Tears well up and spill over onto my cheeks.
“Now that you’re back in my life,” Jake continues, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper that wraps around me like velvet, “I can’t let you go again. You are my life, Sarah. Where you go, I go.”
Blinking rapidly, I try to clear my vision, needing to see him—really see him—without the distortion of tears. “I was so angry for so long,” I say. “But the truth is, I never stopped loving you, either.”
My confession feels simultaneously terrifying and liberating, like jumping from a cliff and discovering mid-fall that I can fly.
This moment between us feels suspended in time, ethereal and dreamlike, as though we’ve stepped into one of those moviescenes where the background blurs and the music swells. My breath catches in my throat as he moves closer.
Cradling my face in his hands with heartbreaking tenderness, he brushes away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”
His lips meet mine in a kiss that tastes like forgiveness and possibility, like coming home after being lost for far too long. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I melt into him, the familiar contours of his mouth fitting against mine as though we were designed as complementary pieces of the same whole.
Breathless and dizzy, I pull back just enough to look into his eyes. The world around us—our professional implosion—seems distant and inconsequential compared to the enormity of what’s happening between us.
“What are we supposed to do now?” The pragmatic question escapes before I can stop it. “We’re both unemployed.”
Jake’s mouth curves into that crooked smile that’s always made my knees weak. “I’ve been thinking about it for some time now. Let’s start our own company.”
“Well, this is unexpected.” Beatrice Castellano’s voice slices through our bubble of bliss, yanking us back to the reality of the crowded presentation room.
To my absolute shock, her expression holds more amusement than anger as she approaches us with quick steps. “Tell me, was it really you who came up with the idea for the campaign?”
“It was a team effo—“
“She’s the talent behind everything,” Jake interrupts without hesitation, his arm sliding protectively around my waist. “And she’s the brains behind the RainSafe campaign that you liked so much.”
“Well, that’s quite a revelation.” Digging into her purse, Beatrice extracts a business card and hands it to Jake. “Seeing how you two have made a mess of things, and I can’t use animpeccably designed stolen campaign, I’ll give you one more chance. Come up with a brand-new proposal. You’ve got one month.”
Her gaze drifts toward Judy, who’s currently unleashing what appears to be an apocalyptic meltdown on Tim. “Looking at the spectacular fallout happening over there, I’d say my friend will be too busy salvaging her reputation to remember her own name, let alone run a proper agency anytime soon.”
Chapter 26
Since our dramatic showdown at The Old Maple Manor, we’ve moved into a tiny but charming office downtown—well, technically Jake signed the lease shortly after our team was formed at Lantern Bridge. He informed me he’d been planning this escape hatch since the interview. The sheer audacity of assuming I’d jump aboard his entrepreneurial lifeboat should have annoyed me, but something in his unwavering belief that we belonged together—professionally and otherwise—made my heart flutter.
Perhaps fate had always intended this collision course. I knew exactly what dice I was rolling when I accepted that interview at Lanter Bridge. The mathematical probability of crossing paths with Jake in our postage-stamp town approached certainty, despite my pretending otherwise.
While driving home from the disastrous presentation, I was finally living the truth I so desperately refused to acknowledge:beneath all that cultivated resentment burned a love whose flame never went out.
“Are we doing the right thing?” I say one morning as sunlight spills across our makeshift conference table—a repurposed dining set Jake scored from a closing restaurant.
Jake’s eyes, warm and steady on mine, crinkle at the corners. “When you think about us working side by side on campaigns, building something that’s ours from scratch—how does that make you feel?”
“Energized.” The answer comes without hesitation. “Excited. Like everything’s finally clicking into place.”
Setting down his coffee, he reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “That’s how you know we’re heading in the right direction.”
It’s been three days since we dove headfirst into our marketing marathon for Beatrice’s perfume line. Jake’s footsteps approach from behind, his presence a delicate warmth at the back of my neck.
His lips brush against my skin, sending shivers. “Jake,” I murmur, fighting to maintain some professional composure, “stop. We have work to do.”
My half-hearted protest lacks conviction, especially since my body betrays me by clutching a fistful of his hair.
Taking this as encouragement, Jake steps closer and lifts his hand with deliberate slowness, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek.
My resolve crumbles completely as I lean into his touch. His lips meet mine, warm and certain. My arms wind around his neck of their own accord, heat blooming in my chest and spreading outward like wildfire.
There is a sharp knock at the door, and the moment shatters.
