Because here’s the thing.
J.T.Lawrence is not a man who jokes.
I’ve known him for years—well, casually, for business.
But he doesn’t bluff.
He builds skyscrapers and subdivisions, and multimillion-dollar projects without blinking.
If he says he can ruin Mike Stevens—he likely can.
If he says he can secure Evan’s future—I know he can.
But the terrifying part?He says he wants me—and I want to believe him.
J.T.’s not looking at me like I’m charity.He’s looking at me like I’m the prize.
And let’s face it, I’m forty-two and a size sixteen on a good day.
I am no man’s idea of a prize.
I pick up the card he slid across the table.
Heavy stock.Private number.No nonsense.
I turn it between my fingers.Set it down again.
Meet his eyes like a challenge.
“Let me get this straight,” I say slowly.“You’re telling me you can ruin Mike Stevens, restore my son’s college fund, and keep me from drowning, and all you want is me.”
J.T.doesn’t blink.“Yes.”
I laugh once.“That’s the most arrogant thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet,” he says, calm as sin, “you’re still sitting here talking to me.”
My throat tightens.
Because he’s right.
I am still sitting here.
I shouldn’t be.
But I am.
The music swells behind us, soft and sweet, and it feels almost cruel how beautiful it sounds.
Clara’s laughter carries across the tent like wind chimes, light and effortless.
Greyson spins her, and she lifts off the ground like she doesn’t weigh a thing.
Like love itself is holding her up.
Thatcher and Willow are out there too—my brother and his wife, tangled together in that quiet, unshakeable way that only comes from choosing each other every day.
Willow’s hand rests on her belly, protective and glowing.
