I cover our joined hands with my other one, making a hand sandwich. I’m afraid to say anything, scared that if I talk it will stop him from continuing down this path and revealing anything else. This is the first real conversation we’ve had since the Hamptons—not to mention the most personal info he’s ever shared—and I don’t want to throw up any roadblocks.

“I’m thinking about selling it.” He pushes the words out in a rush, almost as one singular word, like if he doesn’t get them out fast enough, he might not ever be able to say them.

“Oh, Jack.” I scoot my stool closer to his, so our thighs brush and our arms press together. “How long has it been?”

“It’s been seven years since the car accident. Too long, don’t you think?” The corner of his lips tilts up, but it’s nothing like his normal half-cocked smile.

Shrugging, I keep a tight grip on his hand. “I’ve never had to go through anything like that, but I think you should take as long as you need.”

He takes another sip of beer and purses his lips. “I have a meeting with a Realtor scheduled on Saturday, but there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll end up canceling.”

“If you get there and you feel like you need to do that, then that’s okay. You don’t owe anyone anything.” I lean my head on his shoulder, the closest I can get to giving him a hug in these chairs.

He places a soft kiss on my forehead.

With one single brush of his lips, he destroys me. And not in the way he was so worried about. My breath catches, my heart freezing in my chest with this simple mark of affection.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I sit back up, staring head-on into those green eyes. While I can predict what he’s going to tell me, his eyes will give me an honest answer.

“I can’t ask you to miss a whole weekend of work. That’s two bar shifts plus who knows how many orders.” The expected words fly out of his mouth, but the pleading look in those eyes lets me know what to do.