Five Reasons To Go (The Risky Hearts Duet Book 2)

by Candace Knoebel

  “Jessica Krause,” he said in shock, touching the part I’d cut. “First my beard, and now this? I can’t believe you.”

  My hand floated to my hip. “Yes, you can. Now turn around so I can finish. Your days of grunge are over.”

  With just a small bit of resistance, he turned, giving me the space I needed to work. I rested my hands against his shoulders, getting a feel for how I wanted to cut through the mess.

  By the time I was finished, I swept while he stood in front of the mirror staring at himself. There was a sadness looped around his lips. A hesitancy when he peered into the mirror.

  Like he couldn’t quite meet his own eyes.

  Or maybe he didn’t want to.

  I came up behind him, hands on his shoulders. “You look great.” My fingers trailed over the edges of his honey-wheat hair, shorn close to his head. I loved the velvet feel of his hair prickling the pads of my fingertips. Missed the way he used to rub his head over my exposed belly, tickling me until I cried out for him to stop.

  His gaze moved away from the mirror. “I look like him. The old him.”

  My face furrowed.

  When he walked out of the bathroom, I followed behind. “Jack…”

  “I liked that he was gone, Jess. I liked that I didn’t have to see him staring back at me anymore in the mirror. And now…”

  “You can’t run from yourself. Your reflection will never change. It’s who you are.”

  He stopped, staring through the sheer curtain to someplace unknown.

  I touched his shoulder lightly. Carefully softening my tone. “If you’re looking for change, then it must come from within. So, change, Jack, and then it won’t be as hard to look at that man in the mirror. Because then you’ll know he is the same you, yet so much more than before.”

  Letting go, I backed up, heading into the kitchen. Tried to give him enough space to absorb my words. I rifled around his cabinets. They were bare, save a half-eaten jar of peanut butter, but it felt good to keep my hands busy.

  “What should we eat for dinner?” I asked after a few moments. “After all that cleaning, I’m famished.” Turning, I pulled open the drawer with takeout menus.

  When I held them up, he gave a weak shrug.

  “Thai?”

  “Nah.”

  “Pizza?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  I groaned, running a hand down my face. “How about burgers?”

  “You choose. I’m going to grab a shower.”

  I inhaled, and then flipped through the papers until I one caught my eye.

  Chinese it is.

  I ordered the usual we used to share before finding my place on the couch. Turned the TV on to fill the silence while I waited for him.

  When he returned, freshly dressed and smelling like soap, I patted the couch beside me.

  After a few moments of silence, he said, “So, how is the shelter?”

  I turned to him. “It was rough at first.” My fingers twirled together on my lap. “I honestly thought I was going to fail. But believe it or not, a silent benefactor stepped up and donated an obscene amount of money.”

  “Really?” He busied himself with the remote, flipping through channel after channel in a hurried manner, passing all the shows he normally watched. “That’s great.” The words came after a few second’s pause.

  “It was a lot harder than I initially thought, but with the money, we’re finally seeing the dream come to fruition.”

  Finally, he settled his gaze on me. “That’s great, Jess. Really. I’m proud of you.”

  I smiled. “That’s why I want you to come see for yourself.” I pulled the side of my lip between my teeth. “You know me. No isn’t an answer I accept. I’m going to be here. Tomorrow at eight AM. You better be ready.”

  A knock rang at the door. Jack stood and ambled over to it. After paying the man, he placed everything at the table we used to eat at near the window and called me over.

  It was strange, sitting across from him, feeling like I’d never left. Like our world hadn’t been upended so many years ago. Seeing him there, across the table, he still felt like mine. Still felt like the Jack I’d watched emerge from his shell.

  We ate in silence, the distant sounds of music beating against the outside of his door. Occasionally, he’d catch my eye, a small, hesitant smile flickering briefly to life. I slurped a noodle into my mouth, the smacking sound warranting a grin. He used to mess with me about my eating habits.

  “I missed this,” I admitted, twirling noodles around my fork.

  He poked at broccoli. “I did, too.”

  “Maybe we should do it more often?”

  He had the sexiest lopsided grin. “I’d like that.”

  I had him then.

  We would find our way back to each other, one day at a time.

  Chapter 13

  Jack

  It was seven fifty-nine, and I barely slept a wink.

  I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotion when my freshly-shaved face glared back at me. I hadn’t realized I’d been hiding from him. From the past.

  After Jess left, her words clamored through my head, taking aimed shots at the walls I’d built around me. Change. The past two years of my life had been centered around change. Leaving behind the life I knew. Beginning one I could be proud of.

  The only thing missing was her.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I watched the street below, when a light tapping sound pattered against my door. I glanced up at the clock. Eight on the dot.

  “You’re awake,” she said the moment I opened the door.

  I laughed a little. “I am.”

  She leaned forward and sniffed. “And you’re showered?” There was a playful gleam in her eyes. A harmless teasing.

  She was the kind of beautiful that beamed from the inside out. The untouchable kind that burned me in all the best ways. Being around her made me want to be a better man. Made me feel like hope still existed.

  “I figured you’d be hiding in that bed of yours.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on… let’s not be late.”

  After I locked the door behind me, we were out on the street, walking down the sidewalk. It was a busy morning, just like any other, the sidewalks packed with pedestrians. I jutted to the side as a woman with five dogs on leashes came barreling by, trying to get a grip on them.

  “How many blocks from here?” I asked, wondering if I should hail a cab. Being lured by the strong scent of coffee beans wafting out from the shop we had just passed.

  “Only five.” Her hands were in her pockets, focus pressed forward. “I’m glad you’re coming with me, Jack. It means a lot.”

  We stopped on the edge of the sidewalk, the screeching sound of a delivery truck backing up piercing my eardrums. The guy from the front seat waved, and then we crossed.

  A few blocks later, and the keys to the shelter jangled in her hand. The moment we entered, a woman rushed up to Jess, desperation pulsing in her eyes.

  “Please.” She dragged Jess by the arm into a kitchen.

  “Jennifer, what’s wrong?” Jess glanced over her shoulder at me to ensure I was following.

  The kitchen was a chaotic mess. There was an elderly woman at the stove, frying eggs and tossing sausage. Another mixing pitchers of condensed orange juice. Jennifer pointed to the griddle, pulling at her hair. “Sarah called in, and Elisabeth had to leave to pick up her child from school. She’s sick. I can’t make the pancakes because Alma needs me to help cover for Mary, who missed her train this morning.”

  I stood there like a sore thumb without a clue as what to do.

  Jess began rolling up her sleeves, tossing a small smile over her shoulder in my direction. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought an extra set of hands with me today.”

  She grabbed an apron. Looped it around my neck.

  “What are you—”

  “You came to help, right?” She planted me in front of a warmed griddle. “Pancakes are easy. Just a few ingred
ients and voila.”

  I scratched my cheek. Panic seeped into my veins. “But I don’t—”

  “There’s the batter. Milk, eggs, vanilla, and flour.” She moved an index card in front of me. “Here’s the recipe. Follow this, and you’ll be fine.”

  She moved away before I could protest, and I swore I could hear her laughing to herself.

  Torture. She was inflicting torture on me. Had to be.

  Or maybe payback.

  I stared at the index card, suddenly forgetting the alphabet. The words looked foreign. I’d never cooked in my life. Hell, my ex-wife could cook, and I’d never appreciated it.

  Be a better man. Change.

  With hesitation, I pulled the bowl close and carefully measured out the flour. Then re-measured it just in case. After, I reached for the eggs. I’d seen Corinne cracking them on the side of the bowl plenty of times before, so I did just that and watched the shattered pieces fall into the batter.

  “Fuck!”

  The woman beside me jerked her head around. Tossed a scowl my way.

  My lips parted with regret. “Sorry.”

  Dipping my finger in, I shuddered at the gooey texture. Slimy and jelly-like. Fished out the tiny bits that kept fucking slipping off the edge of my finger.

  “Ha!” I said when I caught the last piece.

  “Hurry it up,” one of the volunteers called from the doorway. “The kids are getting restless.” She paused, a doubtful expression dawning. “You got the pancakes yet?”

  I hadn’t even mixed the batter.

  “Move quicker,” another volunteer called out to me.

  Tension was sucking all the air from the room. My thoughts scattered like a flock of birds. Silently, I cursed Jess for leaving me alone with these harpies.

  Mixing the batter, I cursed again when some of it splashed over the edges of the bowl. It seemed a little dry and clumpy, but what did I know? I dumped a ladle full onto the griddle.

  Within seconds, smoke rose, the acrid scent burning the ends of my nostrils.

  “You have to grease it first.” It was the volunteer next to me. Her head shook as she handed me a can of cooking spray.

  Grease it… right.

  I fought to scrape the mess off the griddle. Dumped the disgusting mound into the trash before reaching for the non-stick spray. I’d seen it in the kitchen before, but never realized what it was for until now. After a healthy spray, I poured another ladle full. When I flipped it, it was dark brown and clumpy, looking like some kind of mutant.

  “I think something is wrong,” I said to anyone who would listen.

  An elderly woman entered the kitchen a second later. She stalked up behind me. Mumbling to herself, she bumped me out of the way. I caught words like imbecile and idiot sputtering from her mouth.

  My blood pressure began to rise, mouth like a desert.

  “I don’t mind helping.” Sweat beaded along my forehead. “I just think something is wrong with—”

  “You’ve done enough,” the old woman snapped, cutting me off. “You’ve no business in here.” She stopped, hands on her hips. “How the hell did you get in here, anyhow?”

  “Jessica brought me—”

  She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “That damn girl and her charity cases.”

  “Hey.” My neck went stiff. “I only came here to help. You don’t have to be—”

  “This is crap.” Ignoring me, she dumped the contents of the bowl into the garbage.

  I scratched my forehead, blowing out a breath, not willing to leave. “I followed the recipe.”

  She gave me a look that speared through me. “Then why is there no milk in this batter?”

  My skin turned hot. I palmed my forehead. The milk. How could I have forgotten the milk?

  I didn’t like failing. And I especially didn’t like failing knowing all those children out there were waiting for the pancakes. Egotistical as I was, I praised myself on being the hero.

  The old woman started tossing ingredients into the bowl at an alarming speed. I watched as she mixed the batter until it was smooth as silk, and then ladled a small heap onto the warmed surface.

  Change.

  Be better.

  A fire lit under me. I turned on another griddle, picked up a bowl, and ignored the skepticism radiating off the older woman. I didn’t belong. I knew that. But damn it, I was here to help Jess, and that was what I would do. After I redid the recipe, I decided to make shapes.

  Mickey. Kids loved Mickey.

  The first two came out kind of wonky, but once I got the hang of how quickly the pancakes cooked, I started flipping them out left and right. Within ten minutes, I had a tower of Mickey heads stacked inside a foil pan. It headed out to the kids in the hands of one of the women. When a volunteer returned, a huge smile on her face, I knew I was on to something.

  I went through all the batter, switching the shapes between Mickey and Minnie, until there was nothing left. The old woman eyed me down the entire time. When I grinned at her, proud I finally got the hang of it, all I got was a frown in return.

  But that time, her frown didn’t bother me. It only fueled me.

  “Jack,” Jennifer said once the morning rush was over, “do you think you could come tomorrow morning and do what you did again? The pancakes were a hit with the kids. I’ve never seen them so excited about eating.”

  I wiped my hands on the front of my flour-stained pants. “I guess I could.”

  “Of course, he can.” Jess entered the room like a breath of fresh air. Her smile was large and proud. “He’d love to.”

  “If he doesn’t screw up again,” the old woman said.

  “Oh, Alma. Give him a break. He’s new.” Jess gave me a small, encouraging wink.

  Alma. I’d never forget her name. Or get used to her.

  “One of the kids called you the pancake king,” another volunteer said, smiling at me.

  The pancake king?

  “I think you’ve found a place for yourself.” Jess beamed. “It’s good for them… seeing a man cooking. Giving back.”

  I couldn’t disagree with that.

  Being a full-time volunteer was never what I intended to happen.

  I only went because it made Jess happy, and I loved seeing her smile. It was so easy, talking to her. She brought the sun out. This kind creature who inspired the stars to shine.

  But then something else happened.

  I began to love seeing the kids smile. The way their faces would light up when I’d carry out the tray of pancakes to them. Drawing had never been my thing. But I took to making pancakes. The more I made, the more I understood the medium I worked with. I dabbled with colors. Tried putting more details into each one, creating faces from all the famous characters the children loved. They’d chant the nickname they branded me with. The pancake king.

  It began to unfurl inside my stilled heart. Spread warmth back into the frozen muscle I’d been neglecting.

  The first few weeks were hard. Trying to find my place within the circle of women who ran the place. I was a bull in a china shop… especially when Alma came around. By the time I’d make it home, I’d be too exhausted to even drink. Half the time, I wouldn’t even make it to my bed.

  My duties increased as the days went on. I was asked to fix things… which in turn had me reading every do-it-yourself book I could find just to help them save a penny. I’d never been a handyman, but for them, I would try.

  By month two, I was given the fundraising division to run, alongside of making pancakes. With my background in business, Jess thought it would be a great way to put my skills to good use. I still had a ton of contacts, and a brain buzzing with ideas to earn money for the shelter. I just needed a reason to put them all together.

  One morning, while I was working on creating the Disney princesses, Jessica came up beside me. Her hair was in her usual bun, her face without makeup. The freckles bright across her nose. Her blonde lashes almost transparent. She had an effortless bea
uty about her. Almost ethereal.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  My lips lifted at the sound of her voice.

  “I figured I’d put my chef hat on and give you guys a hand.” She cracked eggs into a bowl, then reached for a whisk.

  Alma moved in behind her, peering over her shoulder, watching her every move as she scrambled the eggs. “Good. Good,” she said before stalking over to me. She gave me a thick glare before focusing those angry eyes of hers onto the griddle. I was working on Jasmine. “Food isn’t meant for playing. If you’d stop patting yourself on the back, maybe you could actually produce more pancakes.”

  “Oh, come on, Alma. There must be a little spot inside that stone heart of yours that’s warmed up to me. You know I do a good job making those kids happy.”

  With a pshaw, she walked off.

  “She’ll come around,” Jessica whispered.

  “I’ve resigned myself to believe Alma’s version of a hug is telling me to fuck off with her eyes.”

  The laughter that spilled past her lips warmed me. It was better than any liquor. A drug I could never resist. I’d do anything to make her smile. To make her laugh.

  We spent the rest of the morning side by side, cooking and laughing. Some of the women watched us questioningly, but I didn’t care.

  By the time the morning rush was over, I found myself at the sink drying the dishes Jess washed. I didn’t even know how I wound up there, so wrapped up in conversation with Jess I wasn’t even really paying attention to what I was doing. I had just been going through the motions, following her around like a lost puppy.

  When Alma noticed how long I’d remained by Jessica’s side, she cut in between us, asking me if I could help clean the dining room.

  And then she gave me a nasty look.

  “The shelter isn’t a place for romance. You’d do well to keep your ogling eyes to yourself. That one is still married, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  She didn’t miss a thing, did she?

  I took the rag from her. “Okay, Alma.”

  After she left, I started wiping the tables down. Being around Jessica, watching the way the kids’ eyes lit up every time they received a pancake, gave me an idea. Why couldn’t there be more reasons to celebrate past breakfast? She was, after all, the queen of ice cream.