I lace my fingers through his, tucking myself into his side. “Jack did a lot of painting when he was younger, but he stopped for a while after his parents died.”

“Well, you should be selling this shit.” Gemma doesn’t do canned pity, and I’ve never been more grateful for it.

Jack gives her a timid smile. “It’s not really about the money these days.”

His word choice snags something in my brain for a minute, but I shrug it off. “And you know me, happy to capitalize on the free labor of you unfortunate souls who are stuck loving me.” I rise on my toes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Speaking of. Talk less. Work more.”

Various things are thrown in my general direction, but everyone gets to work. Paintings are hung, supplies organized, décor put in place. Lucy, my new employee, joins us for a couple of hours. She’s in her late thirties, and for a minute, I worry our antics will annoy her, but she fits right in, giving as good a ribbing as she gets. By the end of Saturday, Bridge and Blooms looks just about complete. You know, minus the blooms.

We all bundle up in our coats and scarves before heading out, the January weather having turned bitterly cold over the past two weeks.

I lock the front door after everyone has exited the building, then loop my arm through Jack’s as we head to dinner. “I can’t believe tomorrow I get to go to work in my store.”

“Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?” Jack leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head.

“Once or twice.” I snuggle deeper into his side, needing the warmth and reveling in the comfort. “Have you thought any more about selling some of your paintings? I think the reaction from the gang only further cements my claim that a shit-ton of people are going to want them once they see them in the store.” I tilt my head up so I can see his eyes.

And if it weren’t already dark outside and limiting my visibility, I would swear there’s a flash of something like panic darting through the bright green.

But Jack just shrugs. “I’ve never wanted to sell my paintings before. It’s not about money for me.”

“I’m totally happy to be your art pimp if you need me to.”

He chuckles. “I think you mean my art dealer.”

“No. Art pimp. That will be my official title or no deal.”

We arrive at the restaurant, and Jack holds the door open for me. “You’re something else, sweet pea.”

“That’s why you love me, Jackpot.”

“That I do.”