“Here. Two dozen of my most decadent truffles. Each one is an expert pairing of European chocolate and unique flavors like blush champagne, balsamic creme, earl grey, and roasted habaneros.”
“Wow, Mia’s gonna love these. Thanks, man.”
“It’s the least I can do. For your… professional courtesy.” I tie the silk ribbon in a loopy bow, securing the box. Then walk to the other side of the counter and hand the treats to Jace.
“Happy Valentine’s, guys.” He gives a small wave before heading to the door.
I tug Jenna into my side and she wraps her arms tightly around my waist as she says goodbye to Officer Stevens. “Happy Valentine’s! Tell Mia I saidhello!”
Finally, it’s just the two of us.
Jenna cranes her neck as she looks up at me with an adorable, dopey grin. “I’ve never had a guy fight for me before.”
I shift her to stand in front of me, selfishly wanting to feel her curvy body against mine. “That’s 'cause you’ve been with the wrong guy.”
“Guess I’m with the right one now…Daddy.” A mischievous grin slowly spreads across her face.
“Careful, Princess. Or Daddy will have to show you the error of your ways.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
“No?” I tuck a wispy tendril of hair behind her ear. “We’ll see what you think when I cover your sinful body in chocolate and lick every inch of you clean.”
“Um… still waiting to hear the downside.” Her brows knit together as she tilts her head.
“Oh, did I forget to mention you can’t come?”
She gasps and her eyes widen.
I take her hand and lead her to the kitchen. “C’mon. You can remind me how good you taste.”
EPILOGUE
JENNA
If Valentine’s Day had feelings, mine would be deeply confused.
For years, February 14th meant forced smiles, last-minute grocery-store roses, and pretending my marriage wasn’t crumbling under the weight of betrayal. Bobby always made a production of buying whatever he thought looked expensive, then acted like he deserved a standing ovation for it.
Tonight is the complete opposite.
Because tonight, I’m pulling into Oliver Jacobson’s driveway, and my entire body feels warm and fluttery and wickedly alive. I knock once, and he opens the door immediately.
Wow. Just… wow.
Dark jeans, sleeves rolled up, apron loosely tied around his waist. Tattoos on full display. Beard neat and trimmed. Chestnut-brown eyes locked on me like I’m the best part of his day.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Hey, Princess,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers along my cheek in a soft, reverent sweep. “Perfect timing.” He takes mysweater, hangs it up, then laces his fingers with mine and leads me toward the kitchen.
I stutter-step when we reach the threshold.
The place looks like a magazine spread with candles glowing, music low, a table set for two with a simple but elegant arrangement of blush-pink peonies—my favorite. The air smells like roasted garlic, butter, and something sweet.
My heart squeezes. Hard. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before, at least not without strings. Not without expecting praise or repayment.
“You cooked,” I whisper.
