Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

J ack’s knuckles hovered over her door, his heart thrumming an erratic beat. He cleared his throat, willing his voice to sound casual. ‘Trish? You decent?’

Part of him wished she wasn’t.

He told that part to shut the fuck up.

A muffled thud, followed by a string of colourful curses. ‘Hang on!’

The door swung open, and there was Trish, a beautiful mess of curls framing her pink cheeks. Her glasses teetered halfway down her nose, one side caught in the loose strands tumbling over her face. His fingers were begging him for permission to nudge them back into place.

‘Jack? What are you—’ Her eyes landed on the steaming mug in his hand. ‘Is that Gwen’s punch?’

‘That and a cheddar sandwich.’ He grinned, offering it to her. ‘Wasn’t sure I’d seen you eating. I’ll eat it if you don’t want it.’

Trish snorted, making grabby hands for the mug and the plate. ‘Sounds delightful.’ She stepped back, allowing him entry. ‘Come to chat strategy for the next round of Sexy Santa posts?’

Jack’s gaze swept the small room with sloping ceilings and exposed beams. The old servants’ quarters, much cosier now than they’d ever been. Tastefully done. A thick rug muffled the groan of the wide plank floorboards, and a trace of something warm and smoky wafted through the air, coming from the little wood burner huddled in the corner. Trish’s laptop balanced precariously on the corner of the box spring bed, surrounded by memory cards and cables. Organised chaos.

Pretty much like my life.

He also noticed the dark circles under her eyes. ‘Thought we could go over some photos. And…’ He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘…you seemed a bit off earlier. Wanted to check in.’

Trish’s shoulders tensed. ‘I’m fine. Just work stuff.’

‘Aye, because “fine” involves hiding away and working yourself into the ground.’ Jack levelled her with a look, a slow tilt of his head. ‘Come on. Talk to me. Remember how we had a long chat at the kitchen table on opening day?’

They’d sat there for hours after their impulsive encounter in the linen cupboard.

Trish’s laugh was brittle. ‘I told you all about my break up. It was more a therapy session.’

‘Naw, I liked getting to know you.’

Not true. He’d loved it. Loved how naturally conversation had flowed between them, from music to art to life’s messier parts. She’d been raw that night. Fresh from her breakup, disappointed in her career, feeling like she was constantly proving herself. And Jack? He’d listened. Not with the half-ear he usually reserved for conversations, but with something deeper. He’d shared small bits of his own story, too. About co-parenting, about music being his secret language, about feeling stuck but not unhappy. That night, he’d glimpsed something rare in her. Someone who saw the world differently, who understood what it meant to find refuge in creativity.

Trish sighed, sinking onto the plush rug at the foot of the bed. Jack joined her, their shoulders touching. The brief contact was enough to spark a thrill that surged through his entire body.

‘It’s stupid.’ She took a sip of punch and wrinkled her nose. ‘Jesus, what’s in this? Jet fuel?’

Jack huffed a laugh. ‘Gwen’s secret recipe. Best not to ask.’

Trish set the mug aside, pulling her laptop onto her crossed legs. ‘Since you’re here…’ She pulled up a folder of images, her fingers flying over the keys. ‘These are from the tree lighting tonight.’

Jack leaned closer. The first photo on her screen was a close-up of Mrs Bellbottom’s hand. Wrinkly, aye, but holding a mug as if it was the Holy Grail. Steam rising like a wee cloud escaping the cold. Gwen’s hair, bright green and tangled up with tinsel like a Christmas tree. Another image showed Niall standing by the fire, looking all broody and moody – but staring at Marla like she was the only woman in the room. Which she was for him. Trish had captured his mate’s essence.

And then, amongst all that art, a photo of himself and the wee ones. Phil up on his shoulders, pointing at the tree like he’d discovered a new planet. Jack Jr. sceptically clutching his hot chocolate. And Beth snuggled against Jack’s leg, eyes wide with wonder. Not posed or anything, just…them. Somehow, she’d made the moment look special and timeless.

He absolutely loved the way she saw the world. Saw them.

‘Trish, these are… They’re incredible.’

A puzzled line appeared above her nose. ‘You think? Don’t know. The lighting’s off in this one, and the composition here—‘

‘Stop.’ Jack’s hand covered hers, stilling her scrolling and clicking.

Trish turned her head, and her eyes met his, uncertainty swimming in their depths. Jack fought the urge to pull her close and tell her how amazing and talented she was until her ears would bleed and then some. ‘You’ve got a gift. A real, honest-to-God talent.’

Her laugh had a fragile edge. ‘Right. That’s why my photo editor’s about ready to bin the whole project. And I need that job. I want it so badly.’

‘Fuck your editors.’ The vehemence in his voice surprised even him. ‘They’re idiots if they can’t see your talent. You’re an artist, and that’s that.’

Pink spread across her collarbone like she’d downed a shot of whisky. ‘I… No one’s ever called me that before just like that.’

‘What? Brilliant? A bloody artistic genius?’

She ducked her head, a curtain of hair hiding her face. ‘Stop it.’

‘Make me.’ His words settled in the air between them, a fuse waiting for a spark.

Trish cleared her throat and toyed with the hem of her jumper. ‘So, um, what about you, Mr Rockstar? When’s the next gig?’

Ah, deflection. That was his go-to move. Now, he found himself on the receiving end and wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that. Especially because she’d put her finger straight into one of his wounds.

Jack’s laugh was hollow. ‘Rockstar, right. Because a postie turned viral joke playing covers in a pub is the height of musical achievement.’

‘Oh, piss off.’ Trish’s elbow connected with his ribs. ‘You’re talented, Jack. I’ve heard you play.’

‘And I’m sure it sounded fab after Gwen’s punch.’

Trish narrowed her eyes. ‘Stop that. You don’t get to sit there and tell me how brilliant I am while tearing yourself down.’

A taut warmth unfurled in his chest at the defiant protectiveness in her voice. ‘Trish…’

‘No!’ She turned to face him fully, her knee pressing against his thigh. ‘You’re an incredible musician, Jack. And a loving father. And…’ She trailed off, her gaze dropping to his lips.

She just stared, and he stared back until his pulse roared in his ears.

Her eyes, framed by those crooked glasses, held entire galaxies he was desperate to get lost in. ‘You’re lovely, Trish. It’s the way you see everything. Like you’ve got this light inside you, and it spills out through every single shot you take.’

‘Stop it. Seriously.’

‘Why?’

Trish’s fingers wrapped around the edge of her laptop. ‘Because… Because I don’t know how to handle this. Compliments.’ She drew in a ragged breath. ‘And I don’t want to think you’re a liar.’

‘I’m not. Don’t you dare call me that.’ He didn’t want to push her, even though he hated seeing her so harsh on herself. Jack leaned back against the bed, his fingers drumming an absent rhythm on his thigh. ‘Okay, Shutterbug. Then tell me how you ended up behind the lens.’

Her eyes lit up, setting him on fire in the process. ‘Funny story, actually. It started with my dad’s old Polaroid…’

As she talked, her hands flew around like she was conducting an orchestra, nearly taking out the punch. Jack barely heard her words, too busy watching those curls bounce with every gesture like they had a life of their own.

‘…and I realised I could freeze time. Capture moments no one else noticed. No, discover them.’ She paused, her gaze distant. ‘It was freeing. And it helped me to get through boarding school.’

‘Boarding school, seriously? Sounds posh.’

Trish took a gulp of the punch and winced. ‘Possibly. But that place was mostly crawling with bullies and bitches.’

Jack gave a slow nod, sensing the tip of an iceberg. ‘And why did your parents send you off to that hellhole?’

Better to keep her talking than have her flipping the spotlight back on him and his own messed-up past. Deflection, it worked.

‘It’s what they thought best. My dad was an ambassador for Brazil. He’s now retired. My mum’s a human rights lawyer. They had very specific expectations of their only child. Art was acceptable as a hobby, but a career? Never.’

She gave a wry laugh, and it stung him. ‘Mum wanted a mini-lawyer. Dad… Well, he wanted me to be another achievement, I think. Politics, business. Not a nerdy girl with a Leica.’

A slow, heavy pull anchored itself in Jack’s chest. Didn’t she see it? ‘And yet here you are, taking the world by storm with that camera of yours.’

She scoffed. ‘Hardly. I’ve only ever been doing it professionally for about two years. Before that, I worked in marketing. My parents have their money, but I don’t want any of it. And they wouldn’t give me a penny, anyway. Not as long as I’m not doing what they want me to do. I’m still hustling for every gig, paying my own bills, trying to prove I’m not some trust fund kid playing at being an artist.’

‘Is that how you see yourself?’ The question hovered between them like a thick fog.

‘Sometimes. When the rejections and the bills pile up. Which they do.’ She lifted one shoulder, but the casualness seemed forced. ‘It is what it is. Can’t choose your family, right?’

‘Aye, but you can choose your path. And you chose to create.’

Trish’s head dipped. ‘Yeah, fat lot of good it’s done me. My last relationship certainly didn’t appreciate it.’

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The infamous ex? Marc, wasn’t it?’ He was starting to loathe the sound of that name.

Trish nodded, her mouth twisting. ‘He freaked out when I left my job to pursue my passion. Mr “Why can’t you stay in your real job?” himself.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Sounds like he was afraid of a talented woman with a backbone and a dream.’

‘Joke’s on me, I guess. Ten years down the drain. And he’s getting married in Spring while I’m getting nowhere.’

Jack’s fingers dug into his leg. He suppressed the need to reach out, reassure her, tell her that she was fabulous, valued, and absolutely fucking awesome. Instead, he bumped her knee with his. ‘That’s his loss.’

‘Is it, though?’ She held his gaze, a glint of something raw breaking through her usual guard.

Vulnerability? It hit him square in the chest. Whoever had dared to dim her light, Jack was inclined to rearrange their face with his fists.

She glanced away, fingers absently wandering along the rug’s pattern like it held all the answers. ‘You know…that day, Hazelbrae’s opening…’

Jack’s pulse spiked. ‘Aye, what about it?’ His voice was casual. He was a master at pretending nothing rattled him, even when everything did.

And fuck, it did.

Since the divorce, he’d been deliberate about keeping things simple, about dodging anything that felt like strings. Sex had been his escape hatch, his way of sidestepping the tangled mess of emotions.

The day of the opening, he’d told himself it was just a one-off, something they both wanted. Bit of fun. He’d kept his head clear, or so he’d thought, sticking to his rule of light and breezy.

But now, with every look her way, that rule felt flimsy, stretched thin against something he hadn’t accounted for.

Had he gone along with it because he thought she needed it…or because he did?

The more he turned it over, the more the edges of his own reasoning unravelled. It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt the spark that lingered a beat too long every time she was around. Hell, maybe he’d been waiting for the excuse to get closer all along. The thought dug in like a barb lodged under his ribs.

Trish’s voice came out so soft he almost missed it. ‘I…I wasn’t thinking straight. I…needed something, someone, to make me feel alive.’

‘I know,’ Jack murmured, locking eyes with her. The honesty staring back at him knocked him sideways. ‘I was there.’

‘I didn’t… I mean, it wasn’t just…’ She forced in a breath. ‘You were kind and funny. You made me smile, and you saw me. Not the awkward photographer or fucked-up daughter or not-lame-enough-to-be-a-wife-girlfriend. Me.’

Pressure built under Jack’s ribs, like his heart was stretching to hold her words. ‘I—‘

‘And then I fucked it up.’ She let out a laugh, edged and empty. ‘Your text… I freaked. I thought perhaps you slept with me out of pity or—’

‘You think I pitied you? Christ, Trish.’ Jack softly took her chin between his index finger and thumb, words slipping from him like a confession. ‘I saw you across the room. Laughing with Marla, but those eyes of yours…’ Jack’s hand skimmed the back of his neck. ‘They held something else. Like you were daring the world to try and dim your light.’

He leaned closer as if the words themselves weren’t enough to bridge the distance. ‘I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t help but want to be close to that, to you. Not just because you’re beautiful but because there’s something real about you. I couldn’t have stayed away if I tried. Not from the kind of woman who makes a guy feel like he’s just been hit by lightning and still wants to chase the storm.’

A tiny gasp slipped from her mouth like she wasn’t sure whether to speak or breathe. ‘Jack…’

‘No, let me finish. You walked up to me and started chatting about… What was it? Light and shadow in the ballroom?’

One corner of her gorgeous mouth curled up. ‘The way it hit the chandeliers.’

‘Aye, that’s it.’ Jack’s gaze softened. ‘And I thought, “Who the fuck is this girl, talking about light like it’s magic?” Because to you, it was. Is.’

The tip of his nose brushed hers. ‘And the way you helped Marla with her event? The way you’ve got your friend’s back? That kind of loyalty is a fucking turn-on.’ Jack’s throat tightened as he tried to find the right words. ‘So no. It wasn’t pity, Trish.’ His gaze drifted to her full, soft lips. ‘And then… You were…like you’d been starving for it. Like you needed every bit of me.’ His voice dropped to a low, gravelly tone. ‘You were lovely, so pure in your need for me. It was fucking hot. Your body, the way it responded to mine… Like we were speaking the same language.’

Jack’s mind whirled like a drunken gyrocopter as he replayed the words that had tumbled out of his gob. He’d laid it all out, no holds barred, no charming deflections. Then, his brain smacked him with a revelation. He wanted that again. Her raw, desperate need. The way she looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

He caressed her chin with his thumb, forcing her to face him. ‘I don’t think friends without benefits is working for me, Shutterbug.’

‘Oh, well… That makes two of us.’

Jack’s pulse kicked into overdrive as he leaned in, his eyes darting between hers and the soft curve of her lips, waiting to be kissed. The faint scent of Gwen’s punch lingered on her breath, sweet and spicy. His hand slid over her cheek, holding her face. And she leaned into his palm as if that was the only place where she could find peace.

Jack held his breath, every muscle taut. Her tongue flicked across her lips, and a surge of heat shot straight to his groin. The pulse quivering at the base of her throat, the way her lips parted just enough… He lowered his head, his breath teasing hers, the fine hairs on his skin tingling.

‘I’m going to kiss you now. Not a soft, polite kiss. The kind that ends up with you riding my cock all night. If that’s not what you want, tell me now.’

Trish’s eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings, nothing but hunger behind them. The world narrowed down to the two of them. He waited for her consent. She had to say it.

‘Please kiss me, Jack.’

With a groan that was half relief, half desire, he closed the gap. His mouth fell against hers in a bruising kiss, a kiss like a collision. A low growl rolled from his chest as her plush lips parted for him, inviting the thrust of his tongue inside her hot mouth. He kissed her with long, hungry, powerful strokes. His hand gripped her jaw, holding her in place. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. She made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat, and it rippled through his entire body. His hand drifted into her hair, rough fingertips dragging along the sensitive skin of her nape.

She broke the kiss. ‘Are we making a mistake?’

Jack reached out, his fingers gently tilting her chin up so that she was forced to meet his gaze. ‘Does this feel like a goddamn mistake to you, Trish?’

‘No.’

Jack leaned in again in a slow, deep kiss. Her little tongue slid against his, velvety soft and slick and endlessly sweet.

This kiss… He felt, in the pit of his stomach, a churning, molten fire. It was in the tightening of his chest, the way his heart skipped a beat before punching hard against his ribs. It was in the tingling of his fingertips as they traced the dip of her waist.

Fuck.

‘Jack?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper against his lips.

‘Aye?’

‘I like you.’ The words slipped free, unguarded.

That confession hit him low, spreading through him with a slow burn, an ache threading through his ribs. ‘I like you too, Shutterbug. More than I should.’

‘But? I can hear a but.’

‘But you’re leaving. And I’m here. With the kids, and my job, and—’

‘…a whole life,’ she finished. ‘I know. And I have this amazing opportunity in London. And there’s Marla.’

‘And Niall. It’s complicated.’

The logs popped in the small burner. Outside, the wind flung snow against the windows.

‘So, what now?’ she finally asked, her voice slicing through the charged silence.

‘I don’t know. But I do know I’m not ready to say goodbye.’

Trish covered his hand with hers, marvelling at how perfectly they fit together. ‘Me neither. I don’t like unfinished business.’

‘Hate it.’

‘God, so much hate.’

‘Maybe we’ll make this a night to remember. The night we finish our business.’

‘Yes. But Jack, the thing is I never fi—’ she started, but he cut her off with a hungry look.

His heart pounded like a fucking kick drum. ‘Shhh,’ he murmured, inching closer. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘What?’

‘Did you enjoy being fucked in the linen closet?’

Trish nodded, nothing but a small jerk of her head. ‘Y-yes.’

‘Even with Marla barging in?’

She exhaled. ‘Yeah, she kind of ruined the moment.’

‘Aye, too bad. I wanted to hear you scream my name when you came all over my cock.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘The thing is…’

Jack waited, the silence filled only by the crackling fire. ‘The thing is?’

She looked up at him, eyes all puppy-dog wide. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve never…come around anyone’s cock. I’ve never…finished that way.’

Jack blinked, processing this bombshell. ‘Never?’ Something twitched inside him. Not lust, but a strange protectiveness. A need to fix it. To prove to her how wonderful she was. How worthy and desirable. ‘Looks like we’ve got a lot more unfinished business than I thought.’ The corner of his mouth quirked up. ‘And I’m the postie to deliver.’

Trish smiled and nodded. But he heard the faint catch in her breath. She was nervous. So was he. But fuck, he wanted her. Wanted to taste her, to feel her come undone. To give her the grand fucking finale she deserved.

To make the world right.

Jack feathered his lips over her pulse point. ‘No more holding back.’

‘Agreed.’

Carefully, he took off her glasses and put them on the rug beside them.

‘But…,’ she said, ‘then I can’t see you properly.’

‘See me with your lips, your hands. You use your eyes too much, Shutterbug. They’re getting in the way of your pleasure.’ His lips brushed against her skin. ‘Tonight,’ he whispered, his voice thick with promise, ‘I’m going to make you feel stars. One way or another.’