7. Jennifer
Chapter 7
Jennifer
M y heart lurches, then starts racing at an alarming pace against my ribs.
Anna's voice breaks through the fog in my mind, high-pitched and excited. “Jack! Welcome! Please come in!”
He steps inside, and I can't resist drinking in every detail of him. He looks infuriatingly perfect—his dark hair slightly messy, his bright eyes sparkling with life. The blue sweater he's wearing fits snugly over his muscular form, causing my throat to go dry.
Out of the blue, a memory flashes through my mind:
Felix, standing in our bedroom doorway, his face a mask of feigned remorse. “It didn’t mean anything, Jenn. You have to believe me.”
The echo of my own broken sobs rings in my ears, and I have to shake my head to dispel the image.
As Jack takes in all the Christmas decorations around him, his eyes widen in awe for a moment. He almost looks like a boy, and I hate how my heart responds to that image. No. I won't let myself be fooled again.
“Wow. This is... amazing. You've really outdone yourself.”
His rich, warm voice, reminiscent of aged whiskey, stirs a storm inside me. Anger, pain, and frustration swirl together into a toxic mixture that has been brewing for weeks. Underneath it all, there’s a traitorous spark of desire I can’t seem to extinguish.
Unwelcome memories flood my mind once again. Only this time, my mind brings back his touch on my skin, his lips on my body, the way he made me feel... I clench my fists so hard that my nails dig into my palms as I try to push those images away.
In an instant, Jack's eyes flick over to me as if sensing my gaze. They widen in recognition and then darken with an intensity that steals my breath and freezes me in place.
Anna says something to him, but he doesn't seem to hear her. His focus is entirely on me as he crosses the room, each step sending jolts of electricity through me.
He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—that irresistible combination of spice and pine that has been haunting my dreams.
”Princess,” he breathes, the nickname sliding off his tongue like a delicate touch.
That one word shatters my paralysis. Rage takes over, burning hot and fierce. How dare he? How dare he use that name, implying that there was ever any intimacy between us when it was all a lie?
Without thinking, I grab a nearby cocktail and fling it at him. The crimson liquid splatters across his perfectly chiseled features, dripping down his chin and staining his blue sweater. “Don't you dare 'Princess' me,” I seethe. “You lying, cheating bastard.”
Jack blinks, droplets clinging to his long lashes, his expression a mix of shock and... something else I can't quite decipher.
Anna gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief.
Meanwhile, I stand there with an empty glass still clutched in my trembling hand, my chest heaving with emotions towards the man who shattered my heart.
The Christmas lights twinkle innocently above us, providing a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. As the red liquid slowly drips down Jack's jawline, a part of me feels satisfied for standing up to him, while another part mourns the connection that never truly existed between us.
Peter bursts in from the kitchen, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “What the—”
Anna rushes to my side, her jingle bell earrings tinkling discordantly. “Jenn, what's wrong? What happened?”
I can't tear my gaze from Jack's face. His eyes burn into mine, unblinking. He doesn't flinch, doesn't back down. It only stokes the inferno raging inside me.
“What's wrong?” I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that scrapes my throat. “What's wrong is that you've invited a lying, cheating bastard into your home.”
I turn to Peter, my voice dripping with venom. “You should know, Peter. Your colleague here? He's the worst kind of man there is.”
Peter's brow furrows in confusion. He grabs a handful of napkins, offering them to Jack with a mumbled, “I'm so sorry.”
The gesture ignites a fresh wave of fury within me. Sorry? He's sorry? To him?
“Don't apologize to him,” I spit. “He's the one who should be sorry.”
Anna's grip on my arm tightens. “Jenn, honey, what are you talking about? How do you know Jack?”
I huff out a breath, my lips curling into a cynical smirk. “Oh, we go way back. All the way to last month, in fact.”
I turn to Anna. “Remember that guy from the club?” The one who made me feel things I'd never felt before? The one who tied me up in the stairwell and fucked me senseless, I scream in my head.
Anna's eyes widen, her hand flying to her mouth. “No, you mean...”
“That's right,” I nod, my gaze sliding back to Jack.
He's still watching me, his expression unreadable as he dabs at his face with the napkins. “Meet your perfect match, Anna. The Christmas Prince himself.”
Anna gasps, her head whipping between Jack and me. “But... but that can't be right. Jack's not—”
“Not what?” I interrupt, my voice rising. “Not the type to seduce a woman and then go home to his girlfriend? Not the kind of guy who'd make you feel special, wanted, or desired, only to turn around and call another woman 'Honey'?”
The words pour out of me, a torrent of pain and anger I've been holding back for a month. I can feel the others' stunned gazes, but I can't stop. Won't stop. The dam has broken, and I'm drowning in the flood.
“Well, newsflash, Anna. He is exactly that type. So congratulations on your matchmaking skills. You've managed to find the one man in New York who could make me feel even more worthless than I already did.”
I finish, chest heaving, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the cheerful tinkling of “Jingle Bells” from some godforsaken decoration.
And through it all, Jack just stands there, his eyes never leaving mine, a storm brewing in their depths.
Suddenly he breaks his motionless stance and turns to Anna, his eyes softening in a way that makes my stomach churn. “Anna, could I have a moment with the princess?”
Princess . That damn endearment again. I cringe, scowling at the warmth that threatens to bloom in my chest. Get it together, Jenn. He's playing you. Again.
Anna's eyes narrow with suspicion, and I can't help but feel a surge of warmth towards her as she steps between us. “Is what Jennifer says true? Did you deceive her like a heartless bastard?” Her voice is firm, laced with barely contained anger. “Don't even think about messing with me. Tell the truth.”
I can't hide the smirk that tugs at my lips. Got you now, asshole.
But Jack remains unfazed. His gaze remains steady as he replies, “Yes, I'm the guy from the club last month. But there seems to have been a big misunderstanding that I need to clear up with your friend.”
Then he leans in and whispers something to Anna that I can't hear, and suddenly she looks different. Her face loses its anger and changes to something else.
“Peter,” she calls out. “Let's give them some privacy. We'll be in the kitchen if you need us, Jenn.”
What. The. Actual. Hell.
“Anna!” I shout, panic rising in my throat. “You can't be serious. He's lying.”
But she just turns and walks away with a small smile on her face. “Trust me, sweetie. Listen to him.” And then they disappear into the kitchen together.
I stand there in disbelief, feeling utterly betrayed by Anna's sudden change of heart. How could she switch sides so easily? What did he say to her?
Before I can process this new betrayal, Jack shifts his focus back to me. The intensity in his eyes hits me like a tangible force, instantly transporting me to that stairwell.
No . I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of desire that threatens to cloud my judgment. I won’t let him manipulate me again.
“Whatever game you're playing,” I hiss, backing away, “I'm not interested.”
But Jack doesn't back down. He takes a step closer, his voice low and husky. “No games, Princess. Just the truth. If you'll let me explain.”
My back hits the wall, and suddenly he's there, caging me in with his arms. The scent of him—spice, pine, and man—overwhelms my senses. I'm trembling, caught between the urge to knee him in the groin and the traitorous desire to pull him closer.
“Why should I believe anything you say?” I whisper, hating how breathless I sound.
A dark intensity fills his eyes, and for a moment, I feel the familiar pull of desire that consumed us both that night.
“Because,” he murmurs, his lips mere inches from mine, “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night. And I'm pretty sure you haven't been able to stop thinking about me either.”
I scoff, trying to ignore the way my heart races at his nearness. “Thinking about you? Please. I erased you from my memory the moment I caught you with your girlfriend.”
My words come out harsh, but I don't care because he crushed my last bit of hope in finding an honest man.
“So stop with the lies,” I snap, pushing against his chest. “You're only upset because you lost your easy lay.”
His hand shoots out and grips my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Don't ever call yourself that. What we had that night was real. Every. Damn. Second.”
I scowl, trying to ignore the shiver his touch sends through me. “Real? My ass.”
The sudden smirk tugging at the corner of his lips catches me off guard. “Speaking of your ass,” he murmurs, “it's one of the many things I can't forget about you. Along with those little sounds you made when I—”
“Shut up,” I hiss, heat flooding my cheeks.
We fall into a tense silence, our eyes locked in a wordless battle. There's something in his gaze that throws me off-balance, something that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“I looked for you that night,” he says softly. “When you didn't come back, I searched the entire club. Three times.”
For a split second, I almost believe him. Almost. But I've learned the hard way not to trust sweet words and intense gazes.
“How sweet,” I drawl, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Did your girlfriend help with the search party?”
“She probably wouldn't have,” he says slowly, “if I had a girlfriend. Which I don't.”
“Liar.” I try to break away from him. But his arms are like iron bars, keeping me caged against the wall.
“Jennifer. Please, just listen to me.”
“Listen and succumb to your lies again? No thanks.”
“Dammit,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “What happened between us that night wasn't fake. It was real, raw, and fucking incredible.”
“How can you say that after what I saw and heard with my own eyes and ears?”
Confusion crosses his face as he furrows his brow. “What exactly did you see and hear that convinced you I have a girlfriend?”
The question sets me off again. He thinks I'm the fool here? Fine. Let's spell it out for him.
“You want a play-by-play?” I snarl, my voice dripping with venom. “After our... encounter, I ran into Anna. Told her about the nice man I'd met.” I laugh bitterly at the memory. “Then I went to find you, like you'd asked. And where do I find you? At the bar, with your back turned to me.”
Jack's grip on my arm loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go. His intense gaze remains fixed on me as I recount what happened next.
“That's when this gorgeous blonde walks up to you,” I say, the scene playing out in my mind like a twisted movie. “She asks why you weren't home. And then you called her 'Honey' in that adoring voice of yours and told her you were sorry and that something came up and time slipped away from you.”
I look at him, daring him to talk his way out of it. But instead of looking caught, his expression is painful. He curses under his breath, then reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. The tenderness of the gesture only adds to the turmoil of emotions inside me.
“Just to clarify,” he speaks softly. “You think I have a girlfriend because I called her 'Honey'?”
When I nod, he sighs deeply before speaking again, “The blonde woman you saw? She's my stepsister.”
I blink, struggling to process his words. “Your... stepsister?”
“Yes.” His eyes never leave mine. “Tall, curvy, leggy blonde? Blue eyes? Looks like she could be a model.”
His description matches perfectly, and I nod in disbelief.
“That's her,” Jack states with a slight smirk. “My stepsister.”
“Bullshit. Why would you call your stepsister 'Honey'? That's just weird.”
His smirk widens as he grabs my wrists and holds them between us. “It would be strange,” he admits, “if that wasn't her actual name.”
I freeze, my mind reeling. “Her... her name is Honey?”
A twinkle of amusement sparkles in his eyes. “Honey Daniels. My stepsister.”
I stare at him as my skepticism kicks in, refusing to let go of the hurt and anger I've been holding onto for weeks.
“Right,” I scoff, pulling my arms free and crossing them in front of me. “And I'm the Queen of England.”
His jaw clenches, creating a defined line along his square jaw. “Need more proof? Fine.”
He takes a step back and quickly fishes out his phone from his pocket. I watch as he furiously taps the screen, then holds it up for me to see. The speaker crackles to life as it rings.
“Answer the damn phone,” he mutters under his breath, but it goes to voicemail. He groans in frustration, his hand running through his dark hair.
I raise an eyebrow skeptically, ready to throw another snarky comment his way when a woman's voice fills the air.
“Hey, you've reached Honey! I'm probably off doing something fabulous, so leave a message if you want me to grace you with a callback. Ciao!”
My stomach drops at the sound of her voice. It's the same blonde from the bar who Jack claimed is his stepsister. My mind races to make sense of this new information, but my cynicism kicks in as a defense mechanism.
“So what?” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. Even as the words leave my mouth, I can't ignore the small glimmer of hope that's started to take root. Could it really be true? Could he be telling the truth about Honey?
My mind races, the logical part of me still clinging to the cynicism that has protected me for so long. This could all be an elaborate ruse, another cruel trick to get me to let my guard down. The memory of Felix's betrayal flashes through my mind, a bitter reminder of the pain I've endured.
I chance a glance at Jack, and the frustration and determination I see in his expression gives me pause. This isn't the smooth-talking charmer from the club – this is a man who seems genuinely invested in proving his sincerity. But can I really trust that? After everything I've been through, how can I be sure he's not just another skilled manipulator?
"You could have set that up," I argue, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "It doesn't prove anything."
He looks frustrated and determined all at once. “I'll prove you wrong, Princess.”
The conviction in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. Part of me wants to believe him, to let go of my cynicism and take a chance. But the memory of past pain lingers in my mind, like a shadow that follows me everywhere I go.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Look, we should probably get to dinner. Anna put a lot of effort into this, and I don't want to ruin it any more than I already have. I can be civil for a few hours. But after that, we go our separate ways. For good.”
Jack steps closer, his cologne engulfing me once again. “That's not happening,” he murmurs, his voice low and intense. “I'm not letting you walk away from this... from us.”
I prepare to argue back when Anna's head pops around the corner, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”
I plaster on a fake smile, ignoring the way my heart races at Jack's proximity. “Just peachy, Anna. We're coming,” I say through gritted teeth before pushing past him and making my way towards the dining room.
Anna and Peter's gazes flit between us, their eyes filled with unspoken questions as we enter. Before I can say anything, Jack speaks.
“Anna, Peter, this table looks incredible. I can't wait to taste everything.”
I roll my eyes. “Smooth talker,” I mutter under my breath.
Anna comes my way and gently but firmly guides me to a corner of the room. “Spill,” she whispers, her eyes wide with curiosity. “How did it go?”
I snort, crossing my arms. “Oh, it went great. Prince Charming over there tried to convince me his 'girlfriend' is actually his stepsister. Named Honey, of all things. Can you believe it?”
To my surprise, Anna's brow furrows. “Well... why couldn't that be true?”
I stare at her, disbelief coursing through me. “Are you kidding me? It's the oldest trick in the book, Anna. Next, he'll be telling me he has a bridge to sell me in Brooklyn.”
Anna's lips purse, her expression thoughtful. “I don't know, Jenn. Maybe you should give him a chance to explain.”
“I've given him enough chances,” I glance over at Jack, who is chatting with Peter and looking far too at ease for my liking. “I'm going to endure this dinner, and then we're done. For good.”
We take our seats, Jack sitting across from me. His gaze focused on mine, and I quickly look away, focusing on the appetizer in front of me.
“I have an idea,” Anna says, and I can see the enthusiasm in her eyes. “Let's all share something we're grateful for.”
I can't help but snort. “It's not Thanksgiving, Anna.”
“Jennifer,” she scolds me, her tone sharp. “Don't be rude.”
Heat rises to my cheeks as she begins talking about her gratitude for friends and family. Peter follows suit, his words sweet and genuine. Then it's Jack's turn, and I braced myself.
“I'm thankful for unexpected encounters.” He looks directly at me. “The kind that shakes up your world and makes you see things differently.”
For a moment, I’m transported back to the club, feeling the electricity of our first touch. I angrily stab at my salad while repeating in my head: Don't fall for it, Jenn. He's playing you.
“Jack,” Anna interrupts my thoughts. “Tell us more about your volunteer work with the youth organization. It sounds fascinating.”
I can't resist looking up, curiosity getting the best of me, only to see Jack's face soften and a warmth enter his eyes.
“It's close to my heart,” he admits quietly but passionately. “My father passed away when I was three, and I know how much having a positive male role model can mean to a kid.”
Jack's eyes shine with genuine passion as he talks about the kids he mentors. For a moment, I'm taken back to my own childhood:
A much younger me, sitting alone on a playground swing, watching other kids laugh with their fathers. The ache in my chest, a longing for something I'd never had.
I blink, surprised by the sudden lump in my throat. Maybe Jack and I have more in common than I thought.
As Jack regales Anna and Peter with another anecdote from his youth work, I find myself watching him intently. His eyes light up as he speaks, his hands gesturing animatedly. I’m struck by how different he seems from the smooth operator I met at the club.
“So there's Tommy, covered head to toe in flour, looking like a ghost,” Jack chuckles, his deep laugh sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “And he just looks at me and says, 'I think we need more eggs.'”
Anna and Peter burst into laughter, and I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. There's a warmth in Jack's voice when he talks about these kids, a genuine care that I hadn't expected. It's... endearing, and I find myself wondering if this is the real Jack—not the suave charmer from the club, but this passionate, caring man.
As Peter launches into a story of his own misadventures in baking, I notice Jack's gaze flick towards me. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and the intensity I see there makes my breath catch. It's the same look he gave me that night in the stairwell, a mixture of desire and something deeper, something that scared me then and, if I'm honest, still scares me now.
I quickly look away, focusing on my plate. My mind is whirling. How can this be the same man I thought had played me? The Jack I see tonight fits so poorly with the image I’ve built up in my head over the past month. This man is funny, intelligent, and clearly devoted to his work. The way Anna and Peter have taken to him so quickly... it’s hard to reconcile with the idea of him being a player.
But then I remember Honey, the blonde at the bar. Jack's explanation about her being his stepsister nags at me. Could it be true? The cynical part of me wants to dismiss it outright, but another part—a part I've been trying to ignore—whispers that maybe, just maybe, I've misjudged him.
“Jenn?” Anna's voice cuts through my thoughts. “You okay? You've been quiet.”
I blink, realizing I've been lost in my own head. “Sorry, just... thinking.”
“About what?” Jack asks, his voice soft and curious.
Our eyes meet again, and for a moment, I consider telling him. Laying out all my doubts, my fears, my confusion. But the vulnerability terrifies me, so I deflect.
“Just wondering how you managed to survive that baking disaster,” I say, forcing a light tone. “Sounds like you're a menace in the kitchen”
He grins, accepting my deflection with grace. “Oh, you have no idea. I'm a disaster with anything more complicated than a microwave.”
As the conversation flows on, I can't shake the feeling that I'm standing on a precipice. On one side is the safety of my cynicism, my carefully constructed walls. On the other... well, that's the terrifying part. I don't know what's on the other side. But as I watch Jack laugh with Anna and Peter, I think back to the day I met Felix, his charming smile and smooth words. “You’re different from other girls, Jenn. Special.” The same words he’d probably used on his secretary.
I grip my glass tighter, trying to quell the rising panic. But Jack isn't Felix. Is he?
I force a smile as Jack finishes his story about Tommy, trying to push away the warm feeling in my chest. His passion is... intoxicating. No, stop it, Jenn. You're not falling for this again.
“The kids adore you, Jack,” Peter exclaims, his eyes shining with admiration.
Jack chuckles. “Look who's talking. I swear, from the moment you walked in the kids liked you. And now everytime you talk about Anna, and the fun things you do, the kids hang on your lips.”
Anna smiles, her hand finding Peter's on the table. “Oh, stop it,” she giggles, but the rosy flush on her cheeks gives away her happiness.
“It's truly heartwarming,” Jack says, his gaze sweeping over the couple. “To see such genuine love between two people. How did you two meet?”
As Anna begins to share their romantic story, her eyes light up with joy. But as I listen to her words, a familiar ache fills my chest. It's the longing for something I'm not sure I'll ever have.
“I just wish my best friend could experience that kind of love.” Anna sighs, shooting a pointed look in my direction. “Jennifer hasn't had much luck in the romance department.”
Heat rushes to my face as I shoot Anna a glare.
“Anna!” I hiss, feeling mortified and vulnerable under their pitying gazes. “That's not appropriate dinner conversation.”
But Jack leans forward, his eyes focused on me. “Really? And what was Jennifer's worst relationship, according to you?”
“Oh, Felix was the absolute worst,” Anna laments with a sympathetic tone, and I shrink into my chair.
“He swept Jenn off her feet, you know? All grand gestures and promises of forever.”
I bite my lip until I taste copper. Images of Felix’s charming smile flash through my mind, quickly followed by the horror that still churns my stomach.
“They were together for two years,” Anna continues on, oblivious to my discomfort. “Jenn truly believed he was The One. They even talked about getting married.”
Jack's eyes lock onto mine from across the table, his expression intense and impossible to read.
“But then,” Anna lowers her voice to a whisper, “Jenn decided to surprise him one day by coming home early. And well...”
Not wanting to hear more, I push away from the table with a screech of my chair against the floor. “I need some fresh air,” I mutter, quickly escaping the dining room and ignoring the concerned calls behind me.
The cool night air hits my face as I step onto the concrete of the backyard, and I greedily gulp it down, trying to calm my racing heart. Footsteps approach, and I tense, expecting Anna's apologetic babble. But the presence behind me is too strong, too intense to be my well-meaning friend.
Keeping my gaze fixed on the cold concrete walls, I speak without turning. “If you've come to offer sympathy, don't bother. I've had enough of that for a lifetime.”
Jack's body radiates heat like a furnace as he moves closer, and I have to stop myself from leaning into his warmth.
“I didn't come here to pity you,” he murmurs. “I came to tell you that Felix was an idiot.”
“Well, thanks, but you have no idea,” I retort, my voice shaky.
“I know what you're feeling. I've been there,” he says softly, his tone tinged with pain. “My wife of five years… she cheated on me. On our anniversary, of all days.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I turn, searching his face for any sign of deceit, but all I see is honesty and raw anguish. “It's unforgivable,” he continues, his voice hardening. “If you're unhappy in a relationship, have the decency to end it. Cheating… it's a cowardly way out.”
The conviction in his voice leaves me stunned. It's like looking into a mirror, seeing my own hurt and anger reflected back at me. For the first time since that night at the club, I feel a spark of something dangerous. Hope.
I take in his features, the moonlight casting shadows over his face, emphasizing the tension in his jaw and the slight furrow between his brows. In that moment, I see beyond his charming facade and catch a glimpse of a man who might understand the scars I carry better than I'd like to admit.
Meeting Jack's intense gaze, filled with raw emotion, makes me swallow hard. It would be so easy to give in, to let myself fall. But the memory of Felix's betrayal rises up like acid in my throat, a painful reminder of why I've kept my defenses up for so long.
“I don't know what to believe anymore,” I confess, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
Jack steps closer, his warmth enveloping me. “Then don't believe,” he murmurs, his breath teasing my skin. “Just feel.”
His words are tempting, but my mind is still torn between doubt and desire.
“How can I trust my feelings when they've led me astray before?” I ask.
Jack's jaw clenches, but then his expression softens. He reaches out, fingers ghosting along my cheek. “It was not a move, Jennifer. What happened between us that night… I've never experienced anything like it.”
The intensity in his eyes, the slight tremor in his touch… it feels real. Dangerously, intoxicatingly real.
“I want to believe you,” I whisper, surprised by my own honesty. “But I've been burned before. Badly.”
Jack nods, understanding in his eyes. “I'm scared too,” he confesses. “Scared that I'll mess this up, that I'll lose you before I even have a chance to get to know you.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and possibility. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to trust him, to let down my walls.
“I can't promise I won't make mistakes,” Jack continues. “But I can promise that I'll always be honest with you. That I'll never intentionally hurt you. And that I'll do everything in my power to prove that your trust in me isn't misplaced.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. “I want to believe that,” I whisper. “I want to trust you.”
His fingers brush my cheek again, and I lean into his touch, the warmth of his skin both thrilling and terrifying. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to give in, to trust him, to feel…
Then reality crashes back. I jerk away, heart pounding. “I'm sorry,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself. “I can't… I just can't.”
I brace myself for anger or frustration, but Jack's voice is soft, almost tender. “Okay. Then I'll wait.”
My head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”
A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “You heard me, Princess. I'll wait until you're ready.”
Before I can process this, he gestures towards the house. “We should probably head back inside. Don't want to worry our hosts.”
I nod, my mind whirling with confusion and surprise. My feet move mechanically as we make our way back to the house, my thoughts still caught up in his unexpected response.
As we step through the doorway, Anna rushes towards me, her face a picture of concern. “Jenn, I'm so sorry. I was just-”
I raise my hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. A small, reassuring smile tugs at my lips. “It’s okay. I know you meant well.”
Eager to change the subject, I ask, “So what's for dessert?”
Anna's eyes light up, and her lips curl into a proud grin. “My famous cheesecake.”
“Oh I can't wait to taste that,” Jack chimes in, brushing past us on his way to the dining room.
We gather around the table, forks poised over slices of Anna's renowned cheesecake. Jack takes a bite and his eyes widen in delight. He swallows and launches into a story about a disastrous baking attempt that has us all in stitches. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and I find myself drawn in by his animated gestures and playful tone.
“Oh, come on,” I argue, surprising myself with how easily I fall into the banter. “You can't possibly think cheesecake beats a good old-fashioned chocolate cake.”
Jack gasps in mock horror. “Blasphemy! Cheesecake is clearly superior in every way.”
As we playfully debate dessert merits, a memory flashes through my mind. The bar, that night. How effortlessly we'd fallen into conversation, trading quips and stories like we'd known each other for years. It was one of the reasons I'd trusted him; let my guard down. And let him fuck me senseless in that stairwell.
Heat floods my cheeks as memories wash over me. The way he'd tied my wrists together, his lips hot on my neck, his hands... God, his hands. I shift in my seat, acutely aware of his presence across the table. And to my own amazement, I find myself wishing he could do it all over again.
When the night winds down, dessert plates cleared and conversation ebbing. I find myself lingering, reluctant to leave the warmth of the evening. Jack's presence, once so unsettling, has become... comfortable. He didn't push, didn't try to charm his way past my defenses. Instead, he just was. Funny, passionate about his work, quick with a self-deprecating joke.
I hate to admit it, but I liked the man I saw tonight. And his explanation about Honey nags at me, a persistent whisper of possibility.
“Thank you both for an amazing dinner,” Jack says, his smile genuine as he embraces Anna and shakes Peter's hand.
“What are your plans for Christmas, Jack?” Anna asks, ever the hostess.
Jack's eyes crinkle at the corners. “Christmas Day is for family,” he says. “But the second day? That's all mine. Pajamas, movies, and absolutely zero responsibilities.”
The image of Jack lounging in pajamas, hair tousled from sleep, flashes unbidden through my mind. I push it away, cheeks heating.
Then he's in front of me, emerald orbs holding mine captive. “It was good to see you, Jennifer.” And with that, he turns, leaving me staring after him as Peter walks to the front door. Anna sidles up beside me, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
“You two had some serious chemistry going on,” she says.
I scoff, falling back on cynicism like a security blanket. “Please. The man's nothing but trouble.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, a traitorous voice whispers in the back of my mind.
Maybe. But what delicious trouble he could be.