Page 44 of Where the Heart Is

None of them went beyond a kiss goodnight until a decade after she’d been in Tally Bay, when she finally let Raven into her bed. She’d done it out of loneliness rather than any grand passion and their lovemaking was comfortable rather than spectacular.

That’s one thing she never understood about Jack. They’d been dynamite between the sheets, rattling the headboard regularly. And while the sex had been amazing, she cherished those moments afterwards, when he’d hold her close and they’d share a laugh or a chat or say nothing at all, content to just be together.

When he stopped wanting sex, she blamed herself. Did Jack not find her attractive anymore? Had he grown tired of her?

She’d tried asking him about it once, the first time they’d gone weeks without making love, and he’d shut her down, citing fatigue and stress. So she’d waited, and when it hit the two-month mark since they’d last been intimate, she initiated it. She’d showered, shaved, moisturised, even ordered some new lingerie online. He’d taken one look at her, removed her hand from his hip, grunted, and rolled away from her.

She’d never tried again.

Instead, she bottled up her resentment and started second-guessing herself to the point she became miserable. They both had, coexisting in polite exchanges and silence behind closed doors. They’d faked it for the grandkids, of course, because poor Will and Mila had been through enough, having their parents virtually dump them before leaving without a backward glance.

While she never blamed them, Will and Mila were the only reason Adelaide stuck around so long. They gave her life purpose, and she didn’t regret her part in raising them. But the day after Mila’s final exam was when she knew it was time.

Time for her. Time to start fresh. Time to start living again.

The irony that Will had fled town a year earlier a day after his final exam hadn’t been lost on Mila, who’d said at least one of them would stick around for Jack. But Adelaide had given up enough of her life for Jack and couldn’t stand another day of existing rather than living.

Lost in her musings, she stubbed her toe on a tree root and pitched forward, managing to slam her palms against the trunk to break her fall. It took a second for the pain to register and she let out a loud yell as she glanced at her shredded palms. The sight of blood didn’t bother her as much as the stinging and she bit her lip to stop from dropping a few expletives.

She heard a twig snap behind her and turned to find Jack eyeing her with concern.

‘I was taking a walk and heard you yell. Are you okay?’

‘Apart from these, you mean?’ She held up her palms and he winced.

‘Those need some antiseptic.’

She swallowed her first response,‘Well done, Mr Obvious’. Pain always made her snarky, as he well knew. ‘I don’t have any.’

‘I do. Come on.’

It was a short stroll back to the main cottage and her man of few words didn’t say anything. No great surprise.

As they entered the kitchen, the smell of baking—something savoury, with tomato, basil, and onion—made her stomach rumble. Embarrassed, she pressed a hand to it, only to realise she’d left a bloody handprint on her favourite white top.

‘The first aid kit is in the bathroom,’ he said, and she followed him, casting a surreptitious glance at the oven, to see a quiche with a cheesy top bubbling nicely.

If her morning stumble hadn’t put her in a bad mood, the delicious aromas that were evidence of Jack’s cooking would have. She shouldn’t be annoyed, because she’d changed over the last fourteen years too, but she couldn’t help it.

Where was this man who cooked when she’d been married to him?

‘If you’re hungry, I’ve made a quiche and it should be ready soon.’

Great. He’d heard her traitorous stomach. She could be a stick in the mud and refuse, but she’d only be hurting herself, considering she’d planned on having a piece of toast after her walk.

‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

She followed him down a small hallway to the bathroom, yet another room he’d modelled on what she’d once wanted. Large pale grey tiles, standalone bath, a shower big enough for two, circular vanity, and black fittings. Modern. Classy. Gorgeous.

She gritted her teeth against the urge to ask him why he’d done this. Had he thought she’d return one day, and wanted to torture her? To show her what she’d been missing out on? To punish her?

But she needed Jack onside for their divorce to proceed smoothly and antagonising him would only result in more hurt than it was worth.

‘You should rinse your hands before I apply the antiseptic,’ he said, turning on the taps and testing the water temperature before giving her a nod. ‘Though it’ll probably sting like hell.’

Adelaide didn’t respond, because it took all her willpower not to cry when she slipped her hands under the water and her palms burned like the devil.

‘That should do,’ Jack said, turning off the taps and gathering her hands in a soft towel.

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