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She snorts. “Sounds like narcissistic personality disorder. With a touch of performative charm.”

“Well, I’ll gladly write the case study.”

As we deboard and descend the stairs, Jack pauses at the bottom like he’s expecting a red carpet to roll out. Like a crowd should suddenly part and start cheering for his triumphant entrance. Instead, there’s Emma and Sam—his grumpyI-didn’t-want-to-be-hereface already in place—waiting in the truck.

“Where are the cars?” Jack asks, frowning like the world owes him a personal motorcade.

I roll my eyes. “You’re not in L.A. anymore, Jack. No one here cares that you’re famous. This—” I point to Sam’s truck “—is your ride. So get in or start walking.”

Emma slides out of the driver’s seat, her expression warm and graceful as always. “Jack Calloway, right? It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve seen most of your movies. I’m Emma.” She gestures toward Sam. “And this is my husband, Sam.”

Jack smirks, of course, but his tone is surprisingly respectful. “Thank you, Emma. Thank you, Sam.”

He reaches out to shake their hands, and I blink. He’s… being polite? Where was this version of him the whole flight?

“Thanks for coming to pick me up,” he adds, sounding genuinely grateful.

“You’re welcome,” Emma says with a soft smile, gesturing to the truck. “Please get in.”

Jack slides me a glance, smug and satisfied. “Told you people cared.”

I shoot Emma a glare, silently begging her not to encourage him. But she just winks at me, the traitor, and climbs into the passenger seat like this is all perfectly normal.

The drive into Bardstown is… long.

But it’s not the distance that gets me. It’s him.

Jack’s sitting behind me, sprawled out like royalty, one arm across the back of the seat, the other lazily fiddling with the window lever. His voice dips low every time he speaks to Brody, and for reasons I hate, I notice. I notice the way he looks out the window, not with the boredom I expected, but with this strange, thoughtful expression—like he’s trying to absorb it all. Like he’s seeing something he never realized he missed.

I don’t want to notice these things. I shouldn’t.

This man is my job. Not my problem.

When we finally pull up to the cottage, I brace myself. It’s not much, but it’s cozy and warm and full of charm. I hand-picked it for its privacy and the quiet that I figured Jack would immediately complain about.

But Jack surprises me again.

He steps out slowly, looks around, and then runs a hand along the wooden railing of the porch like it’s… familiar. Like it reminds him of something he can’t name.

He doesn’t say anything smug. Doesn’t roll his eyes. He just walks inside.

Leaving me standing there with too many questions and not enough answers.

Brody starts unloading the luggage, humming under his breath like he’s on vacation. Emma walks over, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets.

“Okay,” she says softly, “what’s your plan of attack?”

I glance toward the cottage. Jack’s shadow passes by the window, slow and steady.

“Honestly? No idea. Matchmaking isn’t exactly a paint-by-numbers thing. I’m still trying to figure out if he even has a soul.”

Emma laughs. “Well, good luck with that. I have to get back to the shop. It’s chaos in there without you. Mrs. Halvers keeps asking if you’ve eloped. Also, Sam’s on call—he needs to head to the station.”

I groan. “God help us.”

“Come by when you’re done here,” she says. “Everyone’s asking about you.”

We hug, and just like that, they’re gone. And I’m alone. Alone with him.