“I admire his loyalty,” I say solemnly, then remember something. “Wait, so how did you find me?”
“Ah.” He resettles us in the chaise, his arm nestling me against his side. “So I’d hit a dead end in my search, but worse, I’d started to think you really didn’t want to be found. I worried I was being selfish, that if I did find you I might just end up screwing your life up all over again. So I paused to figure out my next move . . . and then the Olivia Sherwood interview came out.” He clasps my hand to his chest and squeezes. “I couldn’t help but think you were sending me a message? I nearly murdered Tom for not telling me about it.”
“Tom understood the assignment.”
He makes a frustrated noise. “I can’t decide if I’m annoyed that you two colluded behind my back or happy that you’re finally getting along.” He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, at that point I was out of options, so I had to play my ace.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I called Greg.”
“Of course Greg spilled the beans. I swear, that guy needs a muzzle.” I make a mental note to rename the villain in my book after Greg. “Though in this case, I suppose I owe him one.”
“Well, actually, it was your sister who answered the phone, and boy, did she rip me a new one,” Jack says, chuckling at the memory. “She chewed me out for a solid ten minutes about what a horrible human being I am and how I don’t deserve you.”
I wince. “Oof. Christine might be tougher than all the Siren women combined.”
“You’re not kidding. She told me—and I quote—that she’d ‘cut my balls off’ if I even considered coming back around before I’d gotten my shit together. And that I needed to be prepared to grovel.”
I smile and kiss the tip of his nose. “I don’t need groveling.”
“Oh no, she was very clear about the groveling, and I do not intend to piss her off further.” He is resolute. “She’s rather scary, your sister.”
“Yeah.” I smile fondly. “I love that about her.”
He brings our clasped palms to his lips and kisses the back of my hand. “So what do we do now?”
I hum. “I think maybe we just date like normal people who aren’t professional rivals or secretly plotting to take each other down.”
“Start over, then? What’s so funny?” he asks when I immediately start cracking up.
“Can you just imagine us on a first date? Talk about a disaster,” I say, wiping my eyes.
His brows knit. “Um, I’m feeling a little offended by how hard you’re laughing.”
I roll off him again and maneuver into a sitting position before sticking out my hand. “Hi, I’m Cassidy Sutton.”
He eyes me quizzically but plays along. “Jack Bradford.”
“So what do you do, Jack?”
He starts to speak, then stops, sheepish. “I’m actually between jobs at the moment.”
I feign surprise. “Wow, what a coincidence. Me too! You think maybe one of us should be gainfully employed?”
“I do have a small nest egg,” he says modestly. “And some ideas about my next move.”
“Phew.” I mock-wipe my brow. “So you can float me for a while as I write my book, then?”
He grins, getting into it now. “Sounds perfect, I’ve always secretly dreamed of being a househusband anyway. Speaking of kids, I hope you want them. I’m not getting any younger and my biological clock is ticking.”
I’ve created a monster. “I think this first date is going really well.”
He’s on a roll now. “Whatever you do, just don’t google me. I was recently involved in a bit of a tabloid scandal, and I wouldn’t want that to scare you off.”
“That’s so weird. Me too! This app that paired us up really knows what it’s doing.”
“I do have to warn you about one thing. I’m afraid you won’t think I’m much of a catch once you meet my family.”
I pretend to think about it. “Well, you’re super hot, so I think I can accept that trade-off.”
He laughs, his smile cranking up to an eleven. It’s blinding, stretching ear to ear, sunbeams shooting from his eyeballs. This smile is the eighth Wonder of the World.
“Here’s the thing,” I tell him once we’ve stopped snickering like schoolchildren. “I don’t want to start over. I’d rather pick up where we left off. Our story may be messy and unconventional, but it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade it.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I suppose if we can make it through all this, we can weather anything.”
Truer words have never been spoken. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that there’s merit to the old way of doing things. I’ve liked taking things slow, and I don’t want to skip past the good stuff. I want you to hold my hand and walk me home and kiss me good night. I want to keep learning new things about you. I want to look forward to things with you. I feel like that was working for us, don’t you?”
“Totally.” He clears his throat. “Speaking of taking things slow, I think you should move in with me.”
“Jaaack,” I groan at the sky.
He raises a palm. “Hear me out. This is absolutely not for my benefit, it’s a completely unselfish request.” I raise a skeptical brow. “Asher needs a mother.”
I exhale a laugh.
“I’m serious! The studies are clear: Children do better in two-parent households. What kind of father would I be if I let him start off life at a disadvantage?” Jack’s giving me some major puppy dog eyes of his own. “Also, okay fine, his dad would sure love to have you around.”
I take his chin between my fingers and kiss him, slow and tender. “You’re very sweet, and I appreciate your entirely selfless offer. Especially as I’m technically homeless.” I pull a face. “But this is where I’m supposed to be right now. Gran needs me, and besides, I have a book to finish.”
His eyes narrow like I’m very shifty indeed. “I think you just don’t want to live in my fancy apartment that you hate.”
“I do not hate your apartment!” I insist, then rethink that. “I do hate your oven, though.”
“Pretty sure the oven hates you.”
“Hardy-har.”
“What if I promise to do all the cooking?” He’s really weaponizing those puppy dog eyes now. I’m in big trouble.
“Still no.”
“In the nude.”
I laugh out loud. “Very tempting, but I’m still going to have to decline. For now,” I amend.
“Damn, I really thought that one would work.” He laces our fingers together, eyeing me speculatively. “I feel like I’d be getting a different answer if I lived in a brownstone.”
That one makes me hesitate, and he reads it all over my face.
He grins in triumph. “Brownstone. Got it.”
“Jack, do not go out and buy a brownstone.” As I say it, the ghost of Betty rolls over in her grave and I can practically hear her screech: Let him buy the brownstone!
“I won’t,” he says, nodding ever so slowly.
“Jack . . .” I say in a warning tone.
He grins, lowering his mouth to mine . . . and then I’m no longer saying much at all.
Epilogue
BESTSELLING AUTHOR CASSIDY SUTTON ON LIFE, LOVE, AND ROMANCE ACROSS GENERATIONS
BY NATALIA KIMURA FOR SIREN