I slide the packet across the table, trying not to jerk my hand back when his fingers graze across mine. There’s an expression on his face I can’t quite read as he starts to flip through the papers.

“Wow. This is . . . wow.” His gaze flickers between me and the packet I painstakingly organized. “Really, Drew, I’m not a person that’s ever short on words, but I don’t even know what to say. This is so great. I can’t believe you had the time to do all of this. Thank you.”

Warmth blooms in my stomach at his praise. Most days, I feel like I’m struggling to tread water, barely staying afloat. Everything feels hard. But when I was doing this, I remembered not only why I loved what I did so much, but also how good at it I was. Like really, really good.

“It wasn’t a problem at all.” I wave off his gratitude. “I had a lot of fun doing it. I should be thanking you.”

“Well, still.” He flips through the pages one last time before carefully moving them to the side. “I have to do something to thank you for this.”

“You really don’t. I promise. I had fun. Before . . .” I let my words trail off. Jasper is so nice, it’s easy for me to forget that he’s still a stranger—a very attractive, very attentive stranger—who doesn’t need me unloading all my issues on him. “You know what, never mind. I’m just glad I was able to help. Truly.”

“No.” He shakes his head and a small strand falls free from his slicked-back locks. My fingers itch to reach across the table and tuck it behind his ear. “What were you going to say?”

“It was nothing.” I look around for Janet, realizing I forgot to order a new martini . . . something I could really use right about now. “Trust me, the last thing you want is to hear about my old life.”

“And you trust me, there’s nothing I’d rather hear more.” He unfolds his hands and reaches across the table. I watch in slow motion as they approach my hand, and when they engulf my hand in a quick but tender squeeze, my nerves light up like the flash of my camera.

I’m sure he meant for it to be a friendly or reassuring gesture, but my stupid body, which hasn’t been touched in way too long, goes haywire. I wish I could blame the rose martini for being stronger than I thought or even say the peony sugar was really infused with magic . . . or psychedelics, but I can’t. It’s all Jasper. With his eyes focused on me, the feel of his touch still lingering on my skin, I’m unable to think straight.