40. Mandy

"You're making a mistake."

Amanda met my gaze in the mirror, her long legs propped up on the coffee table. Mom worked behind me, putting little pins in my hair to keep the top half of it up in its little bun.

"I'm telling you, Mands," she continued, looking back down at her phone. "You should have gone with the green dress. It makes your hair look unreal."

"I don't like how it hangs," I grumbled. I flinched as Mom twisted a pin into place. "Jack said it wouldn't be formal, anyway. The black one is fine."

Amanda shrugged. "I'm just saying, babes. If you don't want to get dicked-down tonight then by all means?—"

"Amanda," my mom hissed, sending a glare over her shoulder.

"Sorry, Gianna. I won't talk about Mands getting dicked-down again."

I snorted. "At least not in front of my mother, okay?"

She rolled her eyes as she sunk further into the couch. "What are you guys even doing, anyway? Did he tell you?"

"No, but it's fine. I like surprises."

"Are you nervous?" Mom cooed, her hands going up in excitement after placing the final pin. "First official date. My thirty-one-year-old is finally growing up."

I glared at her reflection in the mirror. "I've been on dates with Jack before, Mom. It's not that big of a deal."

"True, but it's the first real one. Those others were just for the press."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. I hadn't thought of it that way, hadn't considered the fact that this time could be different. Was what he was doing before reallyan act? It didn't feel like one. If it had, I'm not sure I would have fallen for him again.

"Well, now you're nervous," Mom chuckled. "Sorry, sweetie."

"It's fine. I just… I hadn't thought of it like that. In that context."

"I know." Mom coated her hands in hair oil, smoothing it through the ringlets of my strands that hung down around my shoulders. "To be fair, having a first date after months of pseudo-dating would feel weird for anyone. Especially after everything you've gone through."

Thatfelt like an understatement. I still felt like we'd gone to hell and back, fighting demons as well as ourselves.

Harry was out on bail. Someone in his family had forked up enough money to get him out, and even though Jackson rushed to obtain a restraining order against him for me, he still kept trying to show up. For what felt like the hundredth day in a row, security stood guard outside my house.

"Yeah," I sighed. I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in the little curls Mom had left hanging around my cheeks, the way the gray in my eyes cut straight through the warm tones of my makeup. I was glad I wasn't alone; I'd been keeping people close after the incident with Harry, but having these two nutcases hang out and help me get ready for the first realdate I was having with Jack in ten years made it feel that much more serious. "It's going to be weird."

"Oh come on," Amanda groaned, rolling onto her side to get a better look at me. "You had known him for a while before he disappeared the first time. You've been around him for several months this time. It's not like he's a stranger."

"Yeah." I said again, pursing my lips, and nodding at her. "He's not a stranger."

————

Jack's driver picked me up outside my house. Mom and Amanda waved goodbye to me from my front porch as if they were my parents sending me off to fucking prom, and I was thankful that it wasn't Jack who'd picked me up.

Steve drove in silence out into the outskirts of Boulder, up into the peaks. The city sprawled below us as we climbed higher, goosebumps prickling across my skin, my nerves building with every passing mile. As we pulled into the driveway through the automatic gates, I could see the silhouette of a man in Jackson's kitchen, dancing to music and holding a bowl against his side.

The nerves fell away.

"Thanks, Steve," I called as I pushed the car door open with my boot. Jackson had said casual.

My boots crunched in the late winter snow as I jogged up to the house, my breath fogging in front of my face. I pressed the doorbell. Chimes rang overhead and from inside the house, lights coming alive behind the glass panels above the door.

Seconds later, the door swung open. Jack stood tall in dark gray slacks and a black button-up shirt. He said casual, I thought, irritation beginning to slip in before I glanced down at his feet.

Slippers. Panda slippers.

Son of a bitch.

"Hey," he grinned, stepping to one side to let me through. "My name's Jackson. And yours?"

I rolled my eyes as I shut the door behind me, slipping my wool jacket off my shoulders in one quick swoop. He took it from me and hung it up. "Are we really going to pretend that we don't know each other?"

He chuckled as he wrapped an arm around my waist, dragging me in far enough to plant a kiss on my temple. "No, princess. We're not going to pretend with anything tonight."

————

I sat at the breakfast bar in Jack's kitchen, my legs kicking against the tiled back of the cabinets. Soft music played in the background, something instrumental, plenty of calm piano and intimate saxophone. He slid a small salad across the bar, his lips curling up into a little smirk. "Eat up."

"Don't even joke," I laughed, picking up the fork he gave me and sinking it into the salad. "You better not hog all of the carbonara."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he crooned. He turned back to the stovetop, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he plucked two bowls from the nearby cabinet. "You look lovely, by the way. I should have said that when you first came in."

I stuffed a bite of salad into my mouth, humming my thanks to him. "You too," I said around the mouthful. "I like the slippers."

He chuckled as he picked up a massive wad of pasta between his tongs, twisting it as he plated. "I thought you might."

"How long have you had them?" I asked as I stabbed into a cherry tomato. "Recent purchase?"

He turned, holding up the two bowls in his hand. "Ten years."

My breath caught as he set the bowl of pasta down in front of me, snatching the barely-eaten salad before I could get the tomato into my mouth. The carbonara looked incredible, like it had come straight out of a restaurant in Italy instead of an Olive Garden.

"Eat up for real this time, princess."

"Are you not going to sit?" I asked, looking up at him as he loomed next to me, his fork already stuffed into his mouth. He shook his head as he leaned forward, plopping his bowl down right next to mine, his forearms resting on the countertop. "Well, okay then."

"I considered eating at the dining table," he said, covering his mouth as he swallowed his pasta. "But as I said, casual. And I didn't want it to feel like some big thing and overwhelm you."

My cheeks warmed as he bumped his shoulder against mine. I twirled my fork, gathering as much pasta as I could fit on the end of it, and stuffed it in my mouth as I grinned at him.

It tasted like heaven.

————

"We should probably talk about the press release," Jack said as he slid me a glass of red wine. "And when you'd like to do it."

Shit. The press release. I hadn't even thought of that in the last few days. After our romp in the office, his team had started drafting the announcement that we were no longer engaged and would be going our separate ways. But after the thing with Harry and the mounting stress we'd both been under, it had fallen to the wayside.

His words sat heavy in my stomach as I sipped my wine. "Do we have to?"

"Have to what?"

"Talk about it," I clarified. My cheeks warmed as I caught his gaze, zeroing in on the way his lips parted, twitched at the sides.

"No, princess," he said, his fingers gently laying across mine. "We can talk about it some other time."

I nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "I just want to think about it some more. Not that it definitely isn't happening, but…"

"I understand." His lips pressed against my forehead, so light I almost didn't feel them. His breath fanned across my skin as he held himself there. "Just let me know when you are, okay?"

"Okay."

The music changed, a slower, wistful tune filtering through the surround sound in the kitchen. Jack slid his hand underneath mine, tracing the lines of my palm. "Do you want to dance with me?"

Is he serious?

A finger hooked under my jaw, lifting my head to him. "Please?"

My heart jumpstarted in the span of a millisecond. "Sure," I breathed. I pushed myself down from the high-top chair, booted feet hitting the hardwood floor.

He pulled me to him, half-lidded eyes meeting mine, and as our bodies came together, he started to sway. His fingers dug lightly into the fabric on my back, just a small touch that sent me reeling. "I'm half tempted to put you on my feet again like I did at Tiana's wedding," he chuckled. "I think your boots might crush the little pandas though."

I laughed as I looked down at our mismatched shoes moving in tandem. "I wouldn't want to crush the pandas."

"Take them off for me?" He pushed one of the little curls around my cheek behind my ear, his fingers dragging along my skin.

I couldn't stop the smirk from spreading across my cheeks. "Just those?"

"Just those," he confirmed, his laugh entirely infectious. "Save the rest for later."

I giggled as I leaned down, the layers of my dress lifting as I turned from him. Just a peek, just my upper thighs, but I knew it was enough to make him positively feralinside. I unzipped each boot, kicked them off to the side, and padded across the floor until I was back in his arms again.

He lifted me immediately, placing me on the soft little heads of the pandas on each of his feet, and continued dancing.

In circles, we moved, sweeping across the floor and about the expanse of his kitchen. Song after song, he spun me, tipped me, laughed with me, and held me. It felt too natural in the best way possible — a perfect moment of this arguably perfect first date, and I couldn't not smile, couldn't be stubborn with him. I didn't want to pretend with him, not anymore. I wanted it to be real, I always had.

The song slowed, reaching its end, and he slowed us in response. His mouth met mine, tenderly, hesitantly, and I kissed him back the way I wanted to be kissed. Fully, devouring, all-encompassing. I wanted it all. I wanted him, and I couldn't lie to myself about that anymore, not after everything that had happened. Not after ten years of trying to forget the one personI needed most. The only one I ever tore my walls down for. The only one I let in, let see the real me.

"I love you," I breathed, our lips parting for just a second. "Still."

His fingers cupped my cheek, his breathing shallow. Lips brushed against lips, and when he spoke, I nearly lost it. "I love you too," he said, his voice just a little stronger than mine. "Still."

The world felt so much lighter, as if instead of holding a barrel of bricks I'd been gifted a feather hanging from a paper-thin wire. I arched up onto my tiptoes, his answering grunt telling me I was likely crunching the tops of his feet and planted my lips to his once more.

It felt right. It felt like home, like coming back after a long night lost in the frozen woods to a raging fire and a cup of hot chocolate. Like reading a book and hitting that final page, like going out in search of a Christmas tree and finding the perfect one. Like the first snowfall of winter. Like a warm bath.

"So," he said, breaking the kiss again to hold my face wonderfully close to his. "What are we going to do about LV? You're going to have to figure that out."

I grinned up at him, his green eyes beaming. "I already know what I'm going to do."