Page 25 of Time for Change

Even though I’m sure I register surprise by his confession, I’m not all that shocked he’s a dad. Jack has this air about him, of authority, confidence, and discipline, and even though I don’t really know him well, I can picture him as a great dad. “Really? You have kids?”

He swallows hard and nods. There’s a bit of hesitancy reflecting in his blue eyes, as if he’s not certain how I’m going to take the news. “Yes. I have two. A nine-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son.”

I sit up straight in my seat and shift to the edge of the plastic. “Can I see pictures?” I find myself asking, certain he has a million on the camera roll on his phone.

Jack seems to relax even more as he nods and reaches for the phone in his back pocket. He taps away before handing the device over. Our fingers brush against each other as I take the phone, and yes, that same electricity zips through my veins.

I glance down at the screen and instantly grin. “Oh my gosh, your son looks just like you.”

Jack chuckles, taking the seat beside me. “He does. He’s my mini-me. His name is Christian.”

“And your daughter is beautiful,” I reply, noting the striking features of his daughter.

“Gianna looks just like her mom. She’s nine going on fifteen, and I’m not at all prepared to handle her. She keeps me on my toes.”

I see Jack in both of them, and while the young boy is a carbon copy of his father, I can’t help but wonder about their mother. She must be beautiful if Gianna is any indication. I hand back the phone and say, “You have a lovely family.”

He turns off the device and holds it in his hand, looking my way. “Thank you.” I can tell he has something more to say, so I just wait him out. He doesn’t keep me waiting long before asking, “Are you okay with that?”

“With you being a dad? Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs. “Well, not everyone likes kids.”

This time I’m the one who shrugs. “They’re a part of you. I’ll admit, I haven’t been around kids much, but they don’t bother me.”

“Okay,” he says, the tension I didn’t even realize he was holding in his shoulders relaxing a bit. “I’d want to make sure this is something you’re comfortable with, in case this goes further than a few casual dates. Not that I’m saying I want you to meet my kids or anything, but—”

“I get it,” I interrupt. “I’d want you to know and be prepared too if I was in your shoes. I don’t have kids.”

He stands up and slides his phone back into his pocket. “We don’t have to get into the heavy stuff tonight, but that’s something I wanted you to know right off the bat. My kids are my top priority.”

“As it should be,” I assure him, my throat thick with emotion.

A pang of jealousy I wasn’t expecting hits me square in the chest. Not that I’m jealous of his kids, per se, I’m jealous of their relationship. I didn’t have that with my parents, specifically my mom. Jack clearly loves them dearly. It was written all over his face and etched in his words as he talked about them. I’m certain my mom didn’t have a single photo of me in her phone’s camera roll. Lord knows there weren’t any around the house while I was growing up.

My mind flashes to the framed picture sitting on my dresser. The one I found before I moved out, determined to forge my own path in this world and escape the weight of my past. That single photo is a connection to a life I didn’t know, and someday, I’ll be brave enough to face the reality that single photograph possesses.

Today, however, is not that day.

I clap my hands and rub them together. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s bowl.”

Any remaining tension in his shoulders evaporates as he steps up to the return and grabs his ball. He glances over his shoulder and gives me a cheeky grin. “You ready to lose?”

My own lips stretch widely as they curl upward. “You’re going down, Jack.”

Chapter Eight

Jack

“I’m stuffed,” Stevie announces, dropping her crumpled napkin onto her plate.

After we bowled our two games, we opted to go to the adjacent restaurant for a pizza. Part of me feels bad for not taking her to a fancy place for dinner, but she appears to be just as content eating a few slices here as opposed to dining somewhere else. She seems like a simple woman, not needing steak and seafood for a first date, and while I’m not opposed to indulging on fancier meals, this is definitely more my speed too.

I wave over the server and hold up the remains of our dinner. “Can I get this boxed up?”

She nods. “Sure thing. Would you like the breadsticks too?”

“Yes, please,” I reply, retrieving the plastic basket with two remaining breadsticks in it.

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