Page 96 of A Perfect Fit

It’s Jackson.

Wearing the sweatshirt I made for him.

And holding a box of chocolates.

My heart leaps at the sight of him, and my lips part slightly open. Even though it’s only been six days since I last saw him, it feels like six days too long.

I’ve missed him.

Jackson strolls inside the room, his eyes locking with mine. “Congrats on your interview, Isabelle.” He hands the chocolates to me with a smile. “These are for you.”

“Hey,” I breathe, taking the box. “Thank you.”

“For context, Isabelle, a little birdie told me your boyfriend was the one who told Sparkes Magazine about you, so we invited him this morning as a surprise for you,” Michelle explains. “It was very last minute, but he managed to rearrange his work schedule and drop by.”

A sheepish look crosses Jackson’s face. “We’re not actually … dating.” There’s a strain in his voice at his last word that hits me square in the chest. “But I wanted to support my favorite fashion designer’s first-ever magazine interview.”

Favorite fashion designer.

It’s not the first time he’s called me this, but another butterfly escapes from its cage nonetheless.

Michelle nods at him. “Well, glad you could make it.”

“Does that mean I get to read the interview before everyone else?” he asks.

Michelle laughs. “Nice try, but no. You’ll still have to wait like everyone else.”

Jackson turns to me, a tender look on his face. “Well, the best things are worth the wait.”

My heart misses a beat at his words.

We wrap up in the interview room, and after saying my goodbyes and thank-yous to Michelle and others at the Sparkes Magazine team, Jackson and I leave the office.

“Are you heading home?” Jackson asks as we step inside the elevator.

“Yep. Just walking to the subway station.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“You sure?” I ask. “You don’t have to go back to work or anything?”

Jackson grins. “Technically, yes, but this is better. I’ll just stay back later to finish off my work.”

The elevator doors open, revealing a large group of people, who are chatting among themselves. Jackson gestures for me to step inside first, and I do so, turning to face the elevator doors. When he joins, facing me, I accidentally press against his front, the warmth of his body flush against mine. My breaths turn shallow, but I don’t dare glance up and make eye contact with him.

Luckily, it’s a fairly quick elevator ride. Walking in silence, we exit the building and step onto the sidewalk, joining the hustle and bustle of Sixth Avenue. The humid air sticks to my skin as we dodge passersby, and the warm and savory aroma from a hot dog cart nearby drifts in the air.

“Thanks again for coming today,” I say.

“Of course. I wanted to see you, even if it was just for a few minutes.”

His words are simple, yet they mean everything.

I can’t believe I was worried he was having second thoughts about what he’d said to me in the hotel lobby in Chicago—about us. That I let my nervous thoughts overpower me again.

“When I didn’t hear from you after we returned to New York, I thought …” I shake my head, regretting saying that out loud. He’s probably going to think it’s silly.

Jackson’s brows knit together. “What is it?”