The restaurant was tucked into the corner of a brick-lined street, dimly lit with wrought-iron lanterns and ivy trailing along the windows. Jack slid into a parking spot with ease, stepping out and coming around to open her door before she had the chance to reach for the handle.
Inside, a maître d’ in a pressed black vest led them to a quiet table in the back, all soft candlelight and white tablecloth. Jack pulled out her chair without saying a word. Just one long look before sitting across from her, his knees brushing hers beneath the table. And they both felt it.
Molly shifted, pretending to scan the menu, even though she could barely focus. She wasn’t used to feeling like this—flushed and giddy and a little dangerous. And Jack? He hadn’t stopped watching her since they walked in.
Whe
