Page 51 of Forget Me Knot

“Not kidding at all. I bought it in three colors.” I didn’t, but mentally I’m pressing “Add to Cart”in my mind. I will make this cat wear clothes every day of his charmed little life if it means getting a rise out of the gentle giant pouting on his couch right now.

“He is not wearing that.”

“He seems to be wearin’ it just fine to me.” I adjust Chipper in my arms and do my very best not to flinch when he nips at my fingers. He hates the custom, mini Badger jersey I bought him just as much as his cranky caretaker. “He looks just as cute as can be. And check this out, it’s customized! I hadC. Jonesembroidered on the back.” I flip Chipper around but lose my grip when he squirms and flails. In one fluid motion the cat hisseslike he’s dying, scratches down the length of both my arms and escapes my grasp. On his rapid prison break from my arms to the cat castle, I swear he pauses and looks at Jack in solidarity.Free at last… Now, you deal with the crazy lady.

But the jokes on him, because he won’t be getting out of that jersey on his own any time soon.

Jack jumps to his feet, inspecting the claw marks down my forearms, and rubs his thumb along my skin. “Mmhhmmm,” he hums deep in his throat and then pitches his voice to a ridiculous, mocking tone that—let the record show—sounds nothing like me.

Thank you very much.

“He’s just as cute as can be.He’s a baby, Jack, let him be. Don’t you just love him?We should rescue his brothers and sisters…”

Jack glares at my arms and drags me to the kitchen, picking me up by the waist and planting me on the countertop before I know what’s happening. He’s kind of a caveman when he’s all broody like this. I do not hate it. He briefly mumbles under his breath about cat scratch fevers and bacteria while fumbling in his cabinet for a first aid kit.

“We need to clean this.”

“Stop fussin’. It’s nothing, Jack. I’m fine.” I know he’s a little peeved I’m hurt, but I can’t help but smile and rub the crease in his brow with my thumb. He swats at my hand and growls low. I spit out my tongue. Honestly, it sparks joy to push his buttons like this, and over the last couple of blissful weeks we’ve spent togethertrying, I’ve learned that J. Jones does not like to be told when he’s being a curmudgeon, or a worry wart, or adorably handsome. He’s a beautiful and mysterious giant onion with many, many layers.

And I like him. So much.

“I’m fine,” he echoes. “Right. I’ve heard that before. When youweren’tcrying.”

He delicately holds my arm in his hand while wiping a soapy, wet cloth over the scratches. I feel like one of his flowers in the shop as he handles me with so much care and attention. Is this what all those peonies and calla lilies feel each and every time Jack plucks them with something special in mind? For something beautiful? He’s methodical, yes, but never fumbling or aggressive. This Jack is the man I always see. Gentle. Caring. Aware of every curve of my hand and the sensations his touch kindles. The calluses on his hands send goosebumps across my skin, and because he misses nothing, Jack pauses and smirks at me with satisfaction.

“You good, Polly? You seem a bit flustered.”

“I’m fine,” I reiterate and can’t hide my smile. “It really is just a scratch… But maybe I was crying then. That day you came by.”

“I know you were.” He nods, running the warm cloth over the wounds on my other arm. “It was your down day.”

I’m hit with a crazy moment of revelation and a quick gasp of air rushes out of me.

“Dinah?” He grabs my hands, pausing his task. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” I shake my head, running through conversations in my brain. “Did Jackson leave a note for you… about my down day?”

He shakes his head, eyes confused. “No. You… you must’ve told me.”

“No, Jack.” I hold his hand against my arm, pausing him where he’d begun cleaning again. “I told Jackson. On our second date at the animal shelter. You… you remembered.”

For a minute he looks like I’ve hit him in the face with a pie. All shock and disbelief. I suspect his brain is rushing through a mental rewind much like mine, thinking through the dates we’vebeen on since that day. We’ve discussed my parents but never once have I mentioned my down day.

“And, I haven’t mentioned it, but you’ve sort of been calling me Dinah Belle. Every once and a while.”

“That’s your name,” he whispers under his breath, avoiding my gaze.

“Yes, but you never called me that before.” I gently pull his chin up, forcing him to look at me. “Jackson has since the first time we met, but never you, up until a couple of weeks ago after that first lunch with your family. I thought you might brush it off if I brought it up, but now… this feels like something.”

“It’s not.” He goes back to inspecting my arms, grabbing antibiotic ointment to apply.

“Has this ever happened before? You remembering Jackson’s days?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything further. Afraid he’s shutting down, pulling into himself when all I want to do is see more of him, I try to regain our levity.

“Ya know, those donuts you brought on my down day? They changed my life.”

His lips tilt in half a grin.

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