’m in that fuzzy space of overtiredness but unable to fall asleep. Either way, it makes me feel brave. Emboldened, even.

“Hey, Jasper,” I murmur softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, baby?” he answers right away.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?”

“About what?” he murmurs.

I turn to look at him, letting my gaze wander over his profile. The sharp jawline and the strong brow, his nose that definitely has a bump from being broken before. He’s so handsome it seems unfair.

“About us. And what happened . . . to us.” I’m nervous to even bring it up, but it feels safe here, under the watchful gaze of the moon.

I can feel his gaze roaming my face, searching for something. “It’s been a long night, Coraline.”

Disappointment weighs my limbs down, and I sink further into the couch. I don’t know what stings more: the fact that he used my real name or that he doesn’t want to talk about it. I mean, from his perspective, I get it. I’m not sure I would want to dredge up my past sins if I were him.

“Yeah,” I replied with an exhale. Except that I’ve never been able to get closure before, and now, after seeing all of this, I don’t know what to think.

Be brave, Nana Jo’s voice echoes in my mind.

“It’s just that I didn’t know about any of this.” I flick my fingers in a lazy wave, indicating his house. “And I . . . I don’t understand why.”

“Not many people have been here. This house, it’s my house, yeah? The room at the clubhouse is just that—a room. And when I’m gone, it’s gonna be stripped and given to the next guy like I was never there. I’m okay with it. That’s how it works. But here? This house was my grandfather’s, and now it’s mine. Someday it’ll get passed down to my kid.”

“So you’re saying I’m special,” I tease, stretching my foot out to poke him in the arm with my bare toe.

He reaches over and palms my ankle, his thumb brushing over my skin softly. “The most special.”

My cheeks warm. They’re only words, and not even the iconic three little words. But somehow those seemingly innocent words from his mouth feel more like vows than anything I’ve ever heard.

“You could’ve told me, you know. Back then.”

“Told you what?” he asks, still brushing his thumb over my ankle.

“Anything. I would’ve listened.”

“Would you though? You didn’t seem all that interested in talking.” His lips curve into a sly grin.

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