He sits up then, his arms wrapping around me, his lips findingmine as he pumps into me several more times before finally grunting out his own release.
He kisses me softly until we both fully come down, his hands stroking my bare back until I’m 100 percent zombie-brained, gummy-limbs relaxed.
Jack lowers me onto the pillows, bringing the covers up under my chin. He tucks himself behind me, his front spooning my back, his arm draped around my waist. “No matter what happens tomorrow or next week or in a month or in a year, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Sadie Green.” He places a soft kiss on my bare shoulder.
I turn around to return the sentiment, but he’s already fallen asleep.
Bastard.
Eighteen
Surprisingly, or maybenot, since as Jack said, I planned out every second of launch-party day, everything goes smoothly. Lucy and I complete all of the arrangements for the party in the morning hours, storing them in the coolers until it’s closer to go time. The rentals get delivered on time, just a few high-top cocktail tables placed randomly around the room so people have a place to set their drinks and snacks. We set up a mini bar at the work counter and bring in an extra-long table for Gemma to display all her yummy food. I hired a bartender and two servers to handle all the drink-making and food-passing and, most important, the cleaning up.
I head back to the brownstone two hours before guests are due to arrive for a quick shower and brief gussying-up stint. I’ve worn only the barest of makeup for much of the last few months, but for tonight, I go for a subtle golden smoky eye, dark lashes, and bright pink lips. My dress for the evening is tight and black, and when I walk down the stairs, Jack literally stops in his tracks.
My heart flutters in my chest as he watches me descend, and I feel like a fucking queen. A boss-ass queen.
He kisses my cheek when I reach him at the bottom of the stairs. “You look fucking fantastic.”
“Thanks, Jackpot.” I tug on the lapel of his blazer, worn over dark jeans and a white button-down shirt. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing back curls that have grown a little long. “I can’t remember the last time I wore an actual collared shirt/jacket combo.”
“Well, it looks good on you.” I plant a kiss on his cheek, wiping away the faint smudge of pink I leave behind.
He helps me into my coat, and I wrap a scarf around my neck, thankful the walk to the store is short.
It’s a quick and quiet stroll through the bitter January cold, and I start to run through all the last-minute tasks I’ll need to finish before people start arriving for the party.
Jack squeezes my hand before reaching out to open the door for me. “You’re going to do great, sweet pea.”
Determined to stay busy so my internal freak-out doesn’t take over my brain and shut me down completely, I toss all my outerwear in my office, put Jack in charge of my phone, and then get to work, placing arrangements, checking in with the staff, and helping Gemma set up the food.
Inhaling a deep whiff of bacon, I can’t help but snatch a wrapped scallop from one of the platters. “Good lord, Gem. These are amazing.”
She smacks my hand away as I reach for a second. “Save them for the paying customers, lady.”
Standing back, I take in the spread. Not only does the food smellamazing, but her presentation is stunning. “I hope you’re ready to be inundated with catering requests after tonight.”
She shrugs off the compliment, but there’s an unmistakable gleam of pride in her eyes. “Thank you for this, Sade. Truly. It means everything to me that you trusted me to do this for you.”
I pull her into a quick side hug. “Mostly I just wanted top-notch food at a killer price.”
She loops her arm around my waist. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Write off your generosity like you have ulterior motives.”
Rolling my eyes, I gently push her away. “Come on, Gem, we all know my motives are self-motivated.”
She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
I open my mouth to retort, sarcastically of course, but nothing comes out.
“I’m going to take some stuff out to the trash.” And she leaves me there alone in the middle of the store, wondering for a half second if she’s right. But she’s not, obviously, and soon enough my attention is pulled elsewhere.
Twenty minutes after the party’s official start time, my nerves have fully taken over. All of my crew is here, and a couple of other invitees, but the space looks scarily empty. I invited a bunch of Brooklyn-based influencers, along with all the other florists located in the general area, looking to build relationships and hopefully a referral network. I was relying on the influencers to help spread the word about the shop’s opening, but so far, none of them have stepped through the door.
