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I feel a flicker of tension in the air. The awkwardness of the moment grows, and I notice the way Jack’s hands flex on the table. His knuckles whiten slightly, and his muscles tense as he leans back in his chair, his gaze narrowing just a little. He’s mad, and I can feel my own irritation rise in response. Of course, Ryan wouldn’t know who Jack is. He’s been living his own life, building his career, doing his own thing.

Meanwhile, Jack’s been living in the public eye for years, constantly in the media’s spotlight, but Ryan doesn’t seem tothink it’s a big deal. Maybe he’s just too out of touch with the world Jack lives in. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

The tension between Jack and Ryan becomes thick, like it’s hanging in the air, suffocating any casual conversation. My parents, thankfully, don’t pick up on the undercurrent of discomfort.

“I’ll recommend some of his movies,” Mom says. “You should watch them.”

“No, that’s okay.” Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t have much free time right now.”

Jack doesn’t help by remaining silent, his mouth set in a tight line.

I notice how Jack avoids looking at me now. Instead, his focus remains fixed on the table, his expression closed off, almost brooding. Soon, we move to dessert, and this time, thankfully, the conversation is no longer about me, Ryan, or Jack. My mom finds other interesting topics to discuss.

But among us three, the awkwardness drags on until dinner is finished. Jack, in a stiff, controlled manner, stands up, his posture rigid. “It was nice meeting you Ben, Flora,” he says, his voice polite. He turns to Ryan and nods, completely ignoring me.

The table stills as my parents finally catch on to the tension. By now, Jack is already at the door, letting himself out. I feel my heart sink as I stand up to follow him outside. I don’t know why, but I feel an urgent need to talk to him, to clear the air, to make sense of whatever this thing is between us. But when I step outside and call after him, he turns, raising an eyebrow.

“What is it, Mia?”

I swallow. Why exactly am I here chasing after him? I don’t have to explain anything to him. Who cares that he’s upset? I don’t.

“The kiss,” I say plainly, cutting through the tension. “You should never do that again.”

Jack shakes his head and bursts into a cold laugh. “Wow, Mia. You’re colder than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs carelessly. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about that kiss, Mia. That’s why you’ve not come by the cottage. You’re scared of how you’ll react.”

“Wake up, Jack,” I answer, lying through my teeth. He’s right. I’ve been thinking about the kiss, but I’ll burn before I tell him that. “I don’t want to be another trophy you stack up on your long list of conquests. I’m not interested in being some fleeting moment for you to add to your resume.”

My words come out harsher than I intend, but the raw honesty of them feels necessary. And as I say them, I realize how much I mean them. I can’t allow myself to fall into this trap with him, to let him treat me like all those other women he’s dated. I won’t let myself be just another person for him to use and toss aside when it’s convenient.

“It’s not about that,” he answers softly. “It’s about your almost-husband in there.” He nods toward the house. “Ryan, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course.” In the moonlight, he looks devilishly handsome; it almost steals my breath away. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to come between you and your high school sweetheart.”

He jerks his car door open and slides into the driver’s seat. Without another glance at me, he tears out of the driveway and down the road.

I stand there, watching him go, feeling a mix of emotions—anger, hurt, frustration—swirling in my chest. Jack’s gone, leaving me with nothing but the sound of my own breath, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Why am I even feeling this way? What’s going on with me tonight? Jackismy client. A famous celebrity who’s known for being with multiple women, all of them more sophisticated than me. Why would I even want him? He’s a jerk! My stomach twists.

Just as I turn to go back inside, I see Ryan standing on the top step, his arms folded. There’s a blank look in his eyes, and I don’t know what he’s thinking. Frankly, I’m not sure I care.

“Dinner went well?” He clears his throat.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Ryan, what do you want?”

He walks down the steps. “We need to talk.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about.”

“Oh, there’s a lot,” he says gently. “First, I owe you an apology. I?—”

I don’t want to deal with this right now. I’m exhausted from the emotions swirling around in my mind. “I’m tired, Ryan. Not tonight. Please.”