Her Name Was Annie by Beth Rinyu (the little red hen read aloud txt) 📕

leash from my hand and we began to walk. I knew Jack was here out of a sense of duty, but I had to admit it was nice to be able to coexist with him again, bordering on—do I dare say…friendship?

Chapter 17

“JACK, YOU REALLY don’t need to stay and babysit me,” I said as the afternoon turned into evening. “I’ve got the alarm. And Max.” I glanced down at Max curled up in a ball by my feet.

“I just want to see if I heard back from one of the guys at work about that vehicle.”

I wasn’t sure what he was expecting to hear. There must’ve been thousands upon thousands of gray sedans in the state of New Jersey. We didn’t even know the make of it.

“Well, at least let me make dinner. You must be starving.”

He didn’t protest, so I took that as an indication that I was correct. I handed him the remote control and he flicked on the television while I went into the kitchen to scrounge something up to cook. Tomorrow was my grocery shopping day, so it was slim pickings. I pulled out a box of spaghetti from the pantry along with a couple cans of diced tomatoes. I just needed to grab the olive oil, some garlic from the fridge, and I had my dinner dilemma all figured out.

A half hour later I was dishing out the spaghetti and pouring us each a glass of wine. “It may need more salt,” I said.

“It’s perfect,” Jack replied after eating a forkful. My culinary skills were always the way to Jack’s heart. I knew my strengths, and cooking was one of them. I often wondered where I got that talent. My mother was an excellent baker, but as hard as she tried, her cooking was always mediocre. Little did I know, but it wasn’t her who I would’ve inherited that skill set from anyway. Which got me wondering if the woman who had given birth to me was a good cook. Was that a trait that was passed down in the genes or something that’s learned just because you have a natural love of it?

Jack the bodyguard was much more domestic than Jack the ex-husband as he helped me clean up the dishes after dinner. I didn’t protest and allowed him to help. Another thing I was finding was the new Stephanie was a lot more amenable at accepting help from Jack than the old Stephanie. I was certain he would be on his way once the kitchen was tidied up. After all, it was Saturday night. He more than likely had plans with a female half his age instead of spending it with someone who matched his years. When he followed me into the living room and took a seat on the couch opposite me, I started to rethink my assumption.

“Jack, I know you’ve got better things to do with your time on a Saturday night. Really, I’ll be fine.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

I raised an eyebrow in part disbelief and part sarcasm.

“Really, Steph. I think you have it in your mind that I go out partying every weekend like I’m twenty-something years old. You do realize I’m going to be fifty in a year and a half, right?”

“I do. I wasn’t sure if you did.” I grinned. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I just don’t want you feeling like you have something to prove to me by doing this because of—” I stopped myself before I could get the rest of it out. Seventeen years had passed, and I still couldn’t think about it, let alone say it.

“Because?” Jack coaxed, his eyes begging me to finally talk about it.

“I’m going to get another glass of wine. Did you want some?” I did my best to create a distraction.

“Sure,” Jack mumbled.

I sprang from my seat and went into the kitchen. When I entered the living room once again with two glasses of wine in hand, I was hoping the air had been cleared and we could move on to another subject. “The tree looks great,” I said, handing Jack his wineglass while focusing on the tree in the stand.

“Stephanie,” Jack murmured.

“I guess I have to remember to keep watering it.” I continued yammering on about the tree as if I didn’t even hear him say my name.

“Steph,” he said a little louder and sterner. I turned around to face him. “I know I’m the last person you want to talk to about your feelings, but when it comes to that, I think I’m the one person who can relate the most.” He wasn’t letting up.

“It’s fine, Jack.” I shook my head a little too vivaciously to be believable. “Hey, do you feel like helping me get the ornaments down from the attic while you’re here? I always get a little creeped out going up there.” I sensed the disappointment on his face when I switched the topic, but he reluctantly nodded anyway.

I had forgotten how many Christmas tree ornaments I had accumulated over the years, and Jack and I carried down every box of them. He helped me string the lights on the tree, and after we were done, I felt like I’d run a marathon. “The rest is up to Kara.” I let out an exhausting breath and plopped down on the couch. “Can I ask you something?”

Jack finished playing with the lights and took a seat next to me on the couch. “What’s up?”

“Was that the first time you had ever been unfaithful?” It was a question I had been dying to know the answer to, and after all these years I was finally okay with not falling apart with hearing the answer. He gazed at me thoughtfully. “It’s okay to tell me the truth, Jack. I promise I won’t throw my glass of wine at you.”

His face clouded over with emotion and he blinked hard. “That was the first and only time, and I’ve regretted it every day of my