If that's the case though, I think to myself, why am I not happy?
I glance back toward the front door, staring out the window. I strained my eyes, trying to see through the dying light of the day, desperately searching, trying to catch one last look at Jack again. He's nowhere to be seen though and I feel a sharp pain lance me through the heart. I turn back around, clear my throat and order chocolate chip pancakes. Peter raises an eyebrow at my choice, but I smile and give him a small shrug.
“It's what I always used to get as a child,” I say. “Since we're taking the nostalgia tour, you can humor me.”
He shrugs and sips his water, not saying a word. Yet, I get the distinct feeling he's judging me for it. Just wait until I get Daisy's world-famous pie for dessert too, I think. Maybe I'll get two slices just to piss him off.
No, that never ends well. Peter has a temper. It's one side of him that my folks never see. Even if they ever did though, I'm not sure it would make much difference.
They love him. They expect me to love him too.
If only it were that easy.
When she sets my plate down in front of me, Daisy catches my eye and I see that she's discreetly slipping a folded piece of paper to me underneath my plate. Thankfully, Peter's not paying attention – he's busy looking at something on his phone, not even looking up to acknowledge that Daisy is dropping off our food. She smiles wide and gives me a wink, placing her fingers to her lips as if to tell me to be quiet about it. Not that she has anything to worry about, I have no desire to upset Peter further. I slip the note into my purse, pretending to reach for lip balm.
As I slip the note into my bag, I notice my name written on the front and feel my heart skip a beat. That feeling of electricity running along my every nerve ending returns as I look at the note. The handwriting is familiar.
It's Jack's chicken scratch.
ooo000ooo
“Well that was certainly different.”
The way Peter enunciates “different”, means it's obviously not a good thing. The air is only growing colder as we walk to the limo. When we reach the car, he holds the door open for me. I climb inside, welcoming the warmth until the door closes me in and I feel Peter pressed close to my body. I suddenly feel claustrophobic and look at the door, yearning to open it back up and step out. Before I can do anything other than think about it though, the car is moving again. There's no escape now.
I sit back and focus on my breathing as Peter looks over at me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine,” I lie.
My cheeks are flushed even though it's not hot, I just need to breathe. Try to calm my racing heart and relax.
“You sure?” he asks. “That Jack fella didn't upset you, did he?”
Peter is looking down at me with his brows drawn together in a straight line. His jaw is tight and he's staring daggers at me. It's Peter's all too familiar disappointed, bordering on upset look – it's an expression I've seen more times than I can count over the last few months we've been together.
“Oh no, he's just an old – friend.”
I try to laugh it off and minimize what Jack meant to me at one time, long ago. I can't keep all of the emotion out of my voice though, and it cracks at the end of my sentence.
“Well, I didn't like the way he looked at you,” he says sternly. “You don't look at friends that way. I don't think I like that guy.”
Now that Peter mentions it, I did notice the way Jack's eyes lit up when he saw me. For a brief moment, the look on his face made me feel nineteen all over again. Jack had always had that effect on me, making me feel like I was the only woman in the room and the most beautiful woman in the world. It's a feeling I've never felt with any other guy before. It's certainly never something I've ever felt with Peter.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I mutter.
“You sure about that?”
“Peter, are you honestly accusing me of cheating – or at least thinking about cheating – on you?”
My voice rises. There it is. No more cracking or crying. You don't accuse me of cheating, you just don't. I've never given him a reason to not trust me and, the implication I hear in his tone makes my blood boil.
This time, it's my turn to stare daggers at him.
“I can't help but feel jealous, Sydney,” he says. “You're a beautiful woman. I know you turn heads when you walk into a room. It's only natural for me to feel a little – protective.”
“Even if Jack was looking at me like you seem to think he was, it's not like we're ever going to see each other again.”
My heart drops for a second when the words come out of my mouth. I honestly never thought I'd see Jack again in the first place, so to run into him like we had tonight – it turned my whole world upside down. Though, the realization that it's probably a one-time coincidence sets in and I start to feel sad. At least, until I remember the note Daisy gave me. The note with Jack's handwriting on the I remember the way he used to write my name in his notebook, joking about getting it tattooed somewhere on his body. So maybe I just lied to my boyfriend. Maybe there is some small spark of hope that I'm going to see Jack again. But, would it be smart? Given everything that happened between us, is seeing him again the smartest thing I can do to myself? Or will I just be subjecting myself to more heartbreak and frustration?
Peter continues studying my face, as if looking for any chink in my armor. Like he's looking for some opportunity to doubt me. I keep my face as neutral as I can, and when he sees none, he leans in and places a soft kiss upon my lips.
“I'm sorry, love. You just make me crazy sometimes,” he says. “I can't lose you. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
His attachment to me freaks me out. We've only been together a few short months, I think, but I don't bother to point that out. No need to give him any more reason to doubt me. Not when I have to spend a few days locked in a cabin with him. Deep down though, I worry that if he's like this after only a few months, what he'll be like after a year, or longer.
“In fact,” he purrs, “I was going to wait for the right time, but with everything going on, I don't think I can wait any longer.”
My heart skips a beat, and I swallow a lump forming in my throat. A noose of dread wraps itself around my throat as I fear what's coming next. I say a silent word, praying that what I fear he's about to do isn't what I'm thinking.
“W - what are you talking about?” I ask slowly.
Peter continues, “I've already spoken to your parents and asked for their approval – ”
“Approval for what?” My stomach churns as we take one step closer to what I fear he's doing.
Peter reaches into a hidden compartment of the limo and pulls out a sleek, black box. I gasp, but not for the reason he thinks I am.
Peter drops to his knee as best he can in the back of the limo.
God, I'll do anything to make this stop. My parents just adore him though, and I don't want to let them down. They already claim I'm too picky and I thought they were right, but this? No, this I'm not ready for. This is too soon. Way too soon.
Before he can even ask, I take his hands in mine and keep him from opening Pandora's Box. If I let him open it, all manner of dark devils will come flying out and I don't know that they can be put back in again. “Peter, are you – ”
“I'm asking you to marry me, yes,” he says, a slight tremor in his voice.
His gray eyes darken, and the question comes out more as a demand than a proposal. As if he expects me to fall over, thank my lucky stars that such a man came into my life, and agree to be his wife.
“We've only been together, what? Four months,” I say gently. “Don't you think we're moving a bit – fast?”