by Meghan Quinn
The house is bright with its white walls, light grey accents, and chrome features. There isn’t much on the walls, really anything at all actually. He’s a minimalist, because it looks as if he just moved in.
Jack opens one of the most expensive-looking fridges I’ve ever seen and asks, “What would you like to drink?” Taking a glance in his fridge he cringes. “Damn, I should have thought this through. I have water and that’s pretty much it.”
“Water is fine.”
He hands me a bottle and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I kind of just moved in, so I’m still working on stocking up on things.”
Just moved in . . . huh.
“Uh, that’s okay. No problem at all.” I uncap my water and take a sip of it. “I guess that would explain the lack of décor on the walls.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, still working on that as well. I’ve never been much of a decorator, so I have no idea what I’m doing. I might hire someone to do it all for me.”
“No, don’t do that.” I shake my head and start nervously peeling the label off my water bottle. For some reason—even since our dressing room bang—Jack makes me incredibly nervous, but not in a bad way. From the moment I met him, there’s been a nervous, electric energy that’s pulled me toward him. “Take your time learning your style, find pieces and décor you like and slowly put it together. You’re going to be so much happier if you’re the one who decorates your house over time rather than a random stranger coming in and trying to decipher your taste.”
“But I know nothing.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s your house, you don’t have to know anything except what you like.”
Leaning on the counter, his dark eyes sparkle at me. “You’re right.” He shakes his head and continues, “I don’t know why I thought I needed to impress anyone. I should do what I like, so if I want to put up a poster of Superman, I can.”
“Wait a minute now.” I tamp him down with my hand. “You should decorate with what you like, but in good taste. If you decorate with Superman posters, you can guarantee your chances of getting laid will go down at least forty percent. I don’t know if that’s a percentage you’re willing to risk.”
He sips from his water bottle, the water making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Why that’s sexy to me, I will never know.
When he caps his water, he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Noely, there is only one person on my mind when I think about getting laid.”
Those eyes, that jaw, his lips, oh hell, my body is drawn toward him.
“Care to join me on the deck?” He nods behind him.
“Uh, sure.” I swallow hard and roll up the water bottle label in my hand. “Where’s your trashcan?”
“Under the sink.” Turning to the sink behind me, I open the cabinet and pull out the trash can and toss my water bottle label on top of a Butterfinger wrapper.
Still, as if the air around me is disappearing, I stare at that wrapper, wanting to rub my eyes to make sure I’m not seeing things. Looking up, I glance around his kitchen.
A candle.
Leather scent.
Turning, I take in his living room.
A wicker basket holding magazines.
Holy shit.
HOLY SHIT!
“I need to pee,” I panic shout, standing tall and accidentally slamming the cabinet door shut too loudly.
“Uh, is everything okay?” Jack asks, moving from the deck opening back to me.
“Peachy.” I laugh uncomfortably. “Everything is nice, just nice. But I have to pee pee, like now.” Christ, don’t say pee pee.
“Bathroom is down the hall,” he says, pointing to where I need to go.
“Yep.” Half-sprinting, half-walking, I make my way to the bathroom, shut the door, and turn toward the mirror, which is almost non-existent thanks to the span of windows overlooking the ocean.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, trying to get my head around this.
The new house, the Butterfingers, the leather candle, the wicker basket . . . he’s NY152. The Suit, Jack Valentine, the man who wanted nothing to do with me after our first date, is the one who’s been making my heart melt, causing my little romantic heart to go pitter-patter. He’s the one who’s been making me fall for him through his words and wooing ways.
Did I already say . . . holy shit?
It’s all making sense now. His mixed signals every time I ran into him, his ability to create a new profile on the app—hello, he owns the damn thing—his urging to want to be friends, to want to get closer to me.
Jack Valentine is NY152; he’s my very own Joe Fox.
To say my mind is blown is an understatement. From the way things ended with us, I never considered it could be Jack. Especially after seeing Beck the other day. But he came after me in the dressing room. He took me because he couldn’t resist any longer. He asked me to go out with him.
Hand pressed to my forehead, I look out the window, almost feeling dizzy from the realization. That’s when I spot Jack, leaning over the glass wall of his deck, hands typing away on the screen of his phone, a smile on his face.
His posture seems so much more relaxed, at ease, as if he’s finally happy.
Ding.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see a notification. Looking back at Jack, I watch as he puts his phone in his pocket and then stares out at the ocean, hands pressed in front of him.
HOLY SHIT!
Unable to wait a second longer, I open my app and read his message.
Noely,
From the get-go, I’ve thought we’re a match made in heaven. I’m trying to get you on board and if that means I have a lifetime supply of Butterfingers in my cabinet at all times, then I’ll start ordering right now.
Me
I read his message a few times, my heart pounding out of my chest, my breath catching in my throat with each pass. Needing to talk to someone, I quickly dial Dylan and pray she picks up.
“If he’s captured you, tied you up, and is asking for ransom, then that’s the only reason I won’t be mad at you for calling when I’m reading my stories.”
“Dylan,” I whisper, not wanting to be too loud. “It’s him.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Dylan, wait.” I say in a panic. “Jack, he’s NY152.”
There’s silence on the other end. I check my phone to make sure I’m still connected and she didn’t hang up on me, which she didn’t.
“Dylan, please say something. I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” she finally asks, sounding only marginally annoyed that I interrupted her “stories.”
“Yes,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. “There have been clues from our letters; it’s too much to explain but it’s definitely him. I just watched him send me a message through the app too.”
“Really? Okay.” I can hear her shift on her chair. “Where are you now?”
“In the bathroom.” I watch Jack, whose back muscles are rippling under his shirt with every movement he makes. “I excused myself when I figured it out. I don’t know what to do now. Should I leave?”
“Do you want to leave?”
“Um, I mean . . . not really.” And if that truth doesn’t shock me, I don’t know what will. I’ve done everything in my ability to avoid this man, but for some reason, I keep finding him in my presence. Or perhaps, he has kept finding me. Could the Going In Blind app really be right? The first date is the best match. Despite my turbulent feelings toward The Suit, it’s NY152 I’ve gotten to know, who I’ve started to fall for.
“Okay, then go enjoy yourself. What’s the problem?” She makes it seem so simple, but for some reason, it feels less than simple.
“But, do I tell him I know? Do I confront him?”
“No,” Dylan’s voice is stern. “He clearly has a plan, something he’s trying to execute. You didn’t think you’d ever want to go out with him again. You couldn’t stand him. And from the way you treated
him, I wouldn’t blame him wanting to take a different approach when it came to winning your affection. Let him do his thing.”
“So, just go on as if I know nothing? Won’t that be weird?”
“Only if you make it weird. Instead of worrying about the romantic gesture he’s making, enjoy his company. Try to find the chemistry you had when you went out on your first date, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy than after your first date with him.”
She’s right, she’s absolutely right.
“Let it happen, Noely. Don’t overthink it; let it be.”
Hanging up with a goodbye and thank you, I take one last look in the mirror and fluff my hair, mentally giving myself a pep talk as butterflies start to float around in my stomach for this man once again.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. We’ve been on a date. Hell, he’s seen me with a horrible perm, he’s had his way with me in my dressing room, and he’s made it quite clear his intentions are to get to know me all over again. So what’s holding me back? A miscommunication? He’s already explained his reasoning. So it can’t be that.
Maybe it’s what Beck said. Maybe I’m too scared about failing, I’m not quite ready to give my relationship with Jack another go in fear it won’t work out.
But . . . what if it does?
At this point, the positives are outweighing the negatives of my internal dialogue. I’m going to do what Dylan suggested. I’m going to let Jack do his thing and, in the meantime, get to know him on a more personal level.
Chapter Thirty-Five
NOELY
“Everything good?” Jack asks as I approach him.
“Yeah.” I let out a shaky breath. The man I’ve slowly started to fall for is actually real. I can put a familiar face to the beautiful words he’s written to me, to the funny messages, and thoughtful gifts, even the wasp spray.
Motioning with his head, he says, “Come here.”
Walking up to him, I watch his gaze roam my body and land on my eyes when I lean against the rail with him. “This is beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.”
“It’s everything I ever dreamed of having,” he answers honestly. “It reminds me so much of my grandparents’ house. It really feels like home.”
“And once you get some of your favorite things hung on the walls, it will truly feel peaceful here.”
“It will.” Still leaning on the railing, he smiles at me. “I was only in your house briefly, I barely remember it. Maybe because I was distracted by something else—”
“My hair, I know. What a mistake that was,” I tease.
He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t your hair.” He stares directly at my lips, and his unabashed and obvious longing thrills me. Taking a second, he lets a breath of silence fall between us before saying, “What’s your favorite thing in your house? The thing you would grab if your house was on fire? What is irreplaceable?”
“Hmm.” I rest my chin in my propped-up hand and look toward the ocean, images of my house flashing in my head. “Just one thing? Or can it be like a group of things?”
He chuckles. “It can be whatever you want, Noely.”
“Then it would be my grandma’s doilies. You know what those are, right? The frilly little lace linens you usually find under lamps.”
“My grandma had them all over. I always thought they were weird, but now when I see one, they make me feel at home.”
His reply makes my heart ache, especially from the way he’s gently pressing his hand against mine. Comfort.
Feeling warm and all sorts of tingly, I joke, “Must be a grandma thing.”
“Has to be. Do they remind you of your grandma?”
I nod. “Yes, but they also remind me of all the good times we had. I used to visit my grandma when I was little, and there was always a tea party waiting for me. She would deck out her table in doilies, her best china and silverware, and she would serve tea with scones, her famous cinnamon-chip scones. And before we could sit down, she would take me to the guest room where we would dress to the nines in dress-up clothes, long velvet gloves, and gaudy hats with feathers. She would let me wear her pearls and heels, then she would take me to the table where we discussed everything from the weather, to the type of Play-Doh she had waiting for me to play with after tea time.” I smile wistfully, my grandma’s loving face coming into vision. “She was a beautiful woman who gave me the world. Those doilies, they remind me of everything about her and the time she spent with me.”
Jack endearingly smiles, his hand now on my back, gently rubbing it, his body closer than I remember. “I had the same relationship with my grandma.” His voice is low, but engaging, almost as if he’s never really shared this with anyone but is eager to. “My grandpa would take me fishing, we would go on hikes, and share a Snickers bar whenever we were away from my grandma. But when it came to the woman of the household, the woman who held all the cards, my grandma treated me like a prince.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m going to tell you this, but she taught me to quilt. We spent a whole summer making a quilt together. I would skip fishing trips with my grandpa to make sure I finished my blanket. Once it was done, my grandma stitched a little message in a square.” Jack pauses, his thumb gently rubbing up and down on my back. “That would be the thing I would grab if my house was on fire. Not the fishing poles my grandpa left me, but my quilt, because after it was done, it was something my grandma and I shared creating. On movie nights, my grandparents and I would snuggle under my quilt and watch movies together, me sitting in the middle, the crashing of waves in the background. Those are the nights I will never forget, watching old movies like The Thin Man.” He lets out a low, steady breath. “I miss them.”
His story, the image he’s created in my head, awakens a new type of feeling for him, one I don’t think I’ve felt before when it comes to Jack Valentine. It’s . . . anything but scary, more reassuring. He’s not cold, he’s not unflappable, he’s actually real and sincere. I’m thinking there aren’t many men like him.
“That’s so sweet,” I reply. “Can I see the blanket?”
“Of course. One second.” Once Jack retreats, I take a moment to observe his surroundings. Straight lines, cool colors, chrome accents. His house matches the exterior of his personality, but the warm fire popping up over the smooth glass rocks in the fire pit . . . that’s the warmth I’m feeling from him now, the warmth that’s drawing me in closer and closer.
“It’s a little worn,” he says, walking up behind me.
I take the blanket in my hands, the fabric a little threadbare but still holding together nicely. The colors have faded, but I can tell it used to be a very vibrant quilt constructed with . . .
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Looney Tunes?”
He chuckles and runs a hand over his face. “It was cool-ish back then.” Sighing, he continues, “It was the only thing I was allowed to watch at my grandparents’ house, so I became a little obsessed. And before you ask, I was a Bugs Bunny fan. Classic. Daffy was a close second.”
“Oh my God.” Humor pours out of me. “Why does this make you really, really cute?”
“Cute? Not devastatingly handsome?” He playfully wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Just cute.” No way in hell am I going to tell him I think he’s devastatingly handsome, or that I’ve thought that from the very beginning.
We exchange a look, a heated look, and before I can say anything to cut the tension, he asks, “Want to order some Chinese food? Have a little fire with me and maybe a game of Monopoly?” There is a smile on his face but insecurity in his eyes, too. Strange. And that’s when it really hits me. I truly regret what I did, because every time I run into you, I see the beautifully intelligent and dynamic woman I foolishly let slip from my grasp.
He truly regrets letting me go.
That insecurity has been present in his stare every time we’ve run into each other. Even when he was deep inside me, I saw the same look. Despite his cool, alpha
businessman demeanor, he’s insecure when it comes to me.
Which only means one thing.
He really likes me.
And hell . . . I really like him.
Crazy, I know!
But . . . look at him. It’s not just his looks, his stoic posture, or the way he can slice you into a million pieces with a once-over from those dark, stormy eyes; it’s his heart.
As he waits for an answer, I chew on my bottom lip and nod yes. His eyes light up, his smile grows to a full-on panty-melting grin, and he lifts off the railing, placing his hand on my lower back. “For some reason, I think you might annihilate me at Monopoly.”
“I’m ruthless, so you better watch out, Suit.”
***
“Come on five, come on five,” Jack chants, fingers crossed, looking entirely too adorable under the glow of the fire.
Over my lap, I have Jack’s Looney Tunes quilt, keeping me warm as well as the fire in front of me, and the hoodie Jack let me borrow that smells just like him. Oh, girls, let me tell you, it smells like absolute heaven. I pulled the hood over my head so I could take in his smell even more.
“You know, you don’t have to gloat.” I shake the dice in my hands, praying I don’t roll a five, not with Jack’s prime real estate on the yellow and green squares. I own Park Place and Boardwalk and spent all my money building my real estate on those two blue squares. But guess what, they’re not winners.
Nooooo, Jack has skipped over them every time and they have been nothing but a drain of cash. And thanks to Jack’s proper planning, he’s been able to slaughter me with his yellow and green squares that flank the go to jail block. And you know it’s bad when you’re hoping to land in jail.
