They all toasted our engagement, admiring Jessa’s ring. I played off any talk of wedding plans, blaming the need to see this IPO through before I could focus on anything else. Surrounded by so many real couples, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was the imposter in my own home.
Richard kept everyone entertained with stories from his little upstate farmette containing Scottish Highlander cows, goats, horses, and chickens. His daughter Paris chimed in with more small-town stories, and had volunteered to watch Theoduring the West benefit tonight. He was thrilled, soaking up her attention, begging me to take him to see the cows soon.
“Once the IPO’s behind you,” Richard said, clapping my shoulder, “what’s left but to play rancher and count livestock?”
I’d always been a city man, where the steel and glass served as my pasture, concrete my soil. But watching Jessa blend so easily among them, laughing with Sophie, chatting with Chelsea, glowing in a way I’d never seen before, it was impossible not to wonder if there might be something else waiting for us beyond all this.
Once the IPO and my contract with Jessa were over… Could there be more? Could this be us? Could I settle down like these other men had?
Before followed that thought down a spiral, Maisy lifted a notebook from the kitchen counter, flipping through pages. “What’s this?” She angled the book. “Jessa, did you draw these?”
Jessa flushed. “Oh—those are nothing. Doodles.”
“Not doodles,” Maisy admired. “They look like illustrations. Are they for a children’s book?”
The room hushed. Jessa bit her lip, glanced at me, then back to Maisy.
“Just ideas for stories. They’re probably terrible,” she admitted, with the smallest voice I’d ever heard from her. She shrugged it away.
“She tells me stories about Blaze, the hockey-playing dragon. He’s awesome,” Theo piped up with a grin.
“She does?” I turned to Jessa, taking her in like I was seeing her for the first time. “Interesting.”
Her blush deepened. “I’ve never written a book before. I got inspired, I guess.”
Richard nodded thoughtfully at the drawings Maisy held up for everyone to see. “I know some editors and agents. I’ll connect you. Let’s see where it goes.”
Jessa’s eyes widened. “Really. Thank you. I mean maybe.”
“Or,” Keaton added, grinning, “if whatever’s keeping you in New York doesn’t stick, come home. Hops could sure use you.”
“Haven’t you replaced me yet?” Jessa raised an eyebrow.
“You’re irreplaceable.”
Sophie smacked his arm. “Stop, Keaton. She’s thriving here. Don’t listen to him, Jessa. New York looks good on you.”
She and I locked eyes. We both heard it—If whatever’s keeping you in New York doesn’t stick.
The contract stood between Jessa and me like a ticking clock. When time ran out, we’d both teeter on a cliff’s edge, jumping back into our old lives.
Why did the idea suddenly terrify me?
Later, when everyone dispersed to get dressed, I joined Jessa in the bedroom. “Can I see your book ideas?”
“Sure.” She hesitated, then pulled another sketchpad out of the drawer of the nightstand.
I flipped through simple, yet vivid drawings of a boy and his nanny, partners in mischief, learning as they went. In the background, a father blurred there, busy, distant—but loving. Always loving.
“These are good,” I said, and it sounded mechanical to my own ears.
“They’re just ideas.” Her voice small again, but hopeful.
“I didn’t know you could draw.”
“Neither did I until one day I started. I’d always been able to tell stories to my sisters and to Theo, but never thought about putting images with them.”
“You have something here.”
