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Violet & Jack: Chapter 2 – Taste Jack Stallings
October 29, 2024
After their first date, Violet considered her next steps carefully. She hadn’t even uconsidered dating until very recently, more than a year after she had moved out. Starting a new life had been time consuming and exhausting. She had not been on a date since college and she certainly had no experience with dating apps or dating middle-aged men. She had discovered the challenges unique to online dating. Sure it was easier to find people who might be a potential match, but she was terrible at small talk in general, let alone through text messages. Jack was the first person with whom she’s had great text conversations and has also wanted to meet in person. Though their first date had been awkward, she enjoyed their brief conversation enough to want to learn more. He had texted her as soon as she got home to tell her how much he wanted to see her again for more conversation. That’s how she found herself walking into a strange bar on a Tuesday night to meet for drinks and game 4 of the World Series.
The moment she stepped through the door, she felt countless male eyes turn toward her — were there any women here? She wasn’t used to being looked at like that. She wasn’t used to being single in public.
Her nerves spiked so sharply she went straight to the bathroom. She stood at the sink for a moment, breathing, reminding herself she could leave if she needed to. She didn’t owe anyone anything.
When she finally walked back out, she spotted Jack at a high‑top table near the bar, she was relieved to see Game 4 of the World Series on one of the big TVs nearby. He looked up, saw her, and smiled — that same warm, slightly shy smile from the first date. He had come directly from work and was wearing a button down shirt and pants.
When she got dressed that evening, she made a last-minute decision that surprised her. She smiled as put on her new socks that featured a large penis on each side. They were a small reminder of her meandering nursing journey as well as her sense of humor.
She slid onto the stool across from him.
They ordered drinks.
Then food.
Then another round.
And somewhere between the first sip and the second, the tension in her shoulders eased.
She watched the game raptly — every pitch, every swing, every shift in momentum. Even though her team wasn’t playing, baseball was baseball, and she couldn’t help herself. He noticed, and she could feel that he found it endearing.
Once the game settled into its rhythm, their conversation did too.
They talked about where they came from.
Jack told her he’d grown up in a rural area — small town, long roads, everyone knowing everyone. He’d moved to the city about ten years earlier.
She told him she’d lived in the northeast and had moved south fifteen years earlier to go to nursing school.
They talked about the city — how much they loved its diversity, its food, its neighborhoods, the way it felt big enough to breathe but small enough to belong.
At one point, she showed Jack her socks. He laughed with genuine surprise and delight.
A man sitting on his other side leaned over and complimented his glasses.
He turned back to her and said, “My friend makes fun of me and calls these my Dirk Diggler glasses.”
She giggled — at the Boogie Nights reference but also because she had found them a little silly looking, though she never would have said so. The moment felt light, easy, human.
The drinks kept coming.
The game wound down.
The room grew warmer, softer around the edges.
They talked about their careers and their educational backgrounds. Jack laughed when she mentioned her two bachelor degrees, and said, “I have two as well.”
They talked about the strange parallels between preaching and nursing.
They talked about religion — theology as well as practices. They talked about spiritual habits, rituals, the things that steadied them.
They talked extensively about death — gently, honestly, without flinching.
She spoke from the place inside her shaped by both personal and professional experience. She had her own stories of personal losses, and she had seen more than her share of death and grief working in a busy hospital for almost a decade, including throughout the COVID pandemic. He had visited the dying in hospitals and conducted numerous funerals. He also told her he’d lost his father in his early twenties.
Just the fact of it.
She didn’t ask for more.
When the game finally ended, they stood to leave.
Jack reached for her hand and led her out of the bar. His hand was warm and steady in the cool evening air.
When they reached her car, he stepped in close and pulled her toward him with a certainty that surprised her. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t overthink. She just let herself move with him.
The kiss started deep and only grew from there — a full, absorbing make‑out session, the kind she hadn’t had in years. Right away, their glasses got in the way and she pushed them up onto her head. But as the moment intensified — the shifting, the closeness, the way they were both a little buzzed and moving with less precision — she heard them hit the pavement behind her. The sound barely registered.
She stayed in the moment.
In the warmth of Jack.
In the way his arms held her.
In the way her own body leaned in without hesitation.
They continued kissing with increasing intensity; she lost track of time. Eventually she pulled back enough to breathe and crouched to pick up her glasses from where they’d fallen. She brushed them off with her thumb, slid them back on, and took a second to steady herself. They were both buzzed — not sloppy, just loose enough that everything felt a little louder, a little closer.
Jack gave her a small, crooked smile.
“Goodnight, Violet.”
She nodded, still catching her breath, and got into her car. She closed the door and sat there for a moment, letting the quiet settle. Her lips felt warm. Her head felt light. Her glasses were slightly smudged from the ground and from him.
She started the car.
Before she even reached the exit of the parking lot, her phone lit up with a text from Jack.
She didn’t open it.
She didn’t overthink it.
She just drove home — a little buzzed, a little dazed, and very aware that the night had gotten under her skin.