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Forty minutes later, we walk into the restaurant, and I scope out the host stand and who’s working it.

Damn. Hair pulled back so tight that her skin looks stretched unnaturally.

Burgundy lipstick. Black turtleneck. She looks like someone who’s not going to let us wrangle our way into using an expired reservation.

Turning to Jackson, I say, “Tell her Casteleone.”

“We’re taking the reservation?”

My shoulders bounce reflexively. “No point in letting it go to waste. It’s all about connections, and I don’t have them.”

He looks at the host and then says, “Wait here.” I love when he plays dirty. Makes me feel less alone down here. Jackson never misses a beat and marches straight ahead. I wish I were a fly nearby to hear how this plays out, but I keep my distance, thinking I’ll only cause more of an issue.

Swiping across the screen, she snaps in response, but then bothers to look up. That’s all I need—her to see how hot my boyfriend is. Yep, her tune quickly changes. We may be over an hour late, but if anyone can get us past this checkpoint, it’s Jackson . . . and all that sexiness.

He doesn’t flirt. Just stands there with his hands tucked in his pockets and that smirk I’m very familiar with seated in his expression as he answers what appears to be a barrage of questions.

Glancing my way, he gives me a wink. The host’s gaze cuts through the crowd to find me, pinning me to the spot with a look.

She then smiles at Jackson and hands two menus to a man standing behind her.

Jackson nods me over. I go, weaving through the others waiting for a table.

I’m expecting to follow somewhat hidden not to blow this for us since he got past the gatekeeper.

But that’s not Jackson’s style. He holds his hand out for me. When I reach the stand, the hostess smiles. “Have a nice dinner, Mrs. St. James.”

Taking Jackson’s hand, I pass her and reply, “Thank you.”

I follow them through the main dining room and farther down a hall of private rooms. We pass through a large doorway and enter an atrium bustling with more diners. It’s pretty with twinkling lights shining above like stars.

We’re shown our table against a wall of glass that overlooks a small garden on the other side. It’s so romantic with touches of greens and an iridescence to the glass tabletops. Jackson’s suspicions of the situation being more than business were confirmed

Our drink order is placed, and then Jackson lays the napkin across his lap and leans in. “Look at this place. Tell me that fucker didn’t have other plans in mind for you.”

I slide my hand across the table and hold it palm up. His gaze dips first, and then he places his hand over mine. “It doesn’t matter what his plans were. I’m here with you, exactly how it should be.”

He shifts forward. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing specific happened. I didn’t even make it to the lobby.

I just realized that what I considered a great opportunity for my career was not going to be good for us.

He seemed to be leaning in a different direction that felt more personal than business.

” He knows without me going into the details.

He knew already.

Jackson’s not the kind of guy to be jealous out of nowhere. He sensed it. I should have too, as soon as Casteleone showed up at our door. I won’t trade my integrity for a promotion. It makes me mad that I was put in that position.

Jackson says, “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

The sound of dishes being gathered and tables cleaned and the low hum of private conversation fill the atrium.

It’s airy but small enough to feel invested in the experience.

His grip on my hand tightens. “I’m sorry that you’ve worked so hard only to be in a position you felt you needed to protect yourself from. ”

“You were right. He said business and then pleasure, and red flags flew up. I didn’t want to be sitting at a restaurant with him when I could be curled up at home with you.”

That smile that wins my heart every time joins the fun, and his hands angle up. “Best of both worlds?”

“I’d say so, charmer. Not sure how you got her to give us the reservation using your own name, but I’m grateful.”

“I didn’t want to lie.”

He may not have wanted to lie, but I drop this little nugget. “She called me Mrs. St. James.”

I’ve never seen him blush, and he doesn’t know, but he does appear a little bashful. Holding two fingers up, he winks. “Okay, a little lie.”

My heart feels bigger, more open wide around him. And he continues to fill me with so much goodness. “I don’t mind.”

The server returns and sets our glasses before us. As soon as we place our order and are alone again, I lift my champagne flute to tap to his glass. “To us.”

“To . . .” He pauses, and then smirks. “I love you.”

Our glasses tap together just as I say, “I love you.”

The liquid just coats my lips when I hear, “Marlow . . . honey?”

When my gaze shifts to the woman heading my way, I spew what little I sipped. “Mom?”