I open the door and she’s there—red dress hugging her curves simply, elegantly. The jade necklace glinting at her throat. Matching earrings, ring, bracelet. The set I gave her, worn like it belongs.
She holds out flowers.
“For you,” she says, then another bouquet. “These are for your mom.”
I can’t speak.
She tilts her head. “What?”
I shake my head, laughing softly. “Come in.”
Mom’s smile when she sees Jade—genuine, warm—is a memory I lock away forever.
Later, Jade grabs my hand. “I’m stealing you tonight.”
“Should I be worried?”
Her grin is mischief. “Definitely.”
She drives us to a tiny Asian fusion spot in Middletown—hidden gem, plastic menus, no pretense. “Our place now,” she declares. “Secret’s safe with you.”
We devour everything. Laugh until our sides ache. She steals from my plate without apology.
Then open mic night—terrible poetry, one decent singer, a comedian who bombs. She laughs anyway, head on my shoulder.
Finally, she hands the driver an address.
We pull up to a boutique hotel—warm brick, glowing windows.
“Jade?” I ask as we check in.
She leans close, breath warm against my ear. “Shh. I’ve got money now.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Social media’s paying off. NIL deals. Under Armour wants me for spring gear.” She snatches the key card. “Tonight, I’m spoiling my champion.”
“I could get used to that.”
She glances back, eyes dark with promise. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The suite is pure indulgence.
Four-poster bed draped in silver sheets. Rose petals scattered like secrets. Fireplace crackling. And the jacuzzi—massive, steaming, jets humming softly, big enough for two.
She drops her bag.
“Mrrrow.”
Pickles pokes his head out, blinking innocently.
“I couldn’t leave him,” she says, scooping him up. “He missed his Leo, too.”
I laugh until I’m breathless, pulling her into my arms.
The night melts into warmth—champagne fizzing, chocolate melting on our tongues, bare feet on cool stone. We talk about Boston, summer dreams, everything and nothing.
Eventually, she tugs me toward the jacuzzi. “Come on.”
