Love Rents A Room -
Chapter 167: His Disappointment
Chapter 167: His Disappointment
When Joanne brought her selections to the counter and heard the total, she blinked. "That’s all?"
The quality was exceptional—top-notch stitching, premium fabric. She’d tried on designer clothes before, some costing ten times as much and not even fitting right. But here, every piece was flawless. And the price? Barely a tenth of the brands that shouted their names in gold foil and neon.
Cynthia explained gently, "I price things so I make a living, not a fortune. I’ve had enough of overpriced fashion. Why shouldn’t beautiful clothes be fairly priced?"
Joanne was floored. Even her offer of a tip was declined—Cynthia simply smiled and shook her head. "We don’t really do tipping here. Besides, it was lovely talking with you."
As Joanne stepped out, bags in hand, she felt oddly guilty—as if she’d walked away with more than she paid for. Not just the clothes, but the kindness, the honesty, the quiet magic of that little shop.
She walked over to Jeffrey and nudged his knee gently. "Sleeping Beauty, wake up. We’re done."
He blinked awake. "I’ll pay."
"I already did," she grinned. "We can go."
He stretched with a groggy smile, nodding toward Cynthia in thanks as they left.
On the walk back, Joanne couldn’t stop talking about Cynthia—her shop, her story, her values. She was glowing with admiration.
Jeffrey just smiled, hands in his pockets.
He had known Joanne would love the place. Heather, his ex, had taken one look at the boutique, checked the price tags, and walked out. "I don’t wear cheap clothes," she had said, nose in the air.
But Joanne?
Joanne saw the heart in the stitching, the story behind the fabric. She saw value, not just price.
And to Jeffrey, that made her more beautiful than any dress in the world.
-----
That evening, Jeffrey brought her to the shooting grounds—a clearing tucked behind the estate, where the golden hush of dusk met the sharp scent of gunpowder. It was the first time all day she looked like she truly breathed.
She’d missed that scent. Something gritty, something grounding. It wasn’t just nostalgia—it was muscle memory, a little slice of home. She inhaled deeply, and a subtle smile curled at her lips.
The staff were already assembled, polite and welcoming. They handed her a shotgun as gently as one might offer a violin to an eager child—supportive, but not expecting much music.
The butler, a kind-eyed man with years etched into the lines of his face, offered her earmuffs. "To protect your hearing, miss. She’s a loud one."
Joanne accepted them with a small smile, then handed them right back. "I’ll be fine," she said. Calm. Certain.
There was a pause. The staff exchanged glances. Their kindness didn’t falter, but she could see it—the quiet doubt, the careful tiptoeing around the delicate lady with the unfamiliar hands.
"You can handle the recoil," one of them reassured quickly, as if fearing they might offend her. "Don’t worry, just keep your eye on the clay."
Joanne’s smile deepened—grateful for their sweetness, but amused nonetheless. They didn’t know. Of course they didn’t.
She stepped into position with an ease that made Jeffrey’s chest tighten just a little. He said nothing, just crossed his arms and leaned against a post, watching.
"Pull," she said.
The clay pigeon screamed into the air.
Crack.
The shot rang through the field. The pigeon exploded mid-flight into a powdery bloom. She lowered the gun with practiced grace, like it was no more than an afterthought.
"Little faster than a wild hog," she said with a shrug, "but I’ll take it."
Silence.
A low whistle broke the quiet. One of the men blinked like he’d seen a ghost. Another chuckled softly, unsure if he should be impressed or apologetic.
Joanne tried—really tried—not to smirk. Back home, she’d hunted hogs in the biting cold before dawn, sprinting through fog-drenched woods, every step laced with tension and sweat. Compared to that, this was child’s play.
"Again?" she asked, cocking her head.
The butler nodded, already loading the next round.
Another pull. Another sharp shot.
Crack. Dust.
A few rounds later, she blinked, shook her head slightly. "Okay, maybe I forgot how loud these things are."
She took the earmuffs with a grin. "Just needed to warm up."
They all erupted into laughter.
By the time she stepped back, the group had changed completely. The patronizing gentleness was gone, replaced with something far more respectful—something that looked a little like awe.
Jeffrey, still silent, finally let out a laugh. "You might not believe this," he said, his voice rich with pride, "but she’s got an arsenal back home. Locked and catalogued. I’ve seen it."
Several faces turned to her with wide eyes. A few raised brows. A lady who was going to marry into the Winchester family, with an arsenal? That wasn’t exactly tea-and-biscuits talk.
Joanne handed the shotgun back like she’d just borrowed a rake from the shed. "Thanks," she said, brushing her palms on her jeans. "That was fun."
One of the men opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Another just nodded in respect.
As they walked back toward the estate, twilight soaking into the edges of the world, Jeffrey leaned in with a grin.
"You just scared the life out of a bunch of grown men in under five minutes."
Joanne bumped her shoulder into his. "You were enjoying it more than I did." Honestly, he was cheering her on from her side with so much enthusiasm. She knew he wanted to brag about her so badly.
"I did," he smiled, a twinge of childishness on that refined face of his. "You forgot to tell them you’ve got better aim than me," he said.
"I’m trying to be modest," she said sweetly.
He laughed again and looked at her, like really looked at her—and in that moment, it was clear: he loved her in boots, in silk, in laughter, in silence. She was the kind of woman who could light up a boutique in the afternoon and silence a shooting range by sunset.
And somehow, she made it all look effortless.
"Ugh..." Joanne winced, one hand instinctively flying to her lower abdomen.
Jeffrey immediately straightened beside her. "What is it?"
She exhaled slowly, her voice laced with mild annoyance at her own body. "My period... I think it just started."
She felt a wave of frustration wash over her, a sentiment that any woman might easily understand. She had never been one to rely on birth control pills, believing in a more natural approach to her body’s rhythms. Yet, she couldn’t shake the annoyance of her body choosing this moment—when she was finally ready to relax and enjoy herself.
Jeffrey’s brows lifted—just a flicker—but enough that she caught it.
Was that disappointment?
She narrowed her eyes, suppressing a teasing smile. Really? Was he that bummed they wouldn’t be able to "sleep" together? This man was so charmingly transparent sometimes—it was almost cute. Almost.
But she misread him.
Jeffrey wasn’t disappointed for that reason. Not entirely.
There was a flicker of something heavier in his chest, a softness that settled like dust in a quiet corner of his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure where it came from, for he hadn’t let himself think that far ahead. But the moment she said it, the first thought that whispered through his mind was:
She’s not pregnant.
And for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, that thought hurt. A small pang, gentle but unmistakable.
He didn’t want that yet, did he?
Not officially. Not logically. But a part of him—buried beneath sarcasm and charm and all the years he spent pretending not to care—felt the ache of a future that wasn’t arriving.
He looked at her then, really looked, and saw her trying to read him, trying to decide if he was just being a man about it.
So, he smiled. Not wide. Just enough.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "I’ll be... It’s just some cramps. Nothing I haven’t handled before."
Jeffrey stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly over her back. "Want to head back? I’ll make you tea. Or find you chocolate. Or—whatever’s in the emergency girlfriend survival kit."
Joanne laughed softly. "You’re ridiculous."
"And yet... beloved."
She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder. "You’re not so bad."
"You love me..."
"Yes... Dearly..." She said.
He sounded normal, but she could feel some quiet in him that hadn’t been there before.
And Jeffrey? He didn’t say another word about it. He just walked beside her, hand warm against her back, already cataloging what painkillers they had in the room and wondering if he should find a pharmacy open this late.
Because even if the ache in his chest didn’t quite make sense...
The only thing that mattered now was making her feel okay.
-----
The next morning dawned soft and golden, the sky outside dappled with streaks of sun-drenched clouds. Joanne felt lighter—despite the cramps, despite everything. She was excited.
It wasn’t just about the Wimbledon, or the dresses, or the grand English estate bustling with servants and silver trays. It was the little things. The stolen glances with Jeffrey. The way he had tried to soothe her the night before without making a fuss. The feeling of being seen... and cared for.
She got dressed in one of the guest rooms, deliberately not using the suite she shared with Jeffrey. Today felt like a day to make an entrance.
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