Page 32 of Jack Frost
Jack taps his menu. "What do you have that's cold?"
"I'm sorry?" The server chuckles nervously and sweeps his shaggy brown hair behind his ear. "You want something cold? We have ice cream."
"Any dinner foods that are cold? Like, freezing cold?"
I jam Jack's ribs with my elbow, and he coughs.
"We have salads? Maybe that will work for you?" The server's attitude toward Jack is rapidly shifting from admiration to annoyance. I can't blame the guy, really. I myself seem to be transforming into a pendulum that swings from "Jack is so sweet and handsome" to "oh my god he's driving me crazy"—sometimes within the space of two seconds.
"Sure. I'll take a look at the salads," Jack replies.
"And you, sir?" The server says loudly to Minnick.
"Hm? Oh yeah. Um, sweet tea," Minnick says, without taking his eyes off his phone.
And that's how the entire evening goes. Now that Jack's in the picture, Newt Minnick seems to have completely lost interest in me, as a professional or otherwise. He spends most of the time scrolling through social media, texting, or half-heartedly answering my questions about the conservancy's strategies for next year and beyond.
When I interviewed for this job virtually, through a Zoom call, I spoke with a different director, Marian, and another man named Jerry—both of whom I've seen very little of since my arrival. They at least seemed passionate and dedicated, with intelligent plans for the conservancy's role in the region. Maybe if I can stick it out with this job, I'll eventually get to work more closely with those two, instead of enduring Alice and Minnick.
Jack quietly picks up the bill when the awkward meal has concluded, and Minnick concedes a nod of thanks. With a perfunctory, "See you at work," he leaves the restaurant while Jack and I are still rising from the table.
"Nice guy." Jack moves ahead of me to hold one of the doors open.
"Don't do that," I snap, pushing the other door open. "I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."
"All right then." He barges through the second set of doors, letting them swing shut behind him. The doors nearly hit me in the face, but I bite back a protest, because I kind of asked for that.
"So that was a lovely evening." Jack shoves his hands into his pockets and tips his head up to the night sky, drawing in a deep breath of cold air. "I'll accept your gratitude now."
"Gratitude?"
"Yes, I believe I saved you from a night of innuendo with a side of sly groping. And that's best-case scenario. Worst case, he would have gotten you drunk and persuaded you to go home with him."
"Don't pretend to be walking the moral high ground," I snap. "You want the same thing he does." I stalk to my car and yank on the handle, but it's locked, of course. "Give me my keys."
Jack dangles the keys from his fingers, his eyes burning blue under the snowfall of his white hair. "I donotwant the same thing he does."
"Oh really? So if I asked you to come home with me right now, you'd say no?"
"He doesn't care about you like I do." Jack collects my hand and presses the keys into my palm, cupping his fingers over them. The cold, wild scent of him flows around me, teasing my lips and making my breasts peak through my blouse. I should have worn a thicker bra—
"My coat," I whisper. "I left my coat in Minnick's car."
Jack's gaze trails across my breasts for a moment before returning to my face. His reply is as soft as a touch. "Well, it's not like you need it."
He bends, bringing his face closer to mine, but his lips hover temptingly without touching me. I can taste the sweetness of his breath on my tongue. His eyes are like blue oceans, begging me to dive into something new.
I could give in and kiss him. But what would thatmean? What would happen next? This year, next year, ten or twenty years from now?
No, I can't do this—I just want to be alone, to bemefor a while, without any complications or decisions.
Slamming both hands against his chest, I shove him away. "Stop it. Go back to your ice palace or whatever. And don't follow me, or I'll call the police."
"Okay, okay. But you know calling the police wouldn't do any good. I'd just go invisible. Like this." His appearance changes, his ears stretching into sharp points and his eyes glittering brighter blue. His cheekbones are crisp as an iceberg's edges, his fingernails icicle-sharp, and his lashes frosted with snow. Wind rises around him, and he rises with it, lifted into the air by its force. Snow collects at his back, taking the shape of frosty, effervescent wings.
Maybe he thinks he's going to impress me with his powers, but the display only cements in my mind just how different he is, how much he doesn't belong in my life.
"Showoff." I jerk open the car door and duck inside.
