Page 114 of Jett

Just like he did with my mother.

Anger surges through me, sharp and visceral. “I don’t do that shit. When I give my heart, I give it. Completely.”

“Let’s not get overly sentimental,” he replies, his voice cold. “A heart is just a muscle. Nothing more.”

I push to my feet, pacing the room. My hand grips the phone so tightly I half expect it to crack. “I need to go,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Don’t forget the golf game,” he reminds me before I hang up.

I toss the phone onto the bed and lean against the dresser, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

“I’m not you,” I say quietly, the words aimed at the ghost of Paul Knight staring back at me.

I slip on my jacket, smoothing down the lapels.

I’m not him. I’ll never be him. I’ll never treat a woman the way he treated my mother. I’d rather burn everything I’ve built than become Paul Knight’s shadow.

With one last glance at the mirror, I grab my keys and head for the door.

CARI

I sit cross-legged inside the makeshift tent, fairy lights casting a soft glow on the canvas walls.

“This all looks absolutely delicious,” I declare, holding up the battered reading book Brooke has handed me as a menu.

Brooke adjusts her tiny apron and stands in front of me, all business. “What would you like to order?”

“Pizza with salad, please,” I reply, trying to match her serious tone.

She nods and scribbles something on her little notepad. I lean forward to peek, but her spelling is anyone’s guess.

“And would you like something to drink with that?” she asks, her tiny brows furrowing in concentration.

“Raspberry lemonade would be perfect.”

She writes it down carefully, her lips moving as she tries to sound it out. “Coming right up!” she announces, spinning on her heel and disappearing out of the tent.

I glance around at the scene she’s created. She’s laid out a mat in the middle of the floor, complete with plastic knives, forks, and mismatched plates. Elephant sits loyally beside me, and the dolls—clearly her regular customers—look perfectly content with their empty plates.

This is delightful.

It doesn’t feel like babysitting, or work, or any of the countless duties I’ve had to juggle over the years. This feels like belonging. Like, for the first time in a long time, I’m not drifting aimlessly.

My mom’s absence used to feel like an endless void. But now ... now I feel a sliver of something I haven’t felt in a while. A connection. A place.

Jett once told me I was never alone.

An unbidden thought of him sneaks in as I stare at my pretend fellow diners, waiting for Brooke to return.

He called last night, his deep voice vibrating through the phone and settling low in my chest. I could listen to him talk for hours. He said he’d be back sometime this afternoon, but something came up and he’s still dealing with the “loose ends.”

I miss him.

Brooke does too, though I’ve done my best to keep her occupied. Yesterday, I took her to the park and invited Celine to join us, but her daughter had gone into the hospital to give birth, so Zara came instead.

The girls had the best time. We came home to a picnic in the garden and an afternoon of splashing in the water.

Today, we’ve been in and out of the pool and the sea, soaking up the sun and keeping busy. It’s been wonderful but exhausting. Still, the moment I’m alone at night, when Brooke is fast asleep, my thoughts drift back to Jett.

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