Jade Park did not do romance.
She did sarcasm. She did late nights at the bakery with flour in her hair. She did oversized hoodies that said things like I'M NOT A MORNING PERSON, I'M A DRAGON. She did not do candlelit dinners, lingering eye contact, or the kind of conversations that made you feel like your heart was going to crawl out of your chest.
So when Marcus Webb asked her out – actually asked her out, with words like "dinner" and "just the two of us" – she laughed in his face.
Then she said yes.
Because Marcus Webb had gray hair at the temples, kind eyes, and the kind of quiet confidence that made her want to punch something. Also, he'd cried at Frankie's funeral. Not sobbed – just wiped his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Jade had seen him. And something in her chest had cracked open.
Now she stood in front of her closet – a closet that was mostly hoodies and ripped jeans and one black dress she'd bought for a funeral three years ago – and panicked.
"You're going on a date," Sloane said from the doorway.
"I'm going to a dinner. With a man. Who happens to be a billionaire's CFO. That's not a date. That's a networking opportunity."
"With candlelight?"
"He didn't say candlelight."
"Marcus strikes me as a candlelight guy."
Jade pulled out the black dress. "This is all I have."
Sloane walked over and took the dress. "No."
"No?"
"This is a funeral dress. You wore it to Frankie's funeral."
"It's also a date dress if you squint."
Sloane opened Jade's closet, pushed past the hoodies, and pulled out a green blouse Jade had forgotten she owned. Emerald silk, V-neck, long sleeves. "Wear this. With jeans. And those boots you never wear because they hurt your feet."
"The boots that make me look like I'm trying too hard?"
"The boots that make your legs look amazing."
Jade groaned. "Why am I doing this?"
"Because you like him."
"I don't like him. I tolerate him. There's a difference."
Sloane raised an eyebrow.
"Fine," Jade muttered. "I like him. But if he turns out to be a jerk, I'm blaming you."
"Noted. Now put on the boots."
---
Marcus picked her up at 7 PM.
He drove a sensible car – a gray sedan, clean but not fancy. He wore a dark sweater and jeans, no tie, his gray hair brushed back from his face. He looked like a man who had stopped trying to impress people years ago and had somehow become more impressive because of it.
He was holding a single sunflower.
"You're early," Jade said.
"You're late."
"I'm not late. I'm fashionably delayed."
He smiled – a slow, warm smile that made his eyes crinkle. "You look beautiful."
Jade's face went hot. "You look... adequate."
"High praise."
She took the sunflower. No one had ever given her a sunflower before. She didn't know what to do with it.
"There's a vase in the kitchen," Marcus said. "I'll wait."
She put the sunflower in water. Then she walked back to the door, grabbed her coat, and stepped outside.
"Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"Then you'll hate this one."
He opened the car door for her. She got in. The car smelled like leather and coffee and something woodsy – his cologne, probably. It was nice. She hated that it was nice.
---
They drove across Seattle, through neighborhoods Jade had never seen. The sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink. Marcus drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between them.
Jade stared at his hand.
Don't touch it, she told herself. Don't you dare touch it.
She didn't touch it.
They parked near a small park overlooking the water. A food truck was parked at the edge of the grass – one of those fancy ones that sold gourmet tacos and had string lights wrapped around the roof.
"A food truck," Jade said.
"You said you hated fancy restaurants."
"I said I hated pretentious people who eat foie gras and talk about their yachts."
"Same thing." Marcus got out and walked around to open her door. "I figured you'd be more comfortable here."
Jade looked at the food truck. At the string lights. At the man who had somehow figured out that she would rather eat tacos on a park bench than sit in a white-tablecloth restaurant.
"This is acceptable," she said.
"High praise again."
They ordered tacos – al pastor for her, carne asada for him – and sat on a bench overlooking the water. The city glittered across the bay. The air was cool but not cold.
"So," Marcus said. "Tell me something real."
"Like what?"
"Like why you work at a bakery when you have a degree in business."
Jade nearly choked on her taco. "How do you know about my degree?"
"I asked Sloane. She said you were too proud to ask for help, so I'm asking for you."
Jade set down her taco. "I worked in corporate for five years. Marketing. Big firm. Corner office. The whole thing."
"What happened?"
"I woke up one day and realized I hated everyone I worked with. And I hated myself for becoming someone I didn't recognize." She looked at the water. "Sloane's Nana had just died. She needed help at the bakery. I quit my job the next week."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. "That's brave."
"It's stupid. I make a third of what I used to make. My apartment is tiny. My car is held together with duct tape."
"But you're happy."
Jade looked at him. His eyes were kind. Not pitying – just... seeing.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm happy."
Marcus smiled. "That's all that matters."
They finished their tacos. Marcus bought churros from the truck – cinnamon sugar, warm, dipped in chocolate. They shared them on the bench, their fingers brushing every time they reached for the bag.
"So," Jade said. "Tell me something real."
Marcus wiped chocolate from his lip. "I was married. For twelve years."
Jade's heart stopped. "You were?"
"Her name was Elena. She died. Cancer. Five years ago."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago." He stared at the water. "We didn't have children. She wanted them. I wasn't ready. I kept saying 'next year, next year.' And then she was gone."
Jade's throat tightened. "Marcus—"
"I'm not telling you this to make you sad. I'm telling you because you asked for something real." He turned to look at her. "I've been alone for five years. Not lonely – I have friends, work, the foundation. But alone. And then I saw you at the gala, yelling at Cole's ex-girlfriend, and I thought – that's a woman who doesn't take anyone's shit."
Jade laughed. "I don't."
"I know. That's why I'm here."
They sat in silence for a moment. The string lights flickered. The water lapped at the shore.
"I'm not good at this," Jade said.
"At what?"
"At... feelings. At letting people in. At being soft."
"I'm not asking you to be soft. I'm asking you to be you."
"That's scarier."
"I know."
Marcus reached over and took her hand. His fingers were warm. His palm was calloused – from the gym, probably, or from years of not being afraid of hard work.
Jade didn't pull away.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"Of me?"
"Of wanting you."
Marcus squeezed her hand. "Then let's start small. One taco at a time."
She laughed – a real laugh, surprised and bright. "That's the worst pickup line I've ever heard."
"Did it work?"
She looked at their joined hands. At the city lights. At the man who had lost his wife and kept living anyway.
"Maybe," she said.
"Then I'll take it."
---
They walked along the waterfront after dinner, their hands still intertwined. Jade's boots hurt her feet, but she didn't complain.
"Tell me something else," Marcus said.
"About what?"
"About your family."
Jade was quiet for a moment. "My parents are Korean immigrants. They own a dry cleaning business in Federal Way. They wanted me to be a doctor."
"But you became a baker's assistant."
"I became a disappointment." She said it lightly, but Marcus heard the weight beneath.
"Are you still close with them?"
"I see them on holidays. They don't understand my life. I don't expect them to." She shrugged. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," Marcus said. "It's lonely."
She stopped walking. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"See right through me."
"I've been lonely too. It takes one to know one."
Jade stared at him. The moonlight caught the gray in his hair. His face was open, honest, unafraid.
She kissed him.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It wasn't careful. It was desperate and hungry and a little bit messy – the kind of kiss you give when you've been holding back for too long.
Marcus made a surprised sound, then his hands were in her pink hair, and her hands were fisted in his sweater, and they were kissing like teenagers behind the bleachers.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Jade laughed.
"What?" Marcus asked.
"I thought you'd be a bad kisser."
"Why?"
"Because you're so... responsible."
"I'm responsible in the boardroom. Not everywhere."
Jade grinned. "Good to know."
They walked back to the car, holding hands, the city lights reflected in the water.
Marcus drove her home. He walked her to the door of her tiny apartment – the one above the bakery, the one with the flickering light in the hallway.
"I had a good time," he said.
"Me too."
"Can I see you again?"
Jade pretended to think about it. "Maybe. If you bring more churros."
"Deal."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Soft. Gentle. The kind of kiss that said I'm not going anywhere.
Jade watched him walk back to his car. He waved before he got in. She waved back.
Then she went inside, closed the door, and slid down to the floor.
Her heart was pounding. Her lips were tingling. Her face hurt from smiling.
Damn it, she thought. I'm in trouble.
---
The next morning, Sloane found her in the kitchen, up to her elbows in croissant dough, still wearing the green blouse.
"You never came home last night," Sloane said.
"I came home. Late."
"How late?"
Jade didn't answer.
Sloane grinned. "You like him."
"I tolerate him."
"You kissed him."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you're wearing the same clothes and you haven't stopped smiling." Sloane grabbed a croissant. "Spill. Everything."
Jade spilled. The tacos. The churros. The hand-holding. The kiss.
"He lost his wife," Jade said. "Five years ago. Cancer."
"That's terrible."
"He's still sad. I could see it. In his eyes." Jade set down her rolling pin. "But he's not broken. He's just... waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Jade looked out the window. Marcus's gray sedan was parked across the street. He was sitting in the driver's seat, drinking coffee, pretending not to watch the bakery.
"For someone to stay," Jade said.
Sloane hugged her. "Then stay."
Jade hugged her back. "I'm scared."
"Good. That means it's real."
The bell jingled. Marcus walked in, holding a paper bag.
"Churros," he said. "Fresh."
Jade looked at Sloane. Sloane looked at Marcus.
"I'll be in the back," Sloane said, and disappeared.
Marcus set the bag on the counter. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me again."
"I wasn't sure either."
"And now?"
Jade took a churro. Bit into it. Cinnamon and sugar and warmth.
"Now I'm sure," she said.
Marcus smiled. "Good."
They ate churros standing at the counter, the pink neon sign flickering above them, the smell of butter and chocolate all around.
Jade didn't say I love you. It was too soon for that.
But she thought it.
And from the way Marcus looked at her, she thought he might be thinking it too.