Page 88 of Finding Yesterday

My eyes roam over Jack. It’s wild how much I missed that face, that body, those eyes, that smell. I’m finding it impossible to stay furious at Jack right now, as he came back, all on his own. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He flashes methatsmile—the one that’s going to be the end of me. “Honestly, me neither,” he says softly. “But I missed you. And we need to talk.” He shakes his head and waves his hand. “I know that’s usually a bad thing when someone says that, but this time it’s not a bad thing. At least, I hope it’s not.”

My breath catches in my throat as I run a finger over his cheek.

He came back?For me?And is it for good? By the sparkle in his eyes, I’d say yes. I don’t even know how to process this—what it means for us, or if this is something I evenwantfrom him.

But I realize it doesn’t matter at the moment because we have something urgent we need to figure out. “We can talk. But first, there’s something you’ve gotta see.” I extend my hand. “Come with me.”

The corners of his mouth tick up. “This better be good, Cole.”

“I don’t think it’ll disappoint.” I take him to the pantry, where we walk through the shelf-door. Again, I take a crowbar and put it into the crevice in the floor. When I lever it up, the hatch door now easily lifts.

“No way,” Jack croaks out, grabbing hold of the board and helping me flip it over. “Holy mother.” He swipes his brow. “That’s the most ugly, beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Well said.” I squeeze Jack’s shoulder. “I haven’t been down here yet. I was waiting for you. But you don’t have to—”

“No, no, no.” His face goes focused. “I have to do this. It’s okay.”

“Well, then, you ready?”

“Um, ladies first?” He sucks air through his teeth. “And hold my hand? The only way for me to go down there is to trick myself into thinking I’m protecting you—like we did before. Even though, clearly, I’m not. You’re the bad-ass in this situation.”

I chuckle, gripping his hand. “Sure.”

I carefully move down, step by step, discovering the stairs are dusty, but sturdy. At the bottom, I stop at a closed door, which I open. Into the blackness, I flash the floodlight until I find a switch on the wall.

When I flip it, the room illuminates.

I blink, not trusting my own eyes. It can’t be.

Looking up at Jack, I say, “The lights work.”

“Phew.” He blows out a breath. “I was not looking forward to crawling around a small space with only a floodlight.”

I go inside, my eyes panning the room. “You’re not going to believe this.” Tears well in my eyes.

I’ve stepped, quite literally, into a 1920s speakeasy.

The pendant lights around the room have shades with flappers. There’s a stocked bar, deep mahogany, refinished and beautiful under the layers of dust. Chandeliers hang, filled with cobwebs, but lit up. Ebony tables sit around the room, wooden chairs neatly tucked underneath.

It’s damp in here, but it’s stunning.

Jack’s feet hit the floor, and a plume of dust flies up. “Oh, wow.” His words are just above a whisper. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It is. Looks like the miners wanted a place to drink after work.” I glance at Jack to see that his eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them.

We both stand in silence for a few beats. I’m taking in everything around me, my brain filling in the images of what was—men covered in soot and dirt, coming here for a drink, a laugh with coworkers and friends, and a bit of a reprieve from their back-breaking, dangerous work.

“The mine was operating during prohibition.” Jack continues, “This had to be built by the miner’s union. It’s so nice.”

“I agree.”

In a daze, he stumbles to the wall and runs his hands over the wood paneling. “Look at all the fine details.” He points up to the ceiling, where a fancy crown molding surrounds the perimeter of the room.

“It’s amazing.” I approach a cabinet and run a finger over the knob. “Come take a look at this, Jack.”

He joins me. “Now we know where those mysterious knobs came from.”

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