Although I hadn’t planned on speaking to him much during the one drink I’d thought we’d have, I found myself telling him about late trains, wrong turns, and one particularly questionable hostel in Barcelona that I was fairly certain had been a front for something illegal.
All throughout, Jesse laughed like he meant it. Like he was enjoying this as much as I was.
We fell into an easy back and forth after that, swapping stories, jokes, and increasingly ridiculous ideas that somehow felt entirely reasonable in the moment. At some point, we even started making plans.
“We’ll start in Miami,” he said, tapping the table like he was mapping it out in real time.
“Obviously,” I agreed.
“Then the Bahamas.”
“Of course.”
“Then…” He trailed off for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly like he was reaching for something more ambitious. “Oh. I got it. How do you feel about South America?”
“Sold,” I said immediately. “We’ll look for chinchillas.”
“Yes!” he agreed like this was the most logical progression in the world. “We’re doing it.”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “Done.”
My mind was a pleasant blur of gin and laughter, and it was making everything feel lighter and easier, like the rules had temporarily loosened their grip. I hadn’t had this much fun with someone since…
I didn’t even know how long. Years, maybe. All I knew was that it had been too long and that I absolutely had not expected to enjoy the company of a Westwood this much.
As I slid my elbows onto the table, a new idea started taking shape, reckless, impulsive, and entirely fueled by the warm buzz in my veins. “I have a pitch for you.”
“I’m all ears,” he said, folding his hands neatly on the table. “Where are we going?”
“France.”
He made a face. “Why? So we can ride a tandem bike and get wine drunk together, eating cheese and snails?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I hate escargot, but I have to commit a crime there, and I’m afraid I might need an accomplice.”
“What crime?” he asked, leaning in, so attentive that he was barely breathing as he waited for my answer.
Bloody hell, this is a thrill.
“I need to steal a dog,” I whispered.
Objectively, I knew how insane that sounded. Even to me, but Jesse just nodded like this wasn’t strange at all. He took it in stride, as if people pitched crazier things to him every day.
“Is it a big dog?” he asked seriously. “Or, like, a put-it-in-a-bag-and-run kind of dog?”
“He’s a big dog,” I said slowly, momentarily thrown by the fact that he was workshopping this with me. “His name is Hubert, and he’s like a son to me.”
“Who took him?” Jesse asked without any hesitation whatsoever, already waving down a server for another round of drinks like we were about to toast to grand larceny.
“My ex,” I growled. “He’s the reason I’m done with relationships. Romance is a lie.”
His expression changed in an instant, his features turning hard as he lifted his hand again, canceling the drink order without question. “Nope.”
Before I could even ask what he meant by that, he was reaching across the table, grabbing my fingers, and tugging me out of the booth. “Wait… what…”
“We’re going,” he said firmly, dragging me to the door.
