Page 43 of Snowflakes Over Starr's Fall
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Later, he drove through November’s bleak and wintry landscape back to Starr’s Fall. Night was falling, and the day seemed cold and cheerless, although maybe that was just his mood, knowing he was returning to a vast and empty house. Again.
As he drove by Miller’s Mercantile, Jack noticed the new sign, the refurbished porch, everything looking ready for the grand opening during the Winter Wonderland Weekend, and he felt a rush of pride for what he and Jenna had accomplished together. He also saw a light on in the kitchen and before he could overthink it, or even think at all, he jerked the steering wheel hard enough to cause a spray of gravel as he pulled his Porsche Spyder into the store’s empty parking lot.
He still hadn’t come up with a plan as he walked toward the kitchen door. He was a man whoalwayshad a plan, with multiple bullet points, and right now his head was empty, without a single coherent thought rattling around inside. Still he kept walking. Tapped lightly on the door and waited.
It took Jenna a few moments to come to the door, and then undo the bolt, and then stare at him in obvious stupefaction. Was there a sparkle in her eye, a spring in her step, at the sight of him? Jack hadn’t seen either, but it was dark.
“Hey.” His voice was a rumble, and he had to clear his throat. Heaven help him, but he was nervous. And he still didn’t even know what he was here to say.
“Hey.” She cocked her head, her hair in a long loose braid over her shoulder, gleaming almost gold in the dim lighting. She was wearing a wildly patterned shirt in purple and red with a corduroy skirt and striped wool tights, and she looked so vibrant and alive, Jack had a sudden urge, aneed, to take her into his arms.
He put his hands in his pockets instead.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“All right.” She stepped inside, and he came into the kitchen, which was as small and homely as he remembered, cluttered with dishes and papers.
“I just got back from Thanksgiving at Maggie’s,” Jenna told him as she closed the door. “I don’t know if you’d heard, but Barb, Annie’s mom, is nearing the end.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly. “I hadn’t heard.”
“It’s a long time coming, but still… when it does come, I know it will feel like a shock.” She glanced at him uncertainly, before lowering her gaze, so quickly that he hadn’t been able to gauge her expression, never mind whether there was a sparkle or not. “Would you like a drink?”
“Uh… sure.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh as he admitted, “I didn’t really have a plan in stopping by. I just did it.”
“Oh?” Jenna sounded diffident as she went to fill the kettle. “And why was that?”
“Because I haven’t responded to your text,” he stated baldly, “and I didn’t want to leave it any longer.”
“Ah.” She nodded, her back to him as she stood at the sink. “Well, I appreciate your consideration,” she remarked as she set the kettle on the stove and then turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “But please don’t feel beholden, Jack, or pressured, or something like that.” She gave a little shrug, her gaze skating away from his. “I wrote that text right after I’d… talked to someone.” She let out a little laugh. “Henrietta Starr, as a matter of fact. She gave me some advice and I guess I felt a little reckless, thinking about how regret isnotthe most powerful force I want to have in my life.” She drew a quick, agitated breath. “And… the truth is, the other day, before my annoying brother came in here and did not seem to read the mood, I thought…” She blew out the breath she’d just taken, her cheeks turning pink. “I thought something might have been about to happen between us. And maybe I read that really wrong?—”
“You didn’t,” Jack inserted quickly, and her gaze moved to his, widening as her cheeks flared pinker, which delighted him.
“So why haven’t you answered my text?” she asked unsteadily.
“Because I wanted to be sure—” he began, only to have her cut him off.
“Of what, exactly?” Her voice had turned sharp, and Jack decided total honesty was needed, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain what he’d been thinking.
“I know you’ve been hurt before,” he stated carefully, “and I didn’t want to be like that other city putz who messed around with you.”
“So blanking me was the more considerate option?” she surmised, sounding both wry and a little hurt. She held up a hand to forestall his reply, although he didn’t even know what he was going to say. “You know, I was actually okay with you not responding. It’s Thanksgiving, a time to reflect and feel grateful and that jazz, and Iwas. I’m happy running this store, being on my own, living in this place. I’ve spent way too long being bitter and cynical about something that happened years ago, and I’m over it now.” She grimaced. “I’m getting over it, anyway. So I’d really decided that you blanking me was no big deal, and I could move on.”
“I wasn’t actually blanking you,” Jack felt he had to object. “I was considering how to respond.”
Jenna gave a theatrical wince. “You do realize that might sound even worse? Like, how to let her down easily? You could have googled it. ChatGPT probably has some good breakup lines, not that we were even breaking up, because there was nothing to break in the first place—” Her voice had risen higher and higher, ending on something close to a gasp.
“Jenna.” Jack kept his voice gentle. “It wasn’t like that, I promise.”
A breath rushed out of her and then she nodded. “Okay.” She regarded him uncertainly for a moment as the kettle began to whistle. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” she finally said, and then turned around to set about making a pot of tea.
“Whenever I’ve made an investment,” Jack told her, wanting her to understand, “I’ve taken my time. Really gotten to know the situation, the investment potential, analyzed all the pros and cons, so when Idomake a decision, I’m going in with my eyes open, fully committed to the enterprise.”
Jenna turned around, the teapot in her hands. “Okay, so in this situation, am I the investment?”
“Well…” He gave a grimacing grin. “Yes? I guess? In a manner of speaking.”
