Page 52 of Forget Me Knot

“I wanted to hunt you down just to make you buy me another box or propose to whoever made them.”

He chuckles under his breath, still focused on my arms. “I’m sure Tilda Holmes would be just downright delighted by that proposition, but unfortunately for you, she’s been married for the better part of fifty years.”

“Tilda! From The Gravy Boat?”

He shakes his head. “One and the same. And I’m sure Mr. Holmes loves her donuts just as much as you do. Probably more. ”

“Shame. They were incredible. And I wanna take a bath in that woman’s biscuits and gravy. I think we could have been really happy together.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll get the recipe for her donuts and bake ya a batch… Blow your mind.”

“Maybe I’ll accept.”

It’s a silly moment. One of many we’ve had lately. The last few weeks have been a montage of early morning coffee deliveries and secret kisses in the Petals’ storage closet.

Take that, Becky Sampson!

We hold hands while taking turns reading aloud to each other, have late night rendezvous to discuss important matters in our shared hallway—whether Jackson’s mint toothpaste tastes better than my cinnamon flavored—and every day we end with quiet cuddle sessions on the couch, Chipper wedged comfortably between us.

But the feel of his gentleness and concern in this moment, mixed with the ease of being together, presses against my chest like a firework igniting. My heart hurts in the best way. In thegiddy, early stages of a relationship, this very well might be a forever thingsort of way. It’s scary and wonderful, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed with it.

I take Jack’s hands in mine—stopping his delicate ministrations of antibacterial cream—and pull them to my cheeks.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, Polly?” His thumb rubs against my cheek, and he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Will you come to the farm this weekend? To Emory’s? It’s—” I hesitate. Emory and I haven’t crossed this boundary before, and I’m not sure how she’ll handle it, but it’s something I want to share with Jack. “It’s… Sunday is my birthday.”

“What?” He pulls away. “Why are you just now telling me it’s your birthday, Dinah? Of course I’ll be there. I wish I’d known. I need to plan—”

I grab his hands again, pulling him back to the counter, wrapping my arms around his neck, and locking my legs against his waist so he can’t get away.

You live here now, buddy. Too bad, so sad.

“You don’t need to do anything. It isn’t a big deal. We eat junk food and watch movies, and it’s usually just the three of us… since my parents… It’s only ever us.” I shrug noncommittally, like my indifference explains the hasty invitation.

Brushing a stray hair from my face, Jack studies me, seeing everything. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That they’ve missed so much. That they aren’t here to celebrate with you.”

“I’m fin—”

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re fine.” He rolls his eyes, and tears mist in mine, though I nearly laugh through the moisture at the way his annoyance really does lighten my mood.

“But I’m okay, though. Really. It was so long ago.”

“No, Dinah. It sucks. It’s okay to say it sucks. Grief isn’t measured with time. There aren’t rules for how long you’re permitted to miss someone, and pretending that you don’t will only hurt more in the end.”

His hazel eyes soften and his hands fall to my legs. Jack understands complicated grief better than most. He knows what it is to mourn someone and to not want to burden the people he loves with those complex, messy emotions.

“Thank you.” I squeeze his hands. “I want you there. With me… if you’ll come.”

“Okay, I—” A quick wave of sadness brushes over his face and it’s a familiar one. I know it means he’s thinking about three days from now and whether he’ll be him or not. Jackson lovesdreaming up ideas and adventures, but Jack doesn’t like making plans for the future. Anything past tomorrow is a risk. Like he’s afraid if he makes the plan, he’ll surely be the one to miss out on it.

“I want to be there.”

I brush a kiss to his mouth and melt into the way he pauses against my lips. Like he’s memorizing the way we feel together. And I am too.

“Good.” I peck his lips again and say a breath away, “You can wear the jersey I got you to match Chipper.”

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