Author: Jill Shalvis

She opened her eyes and looked into his, feeling his heart pounding in tune with hers. She knew there wasn’t much that could make Jack’s heart race and felt a rush of feminine power.

And then, as he began to move, his hips pushing against hers, she felt the rush of another power entirely as the earth moved.

A few beats later, the earth moved for him too.

They lay there on the hard desk in the small, hot room, breathing hard, working at getting their pulse back from near stroke levels, when her phone rang startlingly loud in the quiet night.

It’d fallen out of her pocket and was on the floor.

“Late for a phone call,” Jack said, and they both peered over the desk and looked at the screen.

The ID said: Dickhead.

Jack raised one dark brow.

“Rafe,” she said.

He stood up and offered her a hand to do the same. “You should answer it.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

Jack crouched low and hit SPEAKER, and Leah grimaced, reaching for her discarded clothes. “Rafe,” she said, self-consciously, scrambling into her leggings and top sans underwear. Ridiculous, since he couldn’t see her.

Clearly feeling no such self-consciousness, Jack still stood there butt-ass naked.

“Way to call me back, babe,” Rafe said.

“I’ve been…” She met Jack’s gaze. Why wasn’t he putting on his clothes? “Busy.”

“Doing what? Making donut holes because no one in Podunk knows the difference between pasticiotti and tarte au citron? Whatever, babe. Lucky for you, the network still wants you back. We’ve agreed to your terms. You said you wanted out of there before the finals, and your wish is our command. I’ve emailed your flight confirmation.”

She’d closed her eyes halfway through this, and when she opened them, Jack had pulled on his jeans and shrugged into his shirt. “Rafe—”

“Oh no,” he said. “Hell no, babe. You’re not backing out. You set these plans in motion. You’re playing it cool, but I know you’re desperate. My favorite state. The tickets, Leah. Use them.” And then he disconnected.

Without a word, Jack headed to the door. Leah caught his arm. “Jack, wait.”

He paused. He hadn’t buttoned his shirt. His hair was tousled from her fingers. He looked big, bad, and ticked off. “Why?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Really? Because I’m experiencing a painful déjà vu here, Leah. A minute ago you were telling me Lucky Harbor feels right. I think you were also telling me that I felt right.”

“Yes,” she said. “I was.”

He shook his head. “And yet you were planning to go. You wanted out before the next show aired.”

“I made that call to him weeks ago, Jack.”

“When?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Yes, you do,” he said. “When?”

She couldn’t tear her eyes off his. They were filled with things, things she’d dreamed of seeing from him, but she was blowing it faster than she could gulp in air.

Nothing new there.

“Before or after you told my mom we were together?” he asked.

She hesitated. “After.”

“Are you kidding me? The whole façade was your idea!”

“I know.” She paused again. “It’s not you, Jack. It’s me.”

He laughed harshly. “Oh, Christ. Really? You’re going to use the breakup line, Leah? The one I taught you? What’s next? You have to ‘work on yourself’?”

Her throat burned with shame and misery because it was true, it was happening, her biggest fear—screwing this up with him—was coming true right before her eyes. And the worst part? She’d done it all herself. “This time it’s actually true. I’m not good at this stuff. You know that.”

She could see that he wasn’t buying this. “You don’t have to be good at it, Leah. Jesus. Do you think I care what words you use to show me how you feel? I don’t need words. I have the actions. You watch out for me. You watch out for my mom. And my oversized, drool-manufacturing dog. You care so much about everyone else and their life, but when it comes to yours, you give up. I know your dad made you feel that you were never good enough, but he was a dick, Leah. And he’s gone, so why do you still let him do this to you, let his memory keep you from finishing…everything?”

“That’s not what I do.”

He ticked items off on his fingers. “Our relationship the first time, college—all four times—culinary school—”

“Okay,” she said tightly. “I get it. So I have a little follow-through problem.”

“Little?” He spun her around to face the steel refrigerator, where their reflections stared back at her. Her own face, pale, pinched with strain. And Jack’s, his expression serious, so deadly serious.

“Your parents didn’t deserve you,” he said, “but at some point you have to grow up and realize you’re not a product of your environment. You are who you want to be. You’re you, Leah. You’re a daughter. A friend. A lover. A sweet, warm, smart, beautiful, talented, successful pastry chef. You’re anything you want to be. Figure it out and then own it.”

She desperately searched her reflection for the woman he saw. “I don’t see me that way,” she whispered, throat tight.

“Why not?”

It was a most excellent question, one for which she did not have an answer.

“When do you leave exactly, Leah?”

“I don’t—I don’t know exactly.”

“You always know.”

Touché. “Soon,” she admitted.

He turned her to face him. “How soon? Truth, Leah.”

“Truth?” She forced the words out. “I should have left already.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“You know why.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t say you stayed here for me.”

She bit her tongue rather than say exactly that. And then she gave him the truth he wanted. “I’d planned to go before the finals.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

She wanted to turn away from the look in his eyes. The recriminations. The hurt. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. “I’m going because I need to. I want to finish school. I want to finish something to prove to myself that I can. I was going to tell you, yes, but I didn’t know how,” she managed.

He gave one curt nod and reached for the door.

She ran after him and slipped between him and the wood, arms spread as if she could really stop him if he chose to leave.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Move, Leah.”

“No.”

“Listen,” he said, a grim set to his mouth. “New rule.”

“Jack—”

“No big, drawn-out good-bye.” At the look on her face, he let out a long breath. “All my life, you’ve been my Almost.” He softened slightly, his gaze touching over the features of her face as if memorizing her. “I want you, Leah. I’ve always wanted you. But wanting isn’t enough. You have to fight for it too, and you’re not going to.”

“Jack—”

“I’m cutting my losses on this one, Leah. Pulling the plug. Call it another rule if you want. No more intimacy. I’m ending this now before either of us gets hurt.”

And then he gently set her aside, walked out the door, and was gone.

She stood there in shock. “How is walking away fighting for it?” she asked the night.

The night didn’t answer.

“Dammit.” She searched for her usual state of denial, for her temper, for anything that might allow her to rationalize what had just happened as not being her own fault.

Nothing came except pain.

And guilt.

And more pain.

There was no way around this. However it had happened, it had happened. And worse, for the first time in her life she hadn’t been the one to walk away. Jack had beaten her to the punch.

Chapter 24

Jack left the bakery, hitting the highway at one in the morning at speeds designed purely for adrenaline. He got halfway up to Beaut Point before he saw the red-and-blue lights whirling in his rearview mirror. “Shit.”

The cop turned out to be Sheriff Sawyer Thompson. Sawyer had been about five years ahead of Jack in school, but Sawyer’s wildness was still legendary. How the guy had ended up on the right side of the law was a mystery to Jack, but one thing about Sawyer—he didn’t sugarcoat anything.

“Christ, Harper, I clocked you at ninety-five.” The sheriff leaned in past Jack to pat Kevin on the head. “The paperwork’s going to piss me off.”

“So don’t do it.”

Looking disgusted, Sawyer went hands on hips. “I’m only out here tonight as second-string because the flu’s hit the station. I didn’t hear a fire call go out.”

“There isn’t a fire.” Except the one in his gut. “You could pretend you didn’t see me.”

“Or you could slow the fuck down.” A full moon was just peeking over the inky black silhouette of the Olympic peaks in front of them, and Sawyer gestured to it. “See what happens when you slow down? You get to enjoy shit.”

They both watched the moon. Kevin went back to sleep.

“Yeah, that’s real pretty,” Jack said after a minute or two. “We going to make out now?”

“Temperamental,” Sawyer noted. “And pissy too. You know what temperamental and pissy plus a lead-foot equals? Sorry-ass dumped.”

Jack slid farther down in his seat.

“Got it in one,” Sawyer said. Clearly enjoying himself now, he leaned against the truck like he had all night. “I haven’t been keeping up with your social calendar, Harper. Who dumped ya? That cute flight nurse? Or the teacher? Oh wait. I know. The cutie pastry chef who moons over you when you’re not looking.”