Page 22 of Wrapped Up

I plaster on a fake smile, ignoring the way my heart races at Jack's proximity. “Just peachy, Anna. We're coming,” I say through gritted teeth before pushing past him and making my way towards the dining room.

Anna and Peter's gazes flit between us, their eyes filled with unspoken questions as we enter. Before I can say anything, Jack speaks.

“Anna, Peter, this table looks incredible. I can't wait to taste everything.”

I roll my eyes. “Smooth talker,” I mutter under my breath.

Anna comes my way and gently but firmly guides me to a corner of the room. “Spill,” she whispers, her eyes wide with curiosity. “How did it go?”

I snort, crossing my arms. “Oh, it went great. Prince Charming over there tried to convince me his 'girlfriend' is actually his stepsister. Named Honey, of all things. Can you believe it?”

To my surprise, Anna's brow furrows. “Well... why couldn't that be true?”

I stare at her, disbelief coursing through me. “Are you kidding me? It's the oldest trick in the book, Anna. Next, he'll be telling me he has a bridge to sell me in Brooklyn.”

Anna's lips purse, her expression thoughtful. “I don't know, Jenn. Maybe you should give him a chance to explain.”

“I've given him enough chances,” I glance over at Jack, who is chatting with Peter and looking far too at ease for my liking. “I'm going to endure this dinner, and then we're done. For good.”

We take our seats, Jack sitting across from me. His gaze focused on mine, and I quickly look away, focusing on the appetizer in front of me.

“I have an idea,” Anna says, and I can see the enthusiasm in her eyes. “Let's all share something we're grateful for.”

I can't help but snort. “It's not Thanksgiving, Anna.”

“Jennifer,” she scolds me, her tone sharp. “Don't be rude.”

Heat rises to my cheeks as she begins talking about her gratitude for friends and family. Peter follows suit, his words sweet and genuine. Then it's Jack's turn, and I braced myself.

“I'm thankful for unexpected encounters.” He looks directly at me. “The kind that shakes up your world and makes you see things differently.”

For a moment, I’m transported back to the club, feeling the electricity of our first touch. I angrily stab at my salad while repeating in my head: Don't fall for it, Jenn. He's playing you.

“Jack,” Anna interrupts my thoughts. “Tell us more about your volunteer work with the youth organization. It sounds fascinating.”

I can't resist looking up, curiosity getting the best of me, only to see Jack's face soften and a warmth enter his eyes.

“It's close to my heart,” he admits quietly but passionately. “My father passed away when I was three, and I know how much having a positive male role model can mean to a kid.”

Jack's eyes shine with genuine passion as he talks about the kids he mentors. For a moment, I'm taken back to my own childhood:

A much younger me, sitting alone on a playground swing, watching other kids laugh with their fathers. The ache in my chest, a longing for something I'd never had.

I blink, surprised by the sudden lump in my throat. Maybe Jack and I have more in common than I thought.

As Jack regales Anna and Peter with another anecdote from his youth work, I find myself watching him intently. His eyes light up as he speaks, his hands gesturing animatedly. I’m struck by how different he seems from the smooth operator I met at the club.

“So there's Tommy, covered head to toe in flour, looking like a ghost,” Jack chuckles, his deep laugh sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “And he just looks at me and says, 'I think we need more eggs.'”

Anna and Peter burst into laughter, and I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. There's a warmth in Jack's voice when he talks about these kids, a genuine care that I hadn't expected. It's... endearing, and I find myself wondering if this is the real Jack—not the suave charmer from the club, but this passionate, caring man.

As Peter launches into a story of his own misadventures in baking, I notice Jack's gaze flick towards me. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and the intensity I see there makes my breath catch. It's the same look he gave me that night in the stairwell, a mixture of desire and something deeper, something that scared me then and, if I'm honest, still scares me now.

I quickly look away, focusing on my plate. My mind is whirling. How can this be the same man I thought had played me? The Jack I see tonight fits so poorly with the image I’ve built up in my head over the past month. This man is funny, intelligent, and clearly devoted to his work. The way Anna and Peter have taken to him so quickly... it’s hard to reconcile with the idea of him being a player.

But then I remember Honey, the blonde at the bar. Jack's explanation about her being his stepsister nags at me. Could it be true? The cynical part of me wants to dismiss it outright, but another part—a part I've been trying to ignore—whispers that maybe, just maybe, I've misjudged him.

“Jenn?” Anna's voice cuts through my thoughts. “You okay? You've been quiet.”

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