Jack’s lips curved into the hint of a smile. “You remembered I like sour gummy worms?”
“I remember lots of things.” Like how his handwriting looked on all those little yellow notes that had been giving me life for months now. Not that I was going to mention that. Nope. Keeping it casual.
“Come in.” He stepped back, gesturing me inside, and I crossed the threshold into Jack Sullivan’s world.
His home was exactly what I’d expected and nothing like I’d imagined all at once. Sleek and modern, with clean lines and a minimalist aesthetic, yet warmer than I’d anticipated.
“Your place is amazing,” I said, sliding my flats off by the door. “Very you. Clean lines. Elegant. Nothing unnecessary.”
“Thanks.” Jack reached for my coat, his fingers brushing against my shoulders as he helped me out of it. The casual touch sent a jolt of electricity through me that I desperately tried to ignore.
“I brought slippers.” I pulled a pair of fuzzy pink monstrosities from my bag, wiggling them. “My feet get cold.”
As I bent to put them on, a sudden flurry of clicking claws against hardwood made me look up. A massive creature came bounding around the corner, all sleek muscle and alert ears.
“Oh my god, Jack, why do you have a horse in your house?” The words burst out, my voice high and brittle with surprise.
Jack’s laugh was deep and unexpected, a genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “This is Pickles. Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”
“Pickles?” I repeated, staring at the massive dog who had stopped a respectful distance away, his intelligent dark eyes assessing me. “You named this majestic beast Pickles?”
“When he was a puppy, I hadn’t settled on a name for him. I was really struggling to come up with one that would suit him. Then he stole a jar of pickles from the kitchen counter and the name stuck.”
“Well, hello there, Pickles.” I held out my hand, and the Doberman approached cautiously, sniffing my fingers before giving them a gentle lick. “Oh my god, he’s the sweetest thing ever.”
“He likes you.” Jack sounded pleased, as if his dog’s approval meant something important.
“Of course he likes me. I’m very likable. Everyone says so. Well, everyone except Rebecca from HR, but she doesn’t like anyone, so she doesn’t count.” I was babbling again, unable to stop the flow of words.
“The kitchen’s through here.”
Clearly Jack had had enough of me being a weirdo. I kept my hand on Pickle’s head as Jack led me down a hallway that opened into a stunning gourmet kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances that looked barely used.
“Wow, this kitchen is incredible. Do you actually cook in here or is it just for show? Not that I’m judging. My most-used kitchen appliance is the microwave, closely followed by the drawer where I keep all the takeout menus. Emily does most of the cooking in our house because the one time I tried to make pasta I somehow set off the smoke alarm, which is pretty impressive when you think about it, since pasta is mostly water and how do you burn water, right? But somehow I managed it.”
Jack set my grocery bag on the counter and began unpacking it. “I cook sometimes. Nothing fancy.”
“I bet you’re amazing at it. You’re good at everything.” The words slipped out before I could catch them, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Why was I such a fucking psycho? I turned away, ostensibly to pet Pickles, who had settled beside me, pressing his warm body against my leg.
As Jack finished unpacking the snacks, I noticed Pickles hadn’t moved from my side. His dark eyes gazed up at me with an almost human-like concern that was both sweet and unnerving.
“Is he always this attentive with guests?” I asked, scratching behind his ears.
Jack paused, studying me and Pickles with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Are you okay, Mia?”
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice came out high and squeaky, that fake brightness betraying me again.
“Because Pickles is an emotional support dog,” Jack said quietly. “He’s trained to recognize anxiety and distress. And he’s behaving very much like you’re anxious and distressed.”
I stared at Jack, then down at Pickles, who chose that moment to gently rest his chin on my knee. The gesture was so sweet, so understanding, that I felt something crack inside me.
“Oh.” The word sounded small and vulnerable.
Jack leaned against the counter, his posture deliberately casual, giving me space. “It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know.”
The kindness in his voice undid me. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders slumping as I finally dropped the act.
“I’m a little overwhelmed,” I admitted, focusing on petting Pickles rather than meeting Jack’s eyes. “Today has been... a lot.”
