Because Lo tilts her head, tapping his cheek. “Hey, Jonah?”
“Yeah, Shortcake?”
She tries to whisper, but her version of whispering is... not. “Do you love Mommy?”
My breath lodges in my chest and my vision tunnels on only them.
Delta, still holding her foam mallet, nods with sage authority. “Yeah, do you? Because you should tell her so you can be our dad.”
And before I can even think to move, to interrupt, to pretend I wasn’t listening, Jonah answers. “Of course I do,” he says, soft and sure. “But the whole dad thing...” he trails off. “That’s something your mom will have to decide.”
Something inside me goes liquid, warm, and impossible to contain. And I stand there in the glow of blinking arcade lights, falling even harder than I thought possible.
Chapter 38
The Conservatory
Renée
Amber waves me off with the smug grin only a sister can pull off. “Have fun and don’t even look at your phone tonight.”
“But you’ll call if there’s an emergency, right?”
Amber shuts the door in my face, and I’m left standing on my front porch in the black gown Jonah bought me for his brother’s wedding. Silky black material hugs my waist; the high slit makes my short legs appear long. This dress has absolutely no business being worn by a woman who spent the afternoon vacuuming kinetic sand out of the carpet.
But Jonah asked. Actually, Jonahbegged, in the soft, earnest way that turns my brain to goo and makes my insides fizzle like champagne bubbles.
He’s waiting beside his sparkling SUV, leaning against the door like he’s posing for the Sexiest Man Alive. He’s not wearing the same tuxedo he did the night of the wedding. Instead he sports a tailored, dark blue dinner coat with black lapels, a bowtie, and trousers. I could ogle him for hours.
His eyes widen, and he bounds toward me. “You look like you should step out of a limo in Monte Carlo.” He leans in for a kiss, and I can’t refrain from touching his chest. Red lipstick transfers to his lips, but I don’t wipe it away. He’s mine, and everyone will know it.
Rich blue eyes scan me from head to toe, and he grins. “You wore it. The dress.”
“You asked.”
He leads me to his SUV and opens my door—a perfect gentleman who instinctively knows how to please me. And it’s those little unnecessary gestures—like the way he lifts me into the seat so I don’t work too hard and disturb my elegance—that I find so meaningful. They’re the kind of gestures my late husband only used around other people to make himself look good.
I shake the thought away before it steals our special night.
“Are you going to tell me what you have planned?” I ask once we’re on the road.
“We’re going to the Longwood Conservatory,” he says, his voice vibrating with barely contained excitement.
“Jonah,” I beam. “God, that’s going to be so beautiful.”
He takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. “Nothing is as beautiful as you.”
My chest flutters because I’m not immune to a genuine compliment from a genuine man—especially not fromthisgenuine man.
When we arrive, the sun is setting, turning the glass conservatory gold. Twinkling lights wind up the walkways, and the air smells like jasmine and damp earth. It’s beyond romantic, and I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date as picturesque as this.
We wander through a greenhouse filled with towering palms, burbling fountains, and lush succulents. Jonah tucks my hand under his bicep—so easy and confident, like he knows he’s allowed to.
“Are we the only ones here?”
“We are. I reserved it.”
My face drops. “I didn’t know they allowed that.”
