A Love Like Ours

Chapter 27

I wasn't completely thrown off yet. It was afternoon in England, and though it was only ten in the morning in New York, the sun was shining brightly, making it feel like I hadn't just traversed the Atlantic Ocean to get here. Though the foot of snow on the ground was a solid reminder every time I stepped outside that I was not, in fact, home any longer.

So was the burly man smiling at me from the driver's seat of a black car.

"Well, it's no tux," Jim said, eyeing my ripped jeans, gray sweatshirt and shearling coat before flicking his gaze up to my head, where my Packers beanie sat warm around my ears. "And I don't know if you've noticed you're in New York, not Wisconsin, but you'll do, I guess."

I chuckled as I stepped over a snow mound, my booted foot landing in slush as I reached for the door handle, and yanked it open. "You keep me humble, Jim."

Jim gave a hearty chuckle in the front seat, and as I slid into the backseat, closing the door behind me, I was glad once more that I'd thought to call him last night.

He picked me up from the airport nearly an hour ago, and was kind enough to drive me to my hotel, and wait while I changed and dropped off my things. Now, we were on our way to Madelyn's house—and I'd told him everything. What had happened between us, everything that she'd been through, the way we'd begun to reconnect, and the concerns Gemma had expressed that now, I couldn't seem to shake.

I'd been nervous for the whole flight, but now that I was really, truly on my way to see her, I was afraid of facing everything I knew I'd have to face.

"D'you think I'm overthinking everything, Jim?" I asked, seemingly out of nowhere before we'd even made it a full street into the drive. "Be honest."

Jim sighed up front, and met my eye through the rearview mirror as we came to a halt at a red light. "I think it would be difficult not to overthink things in this situation. But... yeah. Maybe a little."

I pursed my lips. "In what way?"

"Well," Jim said, his eyes following the dozens of people crossing the street in front of us, "you love her, right?"

"Right," I said, following those people now, too.

"And she loves you. Right?"

Her words came rushing back to me then, uttered in the stillness of night, interrupted only by the crackling of a fire. I love you now, and I'll love you tomorrow, and every day after that for being exactly who you are.

"Right."

Jim pulled at the wheel to make a left turn when the light turned green, and blew out a breath before saying, "Right. So, the way I see it, you love each other. People who love each other make mistakes. Even ones as big as hers. And the unfortunate side effect of being in love is that the person you love is, more often than not, the one you hurt most when you make these kinds of mistakes. But if she's willing to put in the work to make things right again, as she seems to be doing, wouldn't it make sense to say that she deserves a second chance?"

I thought about that—I'd been thinking about that—and I was sure I'd already drawn a conclusion, but Jim went on before I could voice it.

"Call me old-fashioned, but what would this world look like if we didn't give the people we loved second chances? What would life look like if forgiveness wasn't given to those who worked to earn it? Even those who don't, for that matter."

It was quiet for a few moments, and there was a soft quality to Jim's thick New York accent now that made me wonder what he might be thinking about—if there was something specific he was remembering.