Page 107 of Making Over Maris

“I called you from Kenny’s phone. There was an emergency. His brother OD’d and I left the office so fast I forgot my phone.”

“Oh no. Is he…okay?”

“Calvin?” Jack shrugged. “He survived. This time. When he gets out of the hospital, I have him booked in a good rehab.”

“Isn’t that expensive?”

His jaw firmed. “Doesn’t matter. He made it. Kenny’s a mess though.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you didn’t get my message. I couldn’t remember your number so—”

“You can’t remember my number?” Hell. She knew his by heart.

He kissed away her annoyance. “Sara. Darling. I have you on speed dial. But without my cell phone, I’m lost. I must have called fifteen wrong numbers before I finally got your voice mail. All with Kenny squawking in my ear about his minutes.”

“Poor Kenny.”

“Yeah. I reimbursed him. Anyway. As soon as Calvin was stable, I hopped on a plane—”

“I’m so proud of you.”

His eyes glowed at that. “Anyway. Here I am.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Sara blew out a laugh. “I can’t believe you got on that plane.”

He smiled, kissed her. “Neither can I. But I had to. I couldn’t miss this, Sara.” He blinked. “I mean, if you don’t mind having dinner with me instead of Philippe?”

She boggled. “Are you kidding me? He’s nice enough as gigolos go but he’s no Jack Maris.”

He stared at her for a minute and then kissed her. A brief brush. “God, I lo—I mean. Thanks. Shall we go down for dinner?” He put out an arm.

“Yes. We shall.”

She smiled, grinned, laughed. Because everything was better.

Jack was here.

After a truly sumptuous meal, they walked back to the hotel, along the Seine in the moonlight with all the other romantic couples, gazing out at the inky water, at the reflected lights dancing off that dark surface.

Dinner had been wonderful, from the soup starter to the frothy, impossibly delicious dessert. But Sara suspected it only tasted as good as it did because they were together.

She hugged his arm tighter. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I am too.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Was it very difficult? Getting on that plane?” He didn’t answer. She glanced up into his face. “Was it?”

“I’ll probably always hate flying.”

“What will you do on the way home?”

He winced. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe I can distract you…” She waggled her brows.

Jack chuckled. “I’ll just bet you could. But it’s an eleven-hour flight.”

“I’ll have to get creative.”

“You’re always creative.”