Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

PART TWO~CHAPTER : 7

♪♫••═════ PART TWO~CHAPTER : 7  ═════••♬ ♭

Even from thousands of miles away, as always, in any fashion nightmare, Olivia saved the day. I sent my friend a grateful text and hurriedly put myself together.

Descending the stairs, I could not stop looking down at the pair of designer jeans and blouse. The tags were upstairs in the trashcan, and as the denim stretched with each step, I marveled that Olivia could size me so well.

The kitchen table had cereal remains on it. One bowl with milk splashed around it, and automatically, I moved to clean it up. Even in an unfamiliar house, this routine was familiar.

Outside the large window, the sunny day and shimmering placid water caught my eyes, and I froze at the breathtaking sight.

Sunken, in the colorfully blended stone of the patio, was a guitar-shaped pool. The long water-filled neck extended toward the covered patio area, and a detailed effect of strings was clear beneath the placid surface.

After sparing a few more seconds of admiring the view, I crossed to the sink and ran water over the bowl. I wiped the milk from the table, then followed the Xbox noise, finding Dax, not Jack, in an intense game with Tristan.

Taking his eyes from the television for only the briefest second, Dax informed me that Jack was in his music room. As a testament to Jack's soundproofing claim, I heard nothing until I cracked open the door. Then, what was obviously some type of business call became loud and clear.

“That was pushed back six weeks--and yes, he did know that...my son had unexpected surgery, not that it is really any of your business...” At this point, the door was open enough that Jack noticed me. Admiration, when his eyes skimmed my figure, joined the stormy emotions that clouded his face.

Stepping over wires, he stopped before me, so close that I could hear the bitching from within the phone. His spare arm took comfort in drawing me near, and I wrapped around him dropping my face to the tee shirt stretched across his chest.

“Sharon,” he spoke into the phone again, “I need for him to return my call. I love you sweetheart, you know I do, but I need to talk to him, capish?...Yes, you CAN promise, you always get the impossible done, and I know he falls under the impossible...” Here Jack laughed at whatever 'Sharon' said, and spontaneously I pulled away from him, pretending to study the array of guitars.

While I winced at the word love and the endearment included to this voice on the phone, I knew it for what it was. Charm worked; in my line of work I had used it many times myself . But that same husky laugh that I had thought was mine alone, had just rumbled into a wireless broadcast to this invisible vixen.

“Alright, thanks sweetheart. Before tonight, please. I don't want his hairy-eye on me all night...”

The call ended, and he tossed his phone aside with the fury withheld from his words. After staring, for a second or two, at the table where it landed, he seemed to shrug the mood off.

“Sorry. Music's not always fun.” With a wry grimace, he eyed the guitar in my sights. “Get caught up on some sleep?”

I nodded, shooting an appreciative smile for the extra rest time beyond Tristan's awakening, but couldn't ignore the fatigue in his eyes. “What time did Tristan wake up?”

“A couple of hours ago--” But, as he spoke, his phone sounded. “I'm sorry, I have to--”

Nodding with understanding as he retrieved the phone from the floor, I crossed to the door, but he elaborately gestured for me to stop as he spoke a greeting to the caller.