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“Yeah. I swear I—I don’t know.” I drag in a breath. “Fitz wants to cast me in this movie, but we’d be co-leads. Her manager just called saying she wants to see me on Friday.”

“Oh, so did you accept the role?”

“I want to, so I’m going to see her.”

Harry whistles. “As much as I’m skeptical about this, I think it’s about time. It’s time.”

I shove one hand into my pocket. “I don’t know how to feel, Harry, but I need an explanation. Though no matter what she says, I’m not sure I can forgive her.”

Harry sighs. “I think your dad can advise you better on the right thing to do.”

“Nah, I’m not telling him.” I shake my head. “Do you know how hurt my father was when she left? How hurt he still is? Let me find out what she wants first before I tell him anything.”

“Good idea,” he says somberly. “And Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Keep your chin up. Look where you got yourself without her. You don’t need her to hurt you anymore.”

This brings a smile to my face. “Thank you, Harry.”

I’m a little calmer now and can think more clearly, and to be honest, I’m a little upset. What does she want? It’s been years! But whatever it is, on Friday, I’ll finally be able to look her inthe eyes and tell her to go where the sun doesn’t shine and never contact me again.

“Oh my goodness. Is that me?”

At the sound of Mia’s voice, I freeze for a second before whirling to see her standing a few feet away, staring at the canvas. I didn’t hear her come in.

MIA

Istand frozen in Jack’s backyard, my eyes fixated on the finished painting a few feet away. It’s undeniably beautiful, captivating, and I can’t tear my gaze away from it. I know the face immediately, even though it looks almost like a dream version of me—more graceful, more poised, almost ethereal. But it’s me. I can feel my chest tighten as I take it in, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions flooding me.

Jack quickly steps forward and turns the painting away. I flinch, caught off guard by his swift movement, the feeling of being exposed lingering in the air between us.

“Jack,” I whisper, unable to keep the words from tumbling out. “Is that a picture of me?”

He meets my eyes for a brief moment before his expression hardens, and he shrugs it off. “No. It’s not. I think you’ve got a god complex if you see yourself in everything, Mia.”

I stare at him, confused and hurt by the dismissive tone in his voice. My heart sinks as he continues, “The person I drew is someone you don’t know, okay? So just forget about it.”

He seems angry, and seeing how we left things a week ago, I’m not surprised. I wish I could look at the canvas again, certain I was staring at an image of myself. But he said it wasn’t me, so maybe he’s right. Maybe I do have a god complex.

“What are you doing here?” He folds his arms across his chest, and I turn to him, reminding myself exactly why I’m here.

“First, I’m here to apologize for how I spoke to you at the dinner,” I say, holding his gaze. “It was wrong, and I should not have come at you like that. If you don’t feel a connection with any of the ladies, it’s not your fault.”

A small smile plays on Jack’s face, but he wipes it away with a shrug. “I guess I owe you an apology, too. I went off as well. I should not have. You’re trying your best. Thank you, Mia.”

The tension between us is still thick, but after the apology, I can’t help but feel a little lighter. Jack’s words linger in the air, and even though I’m still not entirely sure where we stand, I’m determined to push through.

I let out a small giggle, trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about your next date,” I say, walking toward him. “You can’t avoid that, can you?”

Jack leans back against the table, casually crossing his arms, but I can see the flicker of interest in his eyes. I know he’s not thrilled about this process, but I also know it’s something he feels he has to go along with. It’s what he promised.

I pull out the pink envelope where I’ve drafted everything about his next date and then hand it to him. He takes it from me, but doesn’t open it. At this point, I’m not even surprised.

I pull out my notes, flipping to the page I’ve been working on for his next date. “Your next date will be with Hayley Bentworth. She’s the owner of a fashion line who lives in Bardstown but travels around the country for her business. She’s rich, successful, and, honestly, exactly who you might be interested in,” I tell him, watching his reaction closely.

He shrugs. “Okay.”