She shoos her hands at me. “Go. I need to unpack. And I suspect that with the minimal closet space in this tiny shack, it may require great concentration to make my things fit.”
My smile morphs into a full-blown grin as I exit the room.
I don’t own a shack, but it is small.
And right now, I’m thanking myself for choosing this three-bedroom house over the impressive property I could have bought.
There’s no way Jessica can avoid me in this place.
5
Jessica
Will: You good?
Jessica: I haven’t killed him yet, so there is that.
Will: Not what I asked.
Jessica: I’m good.
Will: Olivia is on the countdown for next weekend. A heads up: she’s already made five paintings for you. Expect her to double that by Saturday.
Jessica: I love you, Will. I’ll be there.
Will: I’ll come and get you myself if you’re not.
I place my phone on the table and lean back against my chair as I bring my gaze to the row of glass doors in front of me that open onto the back deck of Jack’s home. Beyond that, on the sprawling grass, Jack is sitting at a long eight-seater outdoor table, reading.
Surprisingly, I like his shack. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but the inside is all-natural light, white, open-plan, and glossy. The bathroom that I’ll be using needs work, though. Lots of work. It’s the only room not renovated. I may have to shower with my eyes closed. The kitchen is my favourite room. He’s got all the best appliances in there, and I see myself cooking a lot during my visit. God knows I’m going to need that time. Cooking is my go-to stress relief.
Will’s concerned my week here will be extended.
I’m concerned I won’t last the week.
Jack wasn’t here when I arrived this morning, and I spent twenty minutes sitting in my rental car talking myself out of not speeding home to Sydney. It’s all very unlike me and that’s just as confusing as my feelings about being here with him.
It took me an hour to unpack. Not because I had trouble finding space for my belongings, but because it took me forty-five minutes to decide how to approach the rest of this day. In the end, Ashton made the decision for me. He emailed me some work that needed urgent attention. I set myself up at Jack’s dining table and told him to go outside and leave me to work in peace. I’ve been working for two hours now, and he hasn’t moved from his spot out in the sun.
Good God, he’s a distraction.
Sitting out there with that tousled brown hair my fingers have never forgotten.
Jack’s hair is famous worldwide, as are his cocky grin, his sexy brown eyes, and that easy-going charm no woman can resist. Not to mention that beard he seems intent on keeping.
Sharing him with the world wasn’t my favourite part of our relationship, but I did it, and I did it well.
Or so I thought.
I thought we were strong. Solid. Indestructible.
I was wrong.
And oh so naive.
I thought the only thing I had to share with others was my time with him. It never occurred to me he’d choose to share parts of himself with someone else that should have only ever been mine.
It ruined me when I discovered he cheated.
I tried to forget him after that.
Fuck, have I tried. But he is unforgettable, in too many ways.
Jack is one-of-a-kind.
His special brand of love is hard to put into words.
He has the ability to win over every person he meets, even those who can’t usually be won. And if he then goes on to love you, you better be ready for it. You better be ready to just hand your heart over and let him have it.
The first six months after we broke up were the hardest six months of my life. I found it within myself to hate Jack, something I never thought possible. But it was the only way I could get through those months.
Everywhere I looked, there he was. The biggest movie of his career released in that time. I would have had to disappear off the face of the earth to avoid him.
So, hate him, I did. And I slowly made my way through the fog, and the heartbreak.
The trouble with Jack’s way of loving a person is that hating him for long is impossible, even after he’s betrayed you.
It’s in the way he owns his shortcomings without reserve. In the way he accepts yours completely, absolutely, and never tries to change you. In the way he gives you space while slowly moving into it without you knowing.
He’s a master of his craft because his deep sensitivity allows him to read people perfectly and bring characters to life with exquisite precision. It’s that ability that captures you. He brings it to every relationship he has. He always knows what his loved ones need, and he selflessly gives it. Every time.
Jack is a beautifully flawed human who breathes love.
To say I’m doing everything in my power to guard my heart is an understatement.
I can’t allow Jack to take possession again.
I just can’t.
My phone sounds with another text.
Jack: There’s a little café in Grafton that makes coffee you would kill for. Wanna take a drive with me?
Jessica: No. And since I’m not going, you can’t either.
Jack: I see.
Jessica: What do you see?
Jack: That I should come inside and locate my handcuffs so you can restrain me.
Jessica: I’ve changed my mind.
Jack: Good.
Jessica: We’re not going for coffee. Come inside and put your running gear on. We’re going for a run.
Jack: You’re forgetting I don’t enjoy running.
Jessica: You like golfing, though.
Jack: Fuck, I’ve missed conversations with you. I have no fucking idea where you’re going with this, and I’m hanging with bated breath to see where we end up.
Jessica: Just think of running as speed golfing. Without the sticks you hit the ball with. And without the wanky attire you golfers wear. We leave in ten minutes.
I head into my bedroom and change into my running tights, tank, and shoes; pull my hair up into a ponytail; and inhale some of my asthma medication.
Jack’s waiting for me when I exit the house. “I skipped the wanky attire,” he says. “Although it should be noted that I think you’d like my new golf shorts and polo shirt.”
I run my eyes over his clothes. Black Nike shorts and a plain white T-shirt. So much better than any golfing clothes he might have tucked away in his closet. I actually shudder at the thought. There’s just something about golfers and their outfits that I’ve never clicked with. That could also be because it’s golf we’re talking about. It’s beyond me why anyone thinks whacking a ball into little holes while taking a stroll is fun. The fact Jack enjoys it is also beyond me.
But it’s not really his clothes I’m checking out. I barely notice them because his body has every ounce of my attention.
Jack’s more built than I’ve ever seen him. Usually, the only time he sports these kinds of muscles is when he’s preparing for or filming an action movie that requires them. He dislikes the gym more than he dislikes running. I think that has more to do with the fact he avoids any kind of routine or real structure in his life. The discipline required for his work is the only discipline he’s okay with. Everything else can fuck off. His words, not mine. Although, I remind myself, I don’t know the Jack of today, so maybe he’s changed his stance on this.