“I told you no one was going to come,” I whisper to Jack, trying to keep from actually wringing my hands with worry.
He places a calming kiss at my temple. “It’s early. How about some wine?”
I happily accept a glass and attempt to force myself to look anywhere but the front door.
But thankfully, fifteen minutes later, the store starts to fill up. A slow trickle of people continues to come through the door, and when I’m not flitting around and saying hi to everyone, I try to catch their reactions when they see the space for the first time. There’s lots of oohs and aahs, and every smile makes my heart flutter. This might be better than sex.
Jack hangs mostly with Nick and Harley while I run around introducing myself to the guests, and Gemma stands guard at the food table, restocking and tidying with an effort bordering on overzealous.
I chat with probably fifty people I’ve never met before tonight, all of them raving about how awesome Bridge and Blooms looks. The influencers are live-streaming and posting up a storm, and I’m itching to check my phone and see how our stats look, but I know it’s more important to make face-to-face contact at this moment, while I have them all here.
The florists are my favorite people I meet throughout the evening, because they all really get it. How it feels to watch something grow and then turn it into a work of art, guaranteed to bring a smile to someone’s face.
And speaking of art, jaws drop when people first take in Jack’s paintings. All of them really, but especiallyBridge and Blooms, hung in its spot of honor behind the main counter. Jack specifically asked me not to direct anyone his way, should they inquire, but you can bet yourass I’ll be posting some of his paintings on Instagram. I don’t want to push him into selling his art if he really doesn’t want to, but something tells me he could be raking in commissions left and right.
I approach an older woman, probably in her early sixties, as she’s taking inBridge and Blooms, her eyes locked on the painting. “Hi, thank you so much for coming. I’m Sadie.”
She pulls her eyes from the artwork and gives me a warm smile. “Sadie. So nice to meet you. The shop is lovely.”
“Thank you so much...” I trail off my sentence since she hasn’t introduced herself to me yet.
“Oh yes, so sorry. I’m Judy Taylor fromCity Lifemagazine.” She holds out her hand and gives me a firm shake. “Sorry, I guess I got distracted by this stunning piece of art up here.”
I beam with as much pride as if I painted it myself. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Judy takes a step closer, studying the canvas with squinted eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that was a Jackson Bennett.”
“A what?” I try to find Jack in the crowd. I know he said he didn’t want to meet anyone, but this woman works for an actual magazine and she might be too good a contact to pass up.
“Jackson Bennett. You might be too young to remember. He was big about ten, fifteen years ago. Sold his paintings for millions, but was a total recluse and no one ever saw his face.”
“Oh, well, this is definitely not a Jackson Bennett. I couldn’t afford millions.” Rising up on my toes, I search for Jack’s dark curls in the crowd.
“Wouldn’t matter if you could. He disappeared about seven years ago. Practically dropped off the face of the earth overnight.”
Suddenly I don’t care too much about finding Jack. “I’m sorry, did you say he stopped painting seven years ago?”
“Thereabouts.” She gives the painting one final appraising look before patting me on the shoulder. “Congrats on the opening, I’ll make sure to mention it in the next issue. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get another one of those pot stickers.”
I wave her toward the food table as those same pot stickers start to churn inside my stomach. A zillion thoughts ping around in my brain, but before I can even start to puzzle them out, I’m approached by an influencer for a selfie. We pose, and I plaster a fake smile on my face because I can’t get the woman’s words out of my head.
Jackson Bennett.
Seven years.
Millions.
There’s no fucking way.
Harley, emotions wizard that she is, glides across the room, taking my elbow in her hand and dragging me to the back of the store. “You okay? You look like you might throw up.” She places a hand to my forehead.
I shake my head, knowing I can’t get into this now. “I’m fine. I think I just need some air.” I pull away from her, ducking out back into the freezing night. The air chills my lungs but does nothing to numb my racing thoughts. It couldn’t be possible. There’s no way my perfect boyfriend is a total fraud. But it would explain everything. The logistics—his money, his seclusion, his lack of friends. And more important, it’d explain how a man like him ended up with me. The whole thing was a lie. Is a lie.
The door opens behind me and I know who it is before he says asingle word. And without making a conscious decision, I spin around to face him. “Are you Jackson Bennett?”
He stops three feet away from me, the color draining from his face. He’s caught off guard and doesn’t have time to hide his reaction, his wide eyes giving it all away.
“Give me my phone.” I hold out my hand, needing to search for the truth and see it myself.
