Page 5 of Jack

“Hey. I found my sock. My luck is still holding.”

Nat walked over, took the baby from West, and handed her to Jack. “Hold a baby. You’ll feel better.”

Maybe. He looked at Amber, who still sucked her passie, her eyes widening.Uh-oh.

She opened her mouth, the passie dropped out, and she wailed.

Right.

Nat laughed. “Okay. Not quite ready for Unca Jack.” She took her back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I had the same reaction the first time I met him.”

“Hey—”

Nat turned to him. “Really? You’re the only law student who took cold showers and did interval training between study sessions. Not to mention the fasting.”

“It’s supposed to help with mental clarity.”

“As his roommate, I still have PTSD from the lucky socks,” West said.

“Lucky socks are a thing.”

“I did like the Memory Palace trick,” West said. “It helped me hold on to the black-letter law for the bar.”

“See? It’s all about strategy.” Jack got up and grabbed his plate. “Thanks, Nat, for untangling me from the fiasco down in Gainesville.”

She nodded. “Keep your head down. With luck, it’ll be gone by the next news cycle.”

West glanced at him. “You leave the hunt to us. Go home, connect with your family. Try not to blow up Brontë’s wedding.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but his soul burned a little.Right. “Pearl, c’mere and say goodbye to your sad Unca Jack before he faces the firing squad.”

Pearl ran toward him, her arms out. He scooped her up.

“What’s a firing squad?” she asked.

“Nice, Jack,” Nat said, shaking her head.

He made a wry face. Then, “It’s a guy named Steinbeck.” He tousled her hair and grabbed his other sock from Snowy’s mouth.Seriously. He glanced at West, Nat, baby Amber, and Pearl, now climbing onto the stool. “Thanks for the last meal, guys.”

“Try not to die, Jack,” West said. “That would wreck all our fun.”

* * *

She could do this. She. Could.Do this.

All Harper had to do was stay focused and ignoreHe Who Shall Not Be Remembered.

Harper turned off the highway, toward the road that led to the town of Duck Lake, her gut tightening with each mile. Her manager’s voice, on speakerphone, didn’t help.

“Oaken’s team will never agree. You’ve let your wishes do the talking here, Harper. You need to face reality. You’re not going to land the exclusive on the wedding.”

Maybe.Wishes—or maybe just blind hope—had always gotten her in over her head.

But not this time.

This time, she had an inside edge.

“Trust me. Boo will say yes.”

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