Smiling, I lean my head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around me, giving me a squeeze. “So you’re missing your man?”

“Seriously, Jax, how did you know?”

“I’m fairly certain I had that look on my face when I first met Hal and he decided he had to live in Milan for a summer to learn about textiles. The bastard.” Jackson takes a sip of his white wine as he strolls me over to the wall of windows facing downtown. “It was misery. But at least I had the comfort of knowing he was miserable too.”

“Cold comfort. I don’t want Dex to be unhappy.”

Jackson gives the top of my head a kiss. “Sweet girl.”

“It hurts, Jax. I actually hurt.” I press my fist against my chest where the pain is centered. “I don’t like it.”

He stares down at me with solemn eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

With a ragged sigh I stare out the window. The old me would have run, ditched the troublesome baggage and moved on. It hits me that there is an old me, because I’ve changed. I don’t think Dex has changed me, but being with him, caring about him, has. And the new me does not run.

Unfortunately the new me did not come with a set of instructions on how to handle a long-distance relationship. Which would have been awesome. So what am I going to do?

“Something drastic,” I find myself saying. I take a breath and meet Jackson’s eyes. “Something crazy.”

Just stating it has my heartbeat speeding up with anticipation. Yes, something risky and daring and right. For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.

My old friend starts to grin as if he’s been waiting for me to say as much.

“By the way.” Jackson reaches into his inner suit pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. “Sold your table the other day.”

“You did?” I practically squeal but manage to hold onto my dignity by a thread.

“Yes, ma’am.” He hands me the paper. “Your check.”

My jaw falls as soon as I read it. “Get the fudgesticks out!” I gape at Jackson, then at the check. “Is this for real?”

“I’m going to assume that’s rhetorical.”

Well, it is and it isn’t. Because I cannot believe what I’m looking at. “I made thirty-thousand dollars on a dining set?”

Jackson gives me a bored look. “Honey, this is Manhattan. You create furniture like that and sell it to the right people, you’d better be making thirty large. At the very least.”

My lips feel numb. “I had no idea. I mean, I know how much we pay for our clients’ furniture, but I didn’t expect I’d make this much. I’m hardly a known name.”

“Not yet. But I am, and I know how to sell. As for you, this is only the beginning, Fi-da-lee.” Jackson’s expression goes serious. “Honey, I’m never going to have kids, so you’ll have to humor me as my surrogate.”

Smiling, I kiss his cheek. “Papa Jackson. Can I fill out my Christmas list now?”

He gives my shoulder a nudge. “I wasn’t finished, cheeky. Come work with us, Fiona. Make your furniture, and we’ll sell it. When you’re established, you can go it on your own.”

For a second, I can only stare at him. “You’re serious.”

“As a personal trainer on New Year’s Day.” His smile is soft. “Be your own boss, and forge your own path.”

Just beyond Jackson’s shoulder, the lights of New York glitter. It’s as familiar a sight as my own face, and yet it never fails to fascinate me. But I want more.

“Do I have to be here in New York?”

“Setting up camp elsewhere makes it trickier, but honey, we’ll make it work.” Jackson’s smile grows sly. “And there’s a certain southern city that’s ripe for the picking, especially when one has contacts in the area.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Fiona

Sitting alone in the office, I let the quiet ground me. All is still, the sounds of Manhattan a distant hum. I glance out the window toward that gray light. I love this city. Love it with all my heart. But I’ve been happy other places as well.

And I’m not happy here. Was it Elena’s fault? Yes and no. Yes, she made my life misery. But it wouldn’t have mattered if I truly loved my job.

I know the world is full of Elenas. I’ll meet her time and again. But the question is, what do I want to fight for? Felix’s approval? No. I have no respect for him anymore.

Turning in my seat, I slide my hand over my portfolio, the leather smooth under my palm. A small smile pulls at my mouth. It’s bittersweet. Maybe I’m doing the wrong thing. I don’t know. I thought I’d have a better sense of my life’s path when I graduated college, that everything would be clear.

I loved college. Loved it. Life was one big party, peppered with frantic bits of studying in between. I didn’t take anything too seriously, and that was just fine. I had time. Because, let’s be honest, being in college is safe—a bit like high school but without parental supervision.

But now? Nothing is safe. I’m swinging along without a net. And it feels surprisingly good. Exciting. Yeah, I might fuck up spectacularly. I might never find what I’m looking for in terms of a career. But I do have one thing.

Ethan. He’s mine. All mine. It’s surprising how completely satisfying that is. And terrifying. If I slip and fall with him, down I’ll crash, all broken and damaged. But at least I want to fight for him.