steps out of the kitchen when his voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Rose.”
I didn’t answer. Words were still precious to come by, in my case.
“You forgot the coffee.”
I closed my eyes, turned, put one foot in front of the other, and strolled back into the kitchen, keeping my eyes safely away from his.
I mumbled a quick thank you as he handed me the stainless steel cups. I tried my best not to touch him in the process, but it was unavoidable, and my eyes flew up to his when his fingers skimmed mine.
He tilted his head, eyes on my finger. I knew what he was looking at.
“You’re wearing it.”
I brought the mugs closer to my chest, trying to hide my ring finger. “I’ve been wearing it all the time. You know this.”
“Good,” he mumbled, his eyes holding mine.
“What is happening here?” I asked suspiciously, because I really couldn’t tell and I really needed to know what was going on so I could somehow take cover.
“Nothing. Have a good morning, Rose.”
Even more suspicious and a little off-kilter, I turned around and left without saying anything else. Too busy in my own thoughts, I didn’t say much to anyone for the rest of the morning.
The number of times Jack Hawthorne smiled: none. (I’ve lost hope. Help.)
Chapter Thirteen
Rose
The rest of the few days leading up to the event was just as weird as that morning. We were both very busy and didn’t catch each other alone that much, but in the evenings when he came to pick me up, if there were people around, he made a show of touching me. It was nothing big, nothing that made me jump out of his arms in panic, but even a simple kiss on my cheek as a hello or a hand at the small of my back got to me. He would casually pull my hair out of my coat and would offer me his hand when there was a puddle in my way while we were walking to the car, as if I would slip and drown in that little puddle of water if he wasn’t holding on to me. I very well could have, but that wasn’t the issue. He was opening my doors, giving a gentle push at my back when I just stared at him with a small frown, and the way he said my name while looking into my eyes, the way it fell from his lips…the way he listened to me so intently whenever I managed to say something…had he always listened to me like that or had I started imagining things?
I couldn’t be sure.
Almost every night he asked if I was free for dinner, and almost every night we ate takeout in the dining room where he actually made a big effort to talk to me, and I enjoyed every minute of it, but if I said I wasn’t confused, it’d be a lie. That didn’t change anything; even when he received one-line answers, he kept going. I usually went up to bed as soon as dinner was done, not entirely because I was running away from him, but because I was getting these vicious headaches almost every other day.
I bought the dress the day before the actual event. I’d put it off as long as I could, but leaving it to the very last day was pushing it even for me. I chose the cheapest dress they showed me, though that wasn’t saying much of anything because it was equal to two months of my rent.
As much as I’d hated the experience, the dress was beautiful and worth it—so beautiful, in fact, that you’d want to randomly take it out of your closet and wear it in your home while binge-watching The Office. To say I was nervous to go out in public wearing it was an understatement.
It was an embellished tulle dress with a short tan lining beneath it that ended a little over my knees. The bell sleeves and low back were a statement on their own, but my favorite part of the dress was the fitted bodice that gave way to a full skirt and the thin gold metal belt. The skirt made you want to sway from side to side like a five-year-old with a new princess outfit. It almost reminded me of a dreamy wedding gown.
I loved it, but I was mostly worried about what Jack would think. Would it be too much? Would it be too simple? When Raymond picked