Page 67 of When Glitter Meets Gold

“I guess I can’t believe I’m showing the girl I knew in Florida when I was a kid, around my home.”

So he’s been thinking about when we were kids. Perhaps the memories he made me believe were so cloudy, are more prominent than he made out.

“What else do you remember? Apart from the swamp, I’m good with never talking about that again,” I say with afirm kind of humor as I fall into step next to him on the staircase.

“Well, for starters, I remember your mom used to bring those huge casseroles with food my tastebuds had never experienced.”

My eyes grow at how specific the memory is, like he plucked it from the top of the pile without doing any digging. “Of course you remember,” I say smugly. “Greek food is the best.”

For a moment, his face seems to light up. “You make it a lot?”

A sigh slips out as I contemplate just how long it’s been since I pulled out an old family recipe. “Not for years.”

“Years?”

“My…ex wasn’t so keen on it. In fact, he hated it. And, he hated my mom’s casseroles.” I laugh. “I guess I just stopped.”

A noticeable line forms between Jack’s dark brows. “That’s too bad.”

I shrug like I don’t care, but then I remember I don’t need to make excuses for Mark anymore. “He hated anythingexotic. That’s what he’d call it.” Then a memory pops up, too ridiculous to keep inside. “Oh, apart from me,” I exclaim, no idea why I’m suddenly discussing my asshole ex during the climb to the fourth floor. “He’d say,” I clear my throat, “babe,I love that you’re exotic, but like nottooexotic.”

“Wow. What does that even mean?” Jack asks, looking visibly irked.

Despite how much the topic lacks humour, I smile. “I have no idea, and it makes me feel icky to even consider it.”

Jack sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Sounds like an idiot. Never trust a guy who doesn’t like your mom’s casseroles.” He chuckles to himself. “You couldn’t stop me from putting those away if…” His eyes flick tothe ground and he wraps a large hand around the back of his neck, a jerk reaction to what he managed to stop himself from saying out loud.

Was he going to sayif I’d been with him instead?

“Good thing he’s an ex. You can cook whatever the fuck you like.” Smooth recovery. Before… “Unless there’s some other idiot who doesn’t know a good meal when it’s put in front of him. Maybe that guy who said he was in your hotel room?”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. He’s digging.

Unguarded laughter sneaks out of me anyway. “Drew? Oh no, the hotel room thing was a huge misunderstanding. Drew and I aren’t like that.” I cringe at the memory as I catch something not unlike relief wash over Jack’s face. “Hey, you think I’d let you kiss me today if there was someone else?” Oh God. I’d gone there. Reminded him of the kiss. Reminded myself. Not a good idea when we’re alone in his home.

The dimple in his cheek twitches. Then we’re climbing a staircase that probably leads to the roof. We reach a door that leads to the outside, which means this is as far as I go.

“Triple-pained door. Nothing can get to you from back here,” Jack says, one hand ready to open the door. “But if you need a distraction, just think about the fact thatyou’rethe one who kissed me earlier.”

My face’s pressed so close to the glass, an almost comical circle of steam forms at my mouth and nostrils. I’m stunned that Jack’s standing beside two beehives in his suit without a single layer of protection.

I don’t step back, however. Instead, I swipe at the condensation with my sleeve before taking yet anotherstep closer, drawn in by the fascinating scene in front of me.

I watch him get so close to both hives without flinching. The bees appear to be tucked inside, the air perhaps too cold for them to be out this time of year. Regardless of their absence, I’m staying put behind the glass.

Until I watch Jack go back and forth, carrying small items from one side of the roof and placing them at the other side. I feel dumb just watching him, sort of how I felt when I watched him put up the tent. Only now, I could make myself useful.

I sigh as I push through the door and step out onto the roof.

“Need a hand?” I say, my heels clicking against the decking.

“I got it. You don’t have to come out here.” Jack begins to wrap a giant hose around the back of one of the hives.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty when I’m in heels.” I pop my foot, flashing my five-inch Sophia Webster’s which shimmer in the dimming light. “Heels make anything possible.” I hold out my hands, signaling for him to pass me the hose since I’m closer. “Besides, the bees look pretty asleep to me. What I can’t see, I can’t be afraid of.” I shrug, even though the way my eyes keep darting to the hives, suggest I’m a little afraid.

“Okay,” he says, a smile tugging at his mouth as he loops up the hose and passes it to me somewhat reluctantly. “Set it over there, but just be careful not to?—”

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