SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

SIXTY SEVEN

MORGAN'S POV

"Where are bringing me?" 

I squint at Jack, trying to read his face. He's always been bad at hiding things from me, but today? Today he's on another level of secretive. I've been trying to figure it out all day, and still... nothing. Usually, if we're doing something special, he'll give me at least a hint—something so I don't spiral into a planning frenzy. But all I got was, "Just bring a coat. You'll need it."

That's it. A coat. How helpful. Naturally, I spiraled into full-on outfit panic. I even called Gab to help me figure out what to wear, but she was acting weird too. All she said was, "Just wear something cute. It's Jack; don't stress." Like that's possible. The girl wasn't giving me anything to work with. Super suspicious, but whatever.

Now here I am, bundled in my coat, sitting in Jack's car, completely clueless. He hasn't told me anything. It's not like him—usually, we'd just stay in, order food, maybe binge-watch some shows to stay out of the spotlight.

"First, we're going to this nice dinner," he says, casually throwing his arm over the back of my seat like it's nothing.

I give him a playful glare. "Where?"

He just laughs under his breath and shrugs like it's no big deal. I swear, he's enjoying this way too much. "You'll see."

When we finally pull up to this fancy restaurant, I can't help but roll my eyes. Of course. It's one of those places where the menus are written in Italian, and you know the pasta's going to be his go-to. The minute we walk inside, I'm hit with that rich, savory smell. Jackpot. This place is definitely serving his favorite.

I don't even wait for him to sit down. "You're getting bolognese, aren't you?"

Jack grins, running a hand through his hair like he's all casual about it. "Was gonna try something new, but I guess you know me too well."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Please, you're predictable. The only question is how much parmesan you're gonna ask for."

Jack leans in across the table, his eyes locked on me in that way that makes my heart do a little flip. "You look gorgeous tonight," he says, all soft and serious.

I feel my cheeks flush instantly, and I wave him off. "Stop it, you say that even when I'm in sweatpants."

"Doesn't make it less true," he shrugs, his voice low but full of affection. "You are gorgeous. And I'm so damn proud of you, you know that? Everything you're doing with your designs, your work... it blows me away."

Okay, this is getting way too sentimental for dinner, and I try to brush it off with a laugh. "Jack, it's just interior design, not brain surgery."

He shakes his head, leaning back with this proud smile. "Doesn't matter. You're killing it. I don't tell you that enough."

Jack watches me with this quiet intensity, and for a second, I swear his hand trembles. I've never seen him like this—nervous. Jack doesn't do nervous.

He's being extra sweet tonight, which makes me... well, nervous. It's like he's about to say something big, but he keeps hesitating. There's this unspoken tension between us, and I can feel it. Every now and then, he glances at me like he's got something to say, but the words never come.

"Jack, you okay?" I ask, trying to break the silence.

He clears his throat and smiles, but it's a little forced. "Yeah, totally fine, eh. Just thinking about how lucky I am." His hand squeezes mine, and then bam—his elbow catches the edge of the table, knocking his water glass right over.

The glass tips and water spills everywhere. I gasp, jumping up as it soaks part of the tablecloth, and Jack's eyes go wide.

"Oh, jeez, eh," he mutters, grabbing his napkin, but he's making it worse, just kind of pushing the water around instead of soaking it up. "I—uh—hold on."

I can't help it. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, and before I know it, I'm full-on giggling. Jack's got this sheepish grin on his face, trying to save the situation but failing miserably.

"Real smooth," I tease, still laughing as I dab at the table with my own napkin. "You're making it worse!"

"I mean, could've been worse, eh. Could've knocked the whole table over," he jokes, flashing me a grin. "Guess I'm not as slick as I thought."

I feel my heart swell at how adorably flustered he is, but his clumsiness just makes me more aware of the tension between us. Something's going on with him, and I can't shake the feeling.

I reach across the table, placing my hand over his again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Calm down, my love," I whisper softly, locking eyes with him. "It's just me."

He lets out a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little, but I can still see it in his eyes. He's nervous—really nervous.

Dinner wraps up, and I swear I've never seen Jack this jittery before. It's cute in a way, but also making me more anxious. I try to brush it off as we leave the restaurant and step out into the cool night air. Jack's arm is around me, pulling me close, but I can feel the subtle shake in his hand as he holds mine.

Then, after dessert (which, of course, is tiramisu because Jack's obsessed with that too), he grabs my hand and pulls me outside. The night is crisp, and I'm so glad I listened to him and brought my coat. There's a certain intensity in his movements now, like everything's shifting from playful to serious, and I can feel the change in the air.

"We have to get somewhere now," Jack says, glancing down at his phone with a tight, focused expression.

His voice is steady, but there's something different about the way he's holding my hand—a little firmer, like he's trying to ground himself. I smile at him, but deep down, my stomach's doing nervous flips. Something's definitely going on. And for once, I'm not sure if I should brace myself or just lean into it.