Chapter 27

27

JACK

Now would be a really good time to angry drive the Jeep through the sand dunes. But Ella looks too pretty to get dusty, and we’re miles and miles from the beach.

I hesitate to get into the waiting SUV, not wanting to be chauffeured around for once. Because of my busy schedule, it’s easier to multi-task when someone else takes me where I need to go. And I’ll be real, I’ve had drivers for most of my life, but I like the idea of Ella in the passenger seat with me behind the wheel.

Remaining on the sidewalk, I declare, “When we get to Nebraska, I’m buying a truck.”

Biting her lip, Ella says, “Are you stress-car-shopping?”

My eyebrow quirks.

She sheepishly shrugs. “Earlier today, I stress-cookie-shopped.”

I tilt my head and smile for the first time in what feels like hours. This woman is so genuine, so funny, so quirky, and real, it’s like I’d been breathing the wrong kind of air my whole life.

I nod slowly in affirmation. “That didn’t go well, did it?”

“A ring would’ve helped. I didn’t think of it either. I wish I had a paperclip.”

“Why?”

“I could’ve fashioned it into a ring.”

In this short time, I’ve come to know when Ella’s being facetious, sarcastic, when she’s serious, and when she’s self-conscious—definitely the case when Aston accused us of having a fake relationship. But when I kissed her hands and looked into her eyes, I meant what I said.

She looks at her left hand. “When I was a kid and I’d play princess, I always wore a paperclip ring.”

“I think we can do better than that.”

“But they’re onto us,” she whispers like we’re involved in a crime ring.

“But what if they were wrong?” I ask, my thoughts suddenly crystalline like ice.

“Wrong about what?”

“What if you really were my fiancée?” I blurt, having wanted to say so earlier in the bathroom. “Being fake is foolish. I’m a man. I don’t fake anything.”

“And I don’t date billionaires.”

“You were with a fake billionaire. I’m the real deal.”

“But this is still a deal.”

I will not push her or force this, but could she really not be interested in me? That would be a first and I’m not bragging. Just saying. I don’t feel rejected so much as more attracted to Ella because she’s definitely the real deal.

A smile rises to my lips, and I say, “You said you wouldn’t date a billionaire. You never said anything about not wanting to be engaged to one.”

Her eyes widen and I consider getting lost in them for a little while … a long while, perhaps. A lifetime ?

Her voice snaps me back to reality and my ears heat. I’ve never felt like this about a woman.

“Circling back to how I mentioned that we hardly know each other …”

“I know that you like cookies and sunny mornings, glossy pink nail polish, sandals, and smiling.”

Frowning, she asks, “How can you know if someone likes smiling?”

“You do it a lot.” I grip the sides of her jaw and gently rub my thumbs on her soft skin. “Except right now.”

But then the corners of her mouth twitch as if she’s suppressing a grin.

“See?” My lips twist.

It’s adorable to watch her try not to smile … and I’d be a big fat liar if I denied that I hope some of her smiles are because of me.

Stammering, Ella says, “I don’t know your favorite color, when you think it’s okay to start listening to Christmas music, whether you put extra cheese and pepper flakes on your pizza or if?—”

Taking her hand, we walk down the street, taking a few turns, and stop in front of the first pizza place I see. It’s a hole in the wall, in the best kind of way, and since we walked out on dinner, I’m hungry and imagine Ella is too.

Dressed up for a five-star restaurant, we look starkly out of place as a family corrals their kids into a booth, the counter helper calls, “Large pizza for Hastings,” and a couple of teens wage war on the Pac-Man machine.

We reach the counter and I gesture that Ella order first.

“A slice of plain cheese, please.” Her shoulders relax.

“Anything to drink?” the man with the mustache asks.

She looks to me as if asking if it’s okay.

“Anything your heart desires, darling. ”

Her smile reaches her eyes. “Orange soda, please.”

“And for you?” the counter guy asks.

“I’ll take a slice of pepperoni and that meat lovers special there.” I point to the grubby whiteboard advertising the pizza of the day.

“You’re so extra,” Ella says, bumping me with her hip.

Content, I grin. “Oh, and an orange soda for me too. Never tried that.”

Ella gawks. “Seriously? You’re missing out. My dad was our softball coach and after games, we’d always go out for pizza and orange soda.”

“You played ball?”

She nods. “My dad, too. He worked a lot, so being part of my extracurriculars helped us have more time together.”

“Were you good?”

“What kind of question is that?” she asks, stopping in front of the soda machine and filling the textured, dark red plastic cup. She shoves it in my hand and says, “I got a full scholarship to UPenn, and not only because of my grades. I was the total package. So yeah, I was good.”

I cannot help myself and wolf whistle. There’s that honest spunkiness I glimpsed when she first met my father.

“Don’t ever forget or let anything make you think that you’re anything less than the total package. Promise?”

She snorts. “Yeah.”

Her humor and humility nearly knock me over and the sweetness of the soda almost knocks my socks off. But I’m going to drink it anyway.

We sit down at a table with a red and white checkered tablecloth. Ella takes a long sip through the straw. I study her for a moment—her big almond-shaped eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her throat bobs when she swallows. It strikes me that I’ve looked at countless women and didn’t notice the details—do they all have a little freckle by their left ear? The jutting bone on the side of their wrist? A slim gap between their teeth?

I do know one thing for sure. I’ve never felt this way—like I cannot get enough of Ella. Not enough time, enough of her attention, her voice, her lips …

I wonder if my father felt this way when he met Mom. Can’t recall ever seeing Dad eat pizza. We never went to a baseball game, mostly because football was always his thing, but it would’ve been nice if we’d played ball or the ice hockey equivalent.

Ella may not be the trophy my billionaire father has in mind for me, and I’ll never call her baby, but I hope we’re eating pizza and drinking orange soda together for a long, long time.

“Tell me about your dad,” I say, wondering more about the man who raised such an amazing woman.

“He wanted to be a pro baseball player when he was a kid. He was obsessed, but in his own words, he wasn’t nearly disciplined enough. Joined the service after high school—Army. The third year in, he met my mom. She worked in an administrative capacity—like office work. They fell in love. She got out after four years, then had me. He stayed in four more years after that. He qualified for help with college but again said he wasn’t nearly disciplined enough. He started at the potato chip plant, maintaining the machines.”

“Did he get free chips?”

She licks her bottom lip. “Sure did. When they expanded to make dips, too, we got to sample them. Ranch was my favorite. Dad liked the onion dip. I can’t remember which one Mom enjoyed the most.” She sighs. “After she passed away, neither one of us was the same.”

“I can imagine. I mean, I know, but I wasn’t so young. ”

Ella nods, then says, “When I was thirteen, I overheard him tell my uncle that I needed more female influences in my life. I imagine it had a lot to do with me entering my teen years. Shortly after, he met Paula. We’d lived on TV dinners for two years straight until she started making meals for us. They’d watch television together. It was fine. They kept each other company.”

“I bet your mom was cool.”

“She had a great sense of humor. I miss her laugh. I coped by going full steam into school. I read and studied and read some more.”

“And played softball.”

“Then a gap year before college, and you know the rest.”

I snap my fingers. “I knew you took a gap year.”

Her eyebrows ripple.

I think back to that first night I saw her at the Beachside. I want more than anything for this beautiful woman with me to have her happily ever after. But first, the guy at the counter calls our names for the pizza. “Ella and Jack.”

They sound good together.

She watches as I shake a plentiful amount of parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes onto my pizza.

Shaking her head, she says, “So extra.”

But I like that she knows this about me.

“You were an only child like me?” I ask.

Her mouth is full, so she nods.

“As you may have gathered, I’m my father’s heir. I never really thought about what that meant until loss slapped me in the face when Mom passed—cancer,” I say because I don’t think I’ve mentioned that.

“It’s a wake up.”

“Same. But I don’t think he gave much thought to what life would be like without her.” It feels good to be able to talk to someone about this who understands. Who I know won’t change the subject because it’s uncomfortable or judge me for being emotional.

“No matter how much advance warning you have, you can’t prepare. Don’t blame your father for that. I’m sure he’s now facing his own mortality.” Ella takes a sip of soda.

I’d never thought of that, of the loss from his perspective and am surprised that she’s offering him grace after how rude he’s been. I mutter, “He could’ve found someone a little closer to his age.”

“Aston probably makes him feel young.”

“I don’t trust her.”

“You have every reason not to,” Ella says and then tells me about the brief conversation in the bathroom.

I shake my hand like I just touched a hot pizza pan. “Burn. You really said all that?” I ask, referring to Ella’s reply about how I hooked her and that she doesn’t want to play Aston’s game.

Smiling, she says, “I channeled Leah. Plus, please don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s not like I have anything to lose if she’s my enemy.”

My chest feels like it’s teetering.

Ella’s sly smile is gone, her expression serious. She adds, “But I don’t want to make things harder for you or come between you and your family.”

My chest totters back. “Don’t worry about Aston. She’s a gold digger. My father protected himself and he’s a smart man. He’ll realize it soon enough.”

“You think so?”

I hope so. “If I ever have kids, I want to see them succeed, for us to have a strong, good relationship. For them to be happy and humble and honorable.”

“Don’t you think your father wants that for you? ”

“No, he just doesn’t want me to make him look bad.”

Ella’s eyebrows creep together as if she finds that hard to believe.

“Sad but true. What’s that saying about how not all that glitters is gold?” I harrumph, wishing it weren’t so.

But Ella shines in the city light and I want nothing more than a little of her fairy dust to rub off on me … specifically my lips because her kisses are priceless.