Page 19 of It’s You

“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Then answer me this. Do you really feel like you barely know me?”

She looked away. She’d be lying if she said yes.

She felt like she’d known Jack her entire life.

She felt like she knew him better than any other person on the face of the earth.

Oh, she might not know his favorite color or what kind of toothpaste he used, but she felt intimately connected to his mind, to his body, to his heart, to his very soul.

Since she couldn’t explain this logically, she didn’t answer.

Finally, he squeezed her hand and returned it to her lap. “I have to check on dinner. Do you want a glass of wine?”

“Please.”

“Red okay?”

“Oh—” she started. Red gave her hives.

“Sorry. That’s right,” he said, walking away from her. “I have white out in the cellar. I’ll grab a bottle, then check on dinner.”

She heard the front door slam behind him, and it took her a minute to realize that she hadn’t actually said that red gave her hives, nor had she been looking at him when she thought it. Maybe she’d mentioned it at the wedding while they were drinking champagne. There was no other way he’d know.

Left alone in his living room, Darcy turned her attention to the bookcases that flanked the rustic stone fireplace and walked over to look at the titles, running her fingers over the leather- and paper-bound spines.

She wasn’t surprised, but strangely relieved, to find several about the Métis people: The Métis People , Contours of People: The History of the Métis , Métis Lore and Legends , Children of the Fur Trade .

Knowing what she did of the Métis people, both from Willow and from her own research, Darcy was quickly settling into the idea that Jack was of Métis origin, complete with superstitions and some unexplained mysticism.

She kicked off her ballet flats and curled up on the comfortable leather couch across from the fire, watching the flames leap higher, trying to understand what was happening between her and Jack Beauloup.

He seemed convinced that they somehow bound themselves to one another as teenagers with one scorching kiss, and while she loved the romantic intentions behind such a story, the scientist inside of her was skeptical.

Despite her own personal experiences with Jack Beauloup, she wasn’t disposed to believe in such unsubstantial fairy tales.

She felt more comfortable believing that two kids who shared a passionate moment couldn’t quite shake each other over the years, drawn to one another by the sheer force of their attraction.

Still, she’d have to look up this Métis legend of eighteen-year-old men confirming their soulmate in the space of a single, perfect kiss, because it was such a beautiful love story.

But as far as Darcy was concerned, Jack was a boy with whom she’d shared a glorious teenage moment, with whom she still had a strong connection.

Now that he was back, they’d have to get to know each other better to figure out the rest.

“I like your necklace,” said Jack, returning with two glasses of white wine and scattering her thoughts. “I meant to say so before.”

“Thanks, I thought you might.”

“Did you?” He sat back down on the leather trunk across from her and smiled, but his eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”

No more beating around the bush.

“I figured out what you are.”

She saw the copper start leaping around his surprised eyes before he looked away sharply. His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched tightly.

“What am I?” he half-whispered, half-growled.

Damn Vale Proctor and every other bigot who make the Métis and other Indigenous people feel inferior! She was desperate to let him know she bore no such prejudice against his people.

She leaned toward him. “When you…you know, on Saturday? With the bear? You used a word. Shipawaytay , right?”

He looked up and nodded, his face still guarded, but slightly more curious now.

“It’s Michif. Willow recognized it.” She smiled at him, taking his hand. “You’re Métis, Jack, aren’t you?”

He looked down at his wine, swirling it around in his wineglass with his free hand. “What do you think?”

“It makes a lot of sense. It explains a lot. The beautiful legend you just shared with me.” She let go of his hand and reached up to run her fingers through his thick, black hair.

He put his wineglass on the coffee table and leaned into her hand, closing his eyes.

“Your last name sounds French Canadian, and I know your family went back to Canada after high school. Your dark hair and brown eyes. Your way with the bear on Saturday. I know the Métis have a…a mystifying relationship with nature.”

“What else?” he breathed, turning his head to press his lips against her palm.

“The, um…” She swallowed. He was distracting her with nibbling kisses on her palm and the occasional hot lick with his tongue. “The mystical traditions fit, like, um…soul flight and?—”

“Wait. What did you say?” He drew back, looking up at her, his face surprised, yet tender.

“Umm, soul flight?”

“Soul,” he said so softly, she almost couldn’t make out the sound.

“I-I also call it ‘going inside.’”

“Going inside?”

“Inside my head. It’s like daydreaming. It started, um…in high school. After you left.”

“You call it soul flight,” he said softly, reverently, nodding slowly, taking her hand from his face and massaging it with warm fingers. “How often does it happen?”

He knew what she was talking about. He was connected to it, as she had guessed.

“Every few weeks. Lately more. It’s no big deal.”

Jack pressed her hand to his trembling lips, closing his eyes.

“How does it feel?” he murmured. “Does it feel okay?”

“Like a daydream. Familiar. Safe. I don’t know. Don’t you?—”

“Yes, I’ve experienced it,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

She was struck by the depth of tenderness she saw there. And pity. And sorrow.

“It’s Métis, right?”

He stared at her for a while, as if collecting his thoughts. She tried to hear his thoughts, but only heard the word soul in a soft, ceaseless loop.

“Yes,” he finally answered, giving her a sad smile. “It is.”

He let go of her hand, looking away for a minute, then asked, “How many times this week?”

“Three.”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly, still averting his eyes from hers. “Three.”

“Jack, is everything okay? This is all so…”

He looked at her, tilting his head to the side, and biting his lower lip again.

“I cause it,” he finally admitted. “I make it happen. I’ve always made it happen, from the very first time when you screamed that you didn’t belong to me.”

She gasped, remembering the day in the girls’ bathroom with Willow when she’d gone inside the first time. The thing is, she remembered that day very well, and she hadn’t uttered a word aloud. Jack was referring to her thoughts .

She felt like a broken record as her shoulders sagged, and she heard the all-too-familiar words escape her mouth in a defeated sob.

“I don’t understand.”

“Then, listen to me. I want to help you understand. I know this is a lot to absorb at once, and you probably want to believe that we’re a random coincidence.

Two kids who met in high school and kissed.

And hey, I show up here twenty years later, and we have that short, sweet history.

But there’s a lot more than that between us, and it’s not random, and it’s not a coincidence. ”

She took a big gulp of wine, feeling her heart speed up and her face flush hot and red. Tears pricked the back of her eyes because she knew he was right, and it frustrated her that it wasn’t logical, that it defied explanation.

“So…what? What are you saying? That we kissed once in high school, and we’re now somehow cosmically bound to each other for life? That’s crazy. Seriously, Jack? That’s totally insane.”

“I know it sounds crazy. But it’s not.” He stared into her eyes. “Darcy, did you ever forget me? Did you ever find happiness with someone else? Find completeness with someone else? Does anything feel as good as being with me? No, no, no, and no. I know the answers, because mine are the same.”

This doesn’t make any sense.

You’re right.

It troubles me.

I know. I’m sorry.

Hold me, Jack?

In a flash, he was sitting beside her. He put his arm around her, drawing her up against the solid warmth of his chest. As she rested her cheek on his chest under his chin, his other arm encircled her, and she closed her eyes against the comfort he offered.

“We’re complicated,” he said quietly against her hair.

There had to be better answers than the ones he was offering. She was determined to track down every book on Métis legends and pore over them to try to understand what was happening between them and make sense out of it. But she’d had enough of it all for now.

“I came here wanting answers, but I don’t think I can handle any more tonight.” She leaned her head back, tilting her chin up. “Do you think we could do something?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Could we…Could we pretend that we’re just a couple of people who haven’t seen each other in years, and we’re having a first date?

I mean, could we shelve the Métis legends and the soul flight and the binding and all the rest of it?

Just for a little while? Just have dinner, and talk, and get to know each other? Could we do that?”

He brushed his lips against hers. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiled at him. “Okay.”

He sighed and twisted his wrist to check his watch. “Dinner’s ready. I set the table in the dining room, but I could just scoop it into two bowls, and we could…” He gestured to the fire.

“I’d love that.” She leaned forward, dropping her feet to the floor. “I’ll help.”

He handed her a blanket from the back of the couch. “Make yourself useful, Turner. Why don’t you spread this out in front of the fire? I’ll get the Coq au Vin.”

“Coq au Vin? Wow, Jack!”

“Crock-Pot,” he tossed over his shoulder as he sauntered to the kitchen. “Don’t be too impressed.”