Twelve
The next month passes in a blur of avoidance. Avoiding Jack. Avoiding addressing the huge emotional elephant sitting between us on the couch every Sunday night—the only time I don’t go out of my way to not see his face. And sure as fuck avoiding dealing with my feelings.
Because feelings are dumb, and surely if I just ignore them, they’ll go away.
That’s how these things work, right?
Luckily, business at Bridge and Blooms is, well, blooming. I was worried orders would die down after the social media hype, but they keep coming in. I still work my shifts at the bar, not ready to give up my one source of sure income just yet, but every other hour of the week is spent managing emails and social media, sourcing flowers and trying to stay local about it, and actually creating and delivering the arrangements themselves. It’s beyond exhausting, and there are several days when I don’t think I can take another step. But I keep pushing and pushing, determined to prove I’m capable of some sort of success. Terrified it’s all going to fall away at any minute.
I still haven’t bitten the bullet and hired any employees, but now that Gemma is back in full-time teaching mode, I think I’m going to have to. And even though Jack has never once complained about the literal garden his kitchen has become, it might be time to start looking for a studio. Bridge and Blooms is on the way to outgrowing its space. It also probably wouldn’t be a terrible idea for me to have some space from Jack.
Because in the rare moments we cross paths during the week, just the sight of him leaves me as wilted as a hydrangea cut from its stem and left without water.
And on Sundays, when we still carve out the time we’ve dedicated to hanging out together, I feel his eyes on me, almost pleading with me. I want so badly to know what those eyes are trying to tell me, but I’m too chickenshit to actually look at them and see.
Jack clicks off the TV one Sunday night mid-September, shifting himself on the couch so he’s looking right at me instead of at the screen.
I stay curled tightly up in my corner, a blanket wrapped around me as both a comfort and a shield.
The intensity of his gaze is burning me up, heating me from the inside out like I’m a clay pot in a kiln. Only the heat has been turned up too high and I’m about to shatter.
“Sadie.”
Yeah. My name coming out of his mouth does nothing to soothe my burning core.
He sighs when I don’t respond, scooting closer to my end of the couch. “Look, I get that shit’s weird right now, but can you look at me, please?”
I purse my lips so tightly I’m surprised they don’t glue themselves together. But I manage to look at him without screaming or bursting into tears, which I take as a win.
“I have something I want to show you. If that’s okay.” He stands up and holds out his hand.
I don’t take it because I’m pretty sure any skin-to-skin contact would result in combustion, but I push myself off the sofa and gesture for him to lead the way.
He does, without acknowledging my hand snub, heading upstairs. Instead of stopping at the second floor, he continues to the staircase leading up to the top level of the brownstone.
“If you got me a library, you really haven’t been paying much attention.” The comment comes out louder and snarkier than I intended.
Jack pauses halfway up the steps and turns back toward me. “Why would I get you a library?”
“We’re going to the forbidden wing.” I furrow my brow at the confusion on his face. “Have you actually never seen Beauty and the Beast?”
“I liked superheroes.” He shrugs and continues walking up the stairs.
Now I’m fully intrigued. I have no idea what to expect from this mysterious third floor, but when Jack pushes open the door and gestures for me to enter the space, I still manage to be totally and completely shocked.
The space isn’t as big as the full footprint of the brownstone, but it’s pretty damn close. Meaning, it’s huge. And completely wide open. The floor is the washed maple you might find in a dance studio, the walls exposed brick and dotted with large, airy windows. The ceiling is broken up with two massive skylights. It’s already dark outside, but the space must be absolutely flooded with sunlight during the day.
“It’s incredible.” My attention is focused solely on the skylights at the moment, so I don’t see what Jack is pointing out at first, until he pulls my eyes from the ceiling.
“I hope this setup will work for you, but if not, we can rearrange it however you want.” He leads me over to a large kitchen island, simple white cabinets, and a butcher-block top, just like we have downstairs.
There’s also a sink in the corner with more counter space, and off to the side, two big cooling fridges, the kind you might find in an actual florist’s shop.
It finally starts to sink in what is happening here. This is for me. He arranged this space for me and Bridge and Blooms. I run my hands along the worn wood countertop, taking a minute to collect myself. Pesky emotions swirl around in my mind like a damn whirlpool and I’m caught in their pull.
“You did all of this for me?” My words are thick with unshed tears, and fuck, I’d give anything to not actually cry right now, as if letting out my tears is tantamount to cutting myself open and baring my soul. Which it kind of is.
“I didn’t really have to do much. The space was just sitting up here unused.” He steps closer to me, closing the distance between us to just a couple of feet. “I’m tempted to pretend I wanted my kitchen back, but we both know how I feel about cooking.”
I appreciate his attempt at humor, but I can’t make myself laugh. Or even smile. It’s too much. It’s all too much.
Wetness streams down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop it. I’m not sure I could.
“Shit, Sadie. Why are you crying? Did I fuck it all up?” He reaches out a hand and covers one of mine.
I pull away, under the guise of needing to wipe at my eyes, but mostly I’m just afraid of what his gentle touch will do to me.
He crosses to the sink in the corner and comes back with a wad of paper towels. “Will you talk to me, please? Whatever it is I screwed up, I promise I’ll do what I can to fix it.”
Rubbing at my eyes with the scratchy paper leaves them more raw than they already were. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I gesture helplessly to the space around us. “This is the nicest, most perfect, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He steps back into my space, and this time I let him. Removing the paper towels from my hand, he gently wipes away my last stray tears with the pads of his thumbs.
I force myself to look in his eyes, grateful when my own tear up again, blurring this perfect vision in front of me. “I don’t deserve you, Jack. Not as a roommate, or a friend, or . . .” I don’t finish the thought, but it ends with I sure as fuck don’t deserve you as any kind of romantic partner.
“Why would you say that?” He continues to catch my falling tears, his thumbs gentle on my rubbed-raw skin.
“Because I’m a selfish asshole, and you’re the kind of person who does this”—I throw my arms out wide to encompass the entire space—“for someone you’ve known for five months.” I know what those fridges cost, not to mention the logistics of purchasing them and getting them set up on the top level of the house without my realizing what was going on.
Jack drops his hands from my face and takes a step back. “Why do you continue to think the worst of yourself, Sadie?”
“It’s not thinking the worst if it’s true.” I know I sound like a petulant teenager, but I don’t care. My reaction to his generosity only serves as further proof of how terrible I am.
“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “I’m not letting you do this. Tell me why you think you’re a selfish asshole.”
“You’ve lived with me for months; I would’ve thought you’d seen enough of it for yourself by now.” The overwhelming emotions—many of them of the happy and positive variety but also guilt and confusion and embarrassment—are starting to coalesce into one big emotion: anger. Anger is so much easier to deal with than all those other feelings tap-dancing around inside my heart. Rejection and self-doubt and inferiority and self-loathing.
Jack refuses to be cowed by the venom I’m dripping into my voice. “Give me one example.”
I mimic his pose, arms crossed defiantly over my chest. “I forced my friends to work for me for free for half the summer.”
“Your friends are grown adults who were happy to help you because they love you. Myself included.” A dart of something flashes through those green eyes on that last sentence. “Next.”
My breath hitches in my chest. I know he didn’t mean it like that, and I’m not backing down. “I moved into your house and took the whole place over without ever even asking you if it was okay.”
“Have you ever once heard me complain about that?”
“No, but that’s only because you’re a good person.”
“And you’re not?” He looks like he wants to throttle me, and honestly I don’t blame him.
“Obviously.”
Jack pushes his glasses up on his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “I have a real question for you, and I’d like a genuine answer.”
Shrugging, I hop onto the counter. This conversation is wearing me out and I’m about to fold. Also, it gives me a good excuse to not have to look at him.
“Why can’t you see the good in yourself, the good that we all see in you?”
“I know my positive traits, Jack. I’m a hard worker. I’m smart. I’m pretty hot and good in bed.” I lean back on my hands, kicking my feet like I’m a kid on a swing. “I’m also a selfish asshole.”
His eyes burn into the side of my face. “Who told you that?”
I study the plaid of my flannel pajama pants with great interest. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Who told you you’re selfish?” He moves so he’s standing directly in front of me. “You didn’t come to that conclusion on your own, so who told you that?”
“You gonna go beat him up or something?” I attempt to infuse the words with sarcasm and good old-fashioned deflection because the tears are coming again. The pressure continues to build in my chest, and I’m one more thoughtful comment away from breaking.
“Maybe.”
I chance a glance up, expecting to see one of his quirky smirks. But he’s serious. And pissed. Brows furrowed and eyes dark.
“Do we really have to do this, Jack? I don’t want to talk about my fucked-up childhood, okay? I don’t need to cry to you about my parents.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “Are you kidding me right now?” He shakes his head slightly, and his anger morphs to disappointment and hurt.
And my heart falls. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I reach for him, but he steps away from me. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Jack.”
And I’m a sorry excuse for a human being, because a little part of me feels vindicated. See, I told you so, I am a total asshole. I wait in silence for Jack to leave, because that’s what people tend to do when you hurt them over and over again.
But even though he maintains the space between us, he doesn’t leave. “Sadie, I could give you a hundred examples of the things you do on a daily basis that are the antithesis of selfish. You’re one of the most giving people I’ve ever met.” His lips tilt up in a bemused smile. “And yeah, sometimes that generosity comes with a dose of snarky honesty, but it doesn’t negate the kindness. Not even a little bit.” He places his hands on the counter, one on either side of me. “So should I start listing all the nice things you do, prove to you that you are one big marshmallow of feelings, or do you want to tell me how we ended up here?” He leans in, letting his warmth wrap around me.
I inhale deeply. Coffee and paper and what I’ve come to think of as home. We’re the same height in this position and he completely fills my line of vision. And I don’t want him to move. It’s suddenly imperative he remain right where he is, as if he’s the only thing holding me together. So I start talking.
“My dad is a narcissist. And not the kind who thinks he’s a hotshot or whatever. Like the actual clinical, sociopathic definition of the word.” For a second, I focus on Jack’s eyes, watching as they darken to a deep emerald, but then the emotion in them overwhelms me and I let my gaze drift down to his chest, to the dragon crest printed on his soft cotton T-shirt. “He was pretty abusive, emotionally and verbally. Liked to call me stupid if I brought home an A minus, tell me how dumb and petty my feelings were when I would tell a story, that kind of thing.” I give him the least of it, because I can’t bring myself to say the rest out loud. “I actually stopped talking at home for a while, believe it or not. I couldn’t ever seem to find the right words, the magic words that would make him happy, so I stopped trying.” Huh. I never really made the connection until now. I went from being afraid to open my mouth to never shutting up, a trait that really only kicked in once I became friends with Harley, Nick, and Gemma in college.
“And your mom?” Jack’s voice is low, rumbly with suppressed anger.
“She got it just as badly as I did.” I shrug it off. “I don’t blame her. Not anymore.”
“You should. She should’ve protected you.” Jack’s grip on the counter tightens, those beautiful fingers turning white with tension.
“She did her best. She’s as much a victim as I was.” It took me a long time to get to that place with my mom. In my head, I mean, since I haven’t ever shared this with her, since it would involve talking to her, and that’s not a thing I do. But holding on to all that anger wasn’t good for me (yay for college mental health services!), and I had to let some of it go before it ate me up inside. “Besides, it’s all in the past now. I left California right after high school graduation. Moved to New York, and I haven’t been back since. No lasting harm done.”
“Except for the lasting harm that prevents you from seeing how amazing you are.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but he places a single finger there, and the brush of his skin on my lips is enough to stop the words in their tracks.
“I didn’t do all of this as some sort of gesture out of the goodness of my heart, Sade. I did this to put a tiny dent into the debt I owe you. Because you’ve done more for me in the past five months than I’ll ever be able to repay you for.” He traces his thumb over my bottom lip.
And oh god, I’m pretty sure my insides just melted into a pile of actual goo. And please, god, let this be the moment he kisses me. Because there’s a good chance I might die if he doesn’t kiss me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want, right now in this moment, for Jack Thomas to kiss me.
He removes his finger and takes a blasted step away from me. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. And I’m trying, I promise I’m trying to get there. I just need a little more time.”
It’s the closest he’s ever come to acknowledging this zing between us, and I don’t know where exactly there is, but I know I’ll give him all the time he needs. I still can’t wrap my head around Jack’s thinking he’s the one who needs to come up to my standards; the idea is too ridiculous to make any sort of sense in my brain.
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t expect you to wait for me or anything.”
“I haven’t even looked at another guy since I moved in here.” I blurt out the words before fully thinking them through.
And I don’t even realize the truth of the statement until I say it out loud. It’s been five months, and I can’t remember the last time I went that long without so much as a flirtation over a drink. But no one has piqued even a hint of my interest since I met Jack, even when I still thought of him solely as my nerdy, sweet roommate.
“So does that mean you think you could give me a little more time?” There’s such hope in his voice, my already melty insides turn completely liquid.
I can’t do anything other than nod and agree. Because he means too much for me to do anything else, and I want him to have that time, to feel ready for whatever the next step might be. I hold open my arms and he steps into my embrace. And we’ve hugged before, mostly awkwardly, but this is something different. His arms wrap around me, his strong hands flat on my back, pulling me close. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, letting my fingers tangle in the curls at the nape. I breathe in every inch of him, holding on for as long as I can.
When he finally separates himself from me, I give him a cheeky smile. “We’re doing it on this counter one day.”
His cheeks flame a bright red, his pupils exploding, darkening his eyes. “Jesus, Sadie.” Finally, he bursts out laughing. “I’m holding you to that.”
GEMMA: Um, excuse me, Miss Sadie. WTF am I seeing on your IG right now?
HARLEY: What’s on her Insta?
HARLEY: Wait, why am I asking that when I can open it up and check for myself?
NICK: Oh shit. Where is that?
GEMMA: WHY ARE YOU IGNORING US RIGHT NOW.
GEMMA: Sadie.
GEMMA: Sadie.
GEMMA: Sadie, I have literally 20 minutes between classes to pee, shove food in my face, and regroup and I’m using those 20 minutes to text you, so you better fucking answer!
ME: Jesus. I was on the phone with a customer. Good lord.
ME: Hi, all! What’s everyone up to?
GEMMA: I’m going to kill you.
HARLEY: My caseload is full, so you might want to rethink murder at this point.
NICK: Good god, Sadie. Tell her so my phone stops blowing up please.
ME: It’s not really a big thing, it’s just the top level of the brownstone.
GEMMA: The top level of the brownstone has coolers, a sink, and an island perfect for flower arranging? Convenient.
ME: Jack provided some of those things. Obvs. I think he was sick of me taking over the kitchen every day.
HARLEY: I’m sure that’s it
NICK: Yeah, that shit looks expensive. He wants to bang.
GEMMA: He wants to do more than bang.
NICK: True. He’s probably in love with you.
HARLEY: Probably?
NICK: I mean, I wanna say definitely, but I also don’t want to jinx it.
ME: He’s not in love with me. I straight-up propositioned him and he still hasn’t touched me.
NICK: Oh shit, yeah, then he definitely loves you.
ME: That doesn’t make any sense. If he loved me, he’d want to sleep with me.
GEMMA: Oh you sweet sweet summer child.
GEMMA: I have to go, but we’ll be continuing this conversation.
ME: Is this like one of those telemarketing texts I can opt out of?
GEMMA: No.
HARLEY: Definitely not.
NICK: I’ve been trying to opt out of this group text for YEARS.
JACK: Is it weird that I miss seeing the kitchen full of flowers all day every day?
ME: Um, no. My creations are stunning and you were lucky to be able to behold them.
ME: Also, this space is perfect for me and have I said thank you yet?
JACK: About a million times.
ME: Let’s go for a million and one.
ME: THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!
JACK: You’re welcome.
ME: If you miss the flowers that badly, you’re welcome up here anytime. Obviously. Since this is your house and all.
JACK: I may take you up on that.
JACK: Did you have a plan for lunch?
ME: Not at the moment.
JACK: Want to go grab something? Or I could pick something up and bring it back, if you’re busy.
ME: I could come with you to grab something quick.
JACK: Cool. Text me whenever you’re ready.
ME: So you know that feeling when you’re secretly crushing hard-core on your roommate and he like kind of knows it but you haven’t explicitly discussed it but when you subtly discussed it he asked you to give him some time and wait for him to be ready and you agreed because you like him too much to say no but you’re also super impatient and so now every time you’ve looked at him since then—FOR TWO WHOLE WEEKS—your stomach has gone all flippy and you think you might be losing it if he doesn’t kiss you soon but he shows no sign of kissing you?
GEMMA: . . .
HARLEY: . . .
GEMMA: What the fuck did I just read.
ME: I think I might be losing my mind.
GEMMA: Ya think?
ME: So, real question: can I just jump his bones?
HARLEY: Verbal consent, Sade. Before and during.
ME: Why you gotta be all legal about it?
HARLEY: Just trying to keep you out of jail.
GEMMA: Practically a full-time job on its own.
ME: Wow. Rude.
HARLEY: Seems like you might be in need of a girls’ night.
ME: Yes please.
ME: God I’m so horny.
GEMMA: Not that kind of girls’ night.
ME: Okay, I can’t take this anymore.
ME: What is hiding underneath that giant tarp in the corner of the studio space?
JACK: First of all, way to give a guy a heart attack.
JACK: Second, it’s just some stuff from the old setup in the studio. I can get rid of it if you need the space.
ME: I have plenty of space, I was just curious.
ME: Is it stuff you’re going to get rid of? Can I rummage through and see if there’s anything I can repurpose?
JACK: I’ll go through it. I’d really rather you not, if that’s okay.
ME: You do know telling me you don’t want me to see what’s under there only makes me want to look all the more, right?
JACK: I can see how that might be a problem for you, but I also know how much you respect your very kind and giving roommate and therefore will not violate his privacy like that.
ME: Ugh. Respect is the worst.
JACK: If I make you pasta tonight will that make you feel better?
ME: It’s a start.