Love Rents A Room
Chapter 53: The Hollow Sting of Realization

Chapter 53: The Hollow Sting of Realization

Joanne took a step forward, closing the space between them. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of uncertainty and courage warring within her.

She had never been this bold before. Never been the one to take the lead, to lay herself bare like this. Vulnerability was foreign to her, terrifying and raw.

But how could she fall in love if she never reached for it?

Her breath caught as she took another step.

Jonathan’s blue eyes locked onto hers, and she saw the exact moment he realized what she was doing. His lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face, but he didn’t move forward.

He didn’t step back, either.

Joanne’s stomach tightened.

Was he waiting for her? Was he unsure?

She tilted her chin up, the distance between them vanishing to a whisper. But as she searched his gaze, her boldness wavered.

There was no heat. No anticipation.

Just understanding. And something else—something softer, hesitant.

Jonathan’s hand lifted, brushing against her elbow. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, but it wasn’t the kind she had hoped for.

He wasn’t pulling her closer.

He wasn’t rejecting her, either.

"Joanne..." His voice was quiet, almost careful.

Her breath hitched.

Something about the way he said her name made her chest ache.

The spark she was searching for—the one she was trying so desperately to summon—it wasn’t there.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She had put herself out there. And yet, all she felt was the hollow sting of realization.

Joanne forced a laugh, light and airy, even as her throat tightened around the lump of disappointment.

"Right," she murmured, stepping back as if she hadn’t just laid herself bare. "I should go. Don’t tell Charlotte I came to see you; she’ll cause a scene. I’ll see you at the Junior League commencement ceremony in two days. Bye!"

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t dare to look at his face.

Her legs carried her away before her heart had time to catch up.

By the time she reached the parking lot, her chest felt too tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. But she refused to cry. Not here. Not now.

She yanked the car door open and slid inside, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding her together.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She sucked in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly against the sting in her eyes.

The passenger door creaked open, and JD peeked in. His sharp gaze scanned her face, his brows drawing together in concern.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" His voice was low, but there was a tension in it, his hands clenched into fists as if he was seconds away from storming into the building and demanding answers. His eyes flickered toward the entrance, searching for Jonathan.

Joanne forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s nothing. Get in."

JD didn’t move. Instead, he watched her like his life depended on it. His life might as well depend on her moods and whims these days. He had turned pathetic; so pathetic and in love.

"Get out," he ordered after a moment.

Joanne’s smile faltered. "I said I’m fine."

"Whatever." His jaw flexed as he ignored her protest and reached for her seatbelt, unbuckling it in one swift motion.

"Hey!" she shouted, pushing his hands away.

JD didn’t care. "I’m driving. Get down." His voice was sharp, almost commanding.

Joanne scoffed, her temper flaring. "Why are you acting like this?"

But she got out anyway, slamming the door shut with a loud bang before storming to the passenger side. She threw him a glare as she sat down, crossing her arms tightly.

"Why aren’t you moving?" she snapped.

JD exhaled, his grip on the steering wheel loosening just slightly. "Seatbelt."

Something about the way he said it—calmer now, as if grounding himself—made her anger waver.

She let out a breath and clicked her seatbelt into place.

Without another word, JD stepped on the gas, the truck roaring to life as they sped away.

Behind them, Jonathan stood at the office balcony, his grip tightening on the railing as he watched the truck disappear down the road.

His jaw clenched. His chest ached with something uneasy.

His gaze lingered on the memory of Joanne, standing there with her heart in her hands, only to walk away with nothing.

Then, on JD—the way he had stormed over, pulled her away.

Jonathan exhaled slowly, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Why do you force yourself?" he murmured under his breath.

-----

JD had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, relieved when her mood started to lighten. By the time they reached the tailor’s, she was back to her usual self, chatting easily.

But JD hadn’t expected this.

The tailor was ancient.

The man looked well over eighty—probably pushing ninety—and JD couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t retired yet. How was he even still threading needles with those shaky hands?

But the moment the old man spoke, JD realized why Joanne had brought him here. Despite his age, the tailor carried an air of confidence, a presence that made even someone like JD listen. He knew his craft. Knew it well.

JD found himself mesmerized when the tailor brought out a deep grey silk with delicate, thin stripes. He ran his fingers over the material, feeling the richness beneath his touch.

"This one," JD said, almost without thinking.

Joanne smirked, as if she’d already known he’d choose that one.

JD had no idea what a custom suit like this would cost in a small town. Everything seemed cheaper here compared to the city, but high-quality fabric was high-quality fabric no matter where you were. Still, he wasn’t going to complain.

As the tailor took his measurements, JD caught a look in the old man’s eyes—something sharp, bordering on resentment.

"Why did it look like he hated you?" JD asked as they left.

Joanne chuckled, shaking her head. "You noticed?"

JD shrugged.

"It’s old history," she said, amusement dancing in her voice. "Back when the mafia and the mobs ruled these areas during Prohibition, the Smiths and the Carussos were enemies—big turf wars, bloodshed, all that drama..."

She continued, recounting stories of bootleggers, speakeasies, betrayals, and alliances that shaped the town’s past. JD listened, intrigued.

It reminded him of the stories his grandfather used to tell—tales of European nobility, royal bloodlines, wars fought over land, spice, and power. His family history was in textbooks, in records of battles and treaties. But Joanne’s story, though smaller in scale, mirrored the same themes—ambition, loyalty, revenge.

People were people, whether they were aristocrats or moonshiners. Human nature didn’t change.

They were halfway back when JD noticed the group of kids walking alongside the road.

The eldest boy couldn’t have been older than eleven. A little girl, maybe seven, clung to his hand. And in his arms—was that a toddler?

JD had seen kids playing outside before, but something about this felt wrong.

Joanne must have sensed it too because her voice came sharp and certain.

"Stop the car."