Page 22 of Jack Raider

“Me too. Just don’t tell Mable where we’re going. I’m trying to have dinner, not a family reunion in the parking lot.”

Jack laughed. “No promises. You know she’s probably bribing Nate right now for intel.”

I chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past her, don’t tell him anything either.”

We said goodnight, and I stared at the ceiling for a long time after, wondering how the heck my quiet, predictable life turned into this whirlwind of emotion, family surprises, and late-night calls with a man who made my heart ache in the best way.

Eventually, I turned off the TV, kissed the dogs goodnight, and curled up under my blanket.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

I changedmy outfit three times before settling on a dress that said “I’m not trying too hard,” even though I absolutely was.

My hands were still a little shaky when I parked outside the restaurant. Jack had picked a cozy little place in town I’d never even noticed before. The kind with string lights on the patio and a chalkboard menu out front. It looked… romantic.

Oh no.

This wasn’t just dinner. This wasa date.

Jack stepped outside the restaurant before I could fully panic and reverse out of the parking lot. He was in dark jeans and a navy button-up shirt that made his shoulders look illegal. He saw me, grinned like the world had just delivered him his favorite person, and jogged over to open my car door.

“Hey,” he said, offering me his hand as I stepped out. “You look beautiful.”

I smiled, trying not to trip over my own feet or emotions. “So do you,” I said, and then cringed. “I mean—uh, you know what I meant.”

He just laughed. “I’ll take it.”

The restaurant was quiet, intimate, and blissfully free of Mable, Grandma, or Nate hiding behind a potted plant. We ordered wine, and Jack did that thing where he listened like no one else in the world mattered. I told him about my week, the dog that tried to chase a raccoon through my screen door, and how Mable called to “casually” ask what I was wearing tonight.

Jack chuckled. “Nate said she offered him fifty bucks and a slice of pie for info. He didn’t crack.”

“Good man,” I said, raising my glass.

But then Jack grew serious. He leaned forward, his voice soft.

“I meant what I said the other night, Eloise. About you meeting them. I want them to know you.”

I blinked. “You do?”

“You’re important to me. They should know that.” He reached across the table and took my hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t want to keep any parts of my life separate anymore.”

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t cry.

Okay, Ialmostcried, but I hid it well behind a big sip of wine and a shaky smile.

“You’re important to me too, Jack,” I whispered.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, shared dessert, and lingering looks that made me forget to breathe. When he walked me to my car and kissed me—slow and sweet and full of promise—I swear the universe paused for a second, just for us.

I drove home floating, my cheeks aching from smiling, my heart full in a way I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

And that night, as I curled into bed with the dogs, I whispered to the ceiling, “Thank you.”

Because somehow, against all odds, Jack Raider had become my favorite person.

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