“Then stop talkingabout it like it’s not something to be proud of,” she scolded him like she’dknown him forever. “You sound like Tessa. Always putting herself down for notbeing aNew York Timesbest sellerwhen she hasn’t even finished her first damn book yet. It’s a journey, Jon; nota race to the finish line.”
“I’ve been running fora long time,” he quipped, smiling sardonically as a challenge flickered overhis gaze.
“And people who give upnever win,” she snapped back. “I published nine books before I hitanylist. That was twelve years of mylife spent wondering if it’d ever happen for me, and when it did, I thoughtit’d never get better than that. But you know what?”
“What?”
She turned and winked.“It did.”
***
“God, you can probably hear her snoring inspace,” I muttered, carrying the dirtied paper plates into the kitchen.
Jon held the garbagecan open for me and replied, “Hey, she’s notthatbad. I’ve heard worse.”
“You’re a saint, youknow that?”
“I’m really not.” Heeyed me doubtfully, shaking his head. “I spit some gum out in Jeff’s parkinglot the other day. That’s littering and saints don’t litter.”
“Or… maybe they remember every time they’ve littered, to paypenance before being named a saint?”
Jon narrowed his eyesand considered the thought, before shaking his head and flipping the lid offthe pizza box. “Nah, I think I’d have to feelguiltyabout the gum and I really don’t. Where’s your aluminumfoil?”
“You don’t have to wrapit up,” I insisted, bending to open a cabinet and retrieving the foil.
“It’s no big deal.” Hetook the box from my hand and began to wrap the leftovers. I crossed my armsover my chest and watched him, methodically folding the aluminum over theslices and sealing them shut with pinched edges. I shook my head and laughedgently under my breath and when he asked what was so funny, I spoke only twowords.
“Saint Jon.”
“You’re ridiculous,” hechuckled, opening the fridge.
I tucked my chin to myneck and hid my smile. I loved this, these rare moments of alone time,normalcy, and flirtation. When I couldpretendwe weretogether, free of broken hearts and responsibilities. It was always a matter oftime before something came along to burst the proverbial bubble, but while wewere here, I always enjoyed it and could only hope that he did, too.
Overcome with gratitudeand the need to make this last a little longer, I whispered, “Thank you, forcoming over.”
Brown met blue when hiseyes fixed on mine. His lips curled into a small, gentle smile as he said,“It’s no big deal, Tess.”
“You could’ve spenttoday with your girls, but instead, you came here. I don’t think you could everknow how much thatactually meansto me. You’re such agood person, and I’m not sure I’m convinced I deserve it.” My lip was quiveringby the time I was finished speaking, and I hugged my arms around myself tocompensate for something I wasn’t sure I could take from him.
“Would it make you feelbetter if I asked a favor of you?”
It was the last thing Iexpected him to say but I found myself nodding. “What do you need?”
Sighing, Jon crossedhis arms over his chest and leaned his back against the fridge. “Um, myin-laws—Beth’s parents—invited my parents, Jeff, me, and the girls to theirplace for dinner a couple of weeks from now. God knows why, when they neverwant to see me otherwise, but …” His voice trailed away as he shook his head.His jaw was held tight and his eyes wouldn’t reach mine. “Anyway, please don’tfeel obligated, but it’s going to be an incredibly awkward night and it wouldbe a huge help to me if you could be there.”
My heart leapt to mythroat with a wave of panic. “Are you sure that’s a good—”
“Tess, I’m not askingyou as my … mydateor something.” Hespat that word—date—like it was poison. Like he couldn’t stand the idea of it.My expression reflected the immediate sting and he shut his eyes to me, shakinghis head. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he continued glumly, and opened hiseyes again. “I need backup. These people hate me. They’ve hated me since themoment they met me, and I don’t think I can face them alone.”
“Why would they hateyou?” The thought of anybody hating Jon O’Dell baffled me.
“I told you they’dalways thought their daughter could do better than me,” he reminded me gently.“She came from money, so imagine their horror when she chose to slum it with astarving artist.”
“I didn’t think youmeant they actuallyhatedyou. That’sa little extreme.”
Jon shrugged, stuffinghis hands into his pockets. “It is what it is.”
His nonchalance on thematter told me it bothered him more than he let on, and that bothered me. Idiverted my gaze to peek into the living room, making sure the girls were stilloccupied with the crayons and paper I’d laid out for them in front of the TV,before returning my attention to Jon.
