Page 138 of Jack

She ignored him.

The photographer had the men high-five, the women raise their bouquets in triumph as Boo and Oaken kissed, then she dismissed the women.

“Men, I need you with the bride and groom.”

“I need a moment,” Boo said and headed out of the room, her dress trailing after.

Jack took that moment to catch up with Harper as she walked toward the door. He grabbed her wrist.

“Can we talk?”

She drew in a breath, and only then did he notice her reddened eyes. It tempered his words, just a little. “I read the blog.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He still had hold of her wrist and now pulled her into the center of the home, by the stairs, near the bathroom.

He kept his voice low. “Why did you post it?”

She exhaled. Shook her head. Then she jerked out of his grasp. “Leave me alone?—”

“No.” He took her hand, and this time directed her toward the door on the opposite side, under the stairs.

The one that led to the family wine closet.

They stepped in and he let go, the chill of the room catching his breath. A wall of wine penned them in on all sides, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“What were you thinking?”

She stared at him. “I didn’t submit it on purpose! It was a mistake. I don’t know how, but I uploaded the wrong file.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Fine. It was from . . . a novel I was working on.”

“With me as the hero.”

“Yes, okay. Yes.”

“It felt pretty real.”

She lifted a shoulder, and then her eyes filled. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Why would you write all that down?—”

“Are you kidding me right now? Because that was . . . that was the best week of my life—despite how everything turned out.”

“It was just a kiss.”

“It was . . . hope. It was . . .” She shook her head, then looked at the bouquet she held. Sighed. “You don’t know what it’s like to want something so much you dream it into existence.” She looked up at him. “I wanted to be a Kingston more than anything in my entire life. And yes, I had a terrible crush on you. But more than that, I wanted what I thought you wanted. A family. A home. This. I wanted this.”

He stared at her, nonplussed.

“My father walked away from me and never looked back. My mother . . . she would rather be with her clients than listen to her own daughter. And that was all fine becauseyourmother listened. She loved me more than mine ever did?—”

“So, what—you wanted to be my sister? Great. Now I feel gross?—”

“Don’t be a jerk. Of course not. But that night, when you kissed me, I thought . . . I thought I belonged. I thought you wanted me.”

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