บททั้งหมดของ The Holidate Pact: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

**JACKSON** I woke at six twenty-three. Sloane was curled against my chest, hair everywhere, breathing soft and even. Morning light filtered through her curtains, painting everything gold. This was real. Last night was real. She loved me. I loved her. We'd broken Rule Number Four so thoroughly it was almost funny. Almost. What happens now? The arrangement was void. We'd confessed feelings. We'd slept together. Did this mean we were actually dating? For real? My phone buzzed on her nightstand. Three missed calls. Two texts. **MUM: Where are you?** **MUM: I assume you're with Sloane. Use protection. xx** I groaned. Loud enough that Sloane stirred. She opened her eyes. Saw me. Smiled slow and genuine and beautiful. "Hi." "Hi yourself." "You're still here." "Where else would I be?" "I don't know. Thought maybe you'd panic and flee the country." "Considered it. Decided against." She laughed. Kissed my shoulder. Her lips were warm against my skin. "So," she said. "S

.i**SLOANE** The text came at noon on Wednesday. **PETER: Coffee? Just us. Need to talk.** My stomach dropped. I stared at the screen for a full minute. **ME: When?** **PETER: Now? Starbucks on Michigan?** **ME: Be there in 20.** I grabbed my coat. Texted Jackson. **ME: Peter wants to talk. Wish me luck.** **JACKSON: Want me to come?** **ME: No. This is something I need to do alone.** **JACKSON: Call me after. I love you.** **ME: Love you too.** The words still made my chest tight. In the best way. The Starbucks was crowded. Lunch rush. Business people in suits clutching lattes like lifelines. Peter was already there. Corner table. Two cups in front of him. He looked up. Waved me over. "Thanks for coming." "You made it sound urgent." "Not urgent. Important." He slid one cup across. Latte. My usual order. He remembered. I sat. The chair was still warm from whoever had it before me. "So," he said. "So." "You and Jackson." "Me and Jackson." His eyes were steady.

**JACKSON** One forty-seven PM. Navy Pier was packed. Tourists with cameras. Kids with ice cream. Families laughing like the world was simple. We stood by the entrance. Me, Sloane, Peter. Waiting. "You sure about this?" Peter asked. "No. But we're doing it anyway." Sloane's hand was tight in mine. Her palm slick with sweat. "He's late," she said. "Probably a power move." "Or he's not coming." "He's coming." I scanned the crowd. Looking for a face I'd tried to forget. Two oh-three. He appeared. Tall. Broad shoulders. Tattoos covering both arms in black and gray ink. Sleeve rolled up despite the cold. Tommy. He saw me. Smiled. All teeth. No warmth. "Jackson. Good to see you, mate." "Tommy." His eyes slid to Sloane. Then Peter. Lingered too long on both. "Thought I said come alone." "Plans changed." His jaw tightened. But he gestured to a bench away from the crowds. We followed. My heart hammered against my ribs. Tommy sat. Spread his arms across the back of the ben

**SLOANE** One week later, life was surprisingly normal. Jackson stayed over three nights a week. I stayed at his twice. We didn't call it moving in, but there was a drawer at each other's places now. His toothbrush by my sink. My coffee mug in his cabinet. His sweatpants folded in my dresser. My hair ties scattered across his bathroom counter. Small invasions that felt like home. My mother still wasn't fully speaking to me. But she was thawing. She'd invited us to brunch next Sunday. Progress. My father called Jackson for golf. Actual golf. Not interrogation disguised as golf. Peter and Jennifer had us over for dinner. The kids climbed all over Jackson, showing him their toys, demanding he play referee in their games. Susan sent drunk texts of support at two AM. Typical. Caroline decided to stay another month. Rented a small apartment in Lincoln Park. "I like Chicago," she announced over coffee. "And I'm not done getting to know Sloane." We had tea every Wednesday. My idea.

**JACKSON**June 15th. Three weeks since Memorial Day. Everything is perfect.Which means I should've known something was about to break."Milwaukee tournament," I tell Sloane over breakfast. "Four days. Starts Thursday."She looks up from her laptop. "Prize money?""Fifty thousand."Her eyes widen. "Jackson. That's huge.""Regional qualifier. But yeah. Could change things.""I'm coming with you.""You have work.""I work remotely, remember?" She closes the laptop. "Besides this is important."I reach across the table. Lace our fingers together. Her skin is warm from holding her coffee mug."What did I do to deserve you?""Made a fake dating pact with a stranger from a Target returns line.""Best decision ever."She smiles. That soft smile that makes my chest tight.We start packing that night. My apartment. With my mother gone, we have the place to ourselves.Sloane folds my tournament shirts. I pack my golf shoes. The TV plays some cooking show neither of us is watching.My phone ri