Page 88 of Let’s Make a Scene

Vigilante justice. He deserves a lot worse.

CLEMMIE:

LMK if you want to perform some sort of hex on him. My sisters are on standby.

THEO:

YES! Clemmie’s curses are serious shit.

THEO:

We’ve got your back.

CLEMMIE:

And we love you.

CLEMMIE:

Also. JACK. So dreamy. We will discuss later. IN DETAIL.

THEO:

Don’t love my wife finding another man dreamy.

THEO:

But he kind of is, Cyn.

It makes me smile, and I settle back into the comfortable leather seat. Jack has the radio on low, playing something soothing. We drive home in silence, and when we finally pull up outside my house, I ask him if he’s coming in, without blushing too much.

He shakes his head. “I already texted Hannah,” he says. “She’s waiting for you.”

I swallow, touched again by his thoughtfulness. “Thanks.” I carefully slip his jacket from my shoulders and try not to feel too bereft about it.

“I’ll see you in London,” Jack says, and his fingers tap the steering wheel. His face is in shadow, so I can’t read his expression. “But you’ve got my number. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” I find that I want to tell him I’ll miss him, which is ridiculous when we’ll be seeing each other in a little over a week. I’ve gone thirteen years without his company, so why does a week apart suddenly feel impossible?

“Good night, Cynthie,” he murmurs.

“ ’Night.”

I cross my arms and watch as he begins to turn the car around. Before I can think too much about it, I step forward, and tap on his window.

He rolls it down. “Did you forget something?”

“Yes,” I say, bending down so that we’re level.

I place a hand on his jaw, my fingers scraping lightly across his stubble as I turn his face, then I press my lips softly to the razor-edge of his cheekbone.

He holds himself utterly still for an instant, and then his palm comes up, cupping the back of my neck, the touch warm and steadying. He turns. Our noses brush, his forehead resting against mine, and I close my eyes. For a moment we breathe the same air. For a moment, there’s nothing else in the whole world, just this.

“Thank you again,” I whisper, almost against his mouth. “For tonight.” I open my eyes and let my hand fall, stepping back from the car.

“Anytime, Cynthie.” Jack’s voice is low.

I watch him drive away then, and my head is swimming. A lot has happened tonight, but one thing is certain… Jack Turner-Jones isn’t who I thought he was. In fact, I have a horrible feeling he’s much, much more.