Jackson turned his head, one hand still on the fridge door handle, the other holding a beer bottle. He froze when he saw her. And stared.

After several tense moments, Mollie forced a smile. “I didn’t hear you come home.”

He pulled out the bottle opener and flipped the top off his beer without looking away from her.

His eyes drifted down, lingering on her legs, then back up. “Nice dress. Familiar.”

She bit her lip. “It’s one of the few date-worthy ones I own.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Date-worthy, huh?”

“Not that you and I were on a date that night,” she said quickly as she walked all the way into the kitchen. “I just mean…I thought…”

He gave her a small smile. “You look nice.”

Nice. It was the blandest compliment anyone could possibly drum up. She didn’t want to look nice. Not for him. She wanted to take his breath away.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

Jackson glanced at his watch—it wasn’t the ridiculously expensive one Madison had gotten him a few years before, and absently she wondered when he’d replaced it. Why he’d replaced it.

“How about a drink? Beer, wine, martini?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “You have a personal bartender back there, or…?”

“I’ll have you know that I have the deluxe man card. I can 007 it up right now, baby.”

“Just swap that suit for a tux, and you could totally give Daniel Craig a run for his money in Casino Royale.”

“I think you mean Sean Connery, darling.”

She tilted her head. “Nope. You’re definitely a Daniel Craig Bond.”

He pulled open a drawer and took out a kitchen knife, holding it to her. “Here. Just go ahead and stab me.”

“What’s wrong with Daniel Craig? He’s hot.”

Jackson waggled his eyebrows as he put the knife away. “Is he now?”

“You fishing for compliments, Burke?”

“From a hot young thang in a short red dress? You betcha.”

“A hot young thang who’s about to go out with your friend.”

“Ah. Right. That.”

Tell me not to go. Tell me I should be dating you instead. But of course he wouldn’t. Only in her fantasies.

“So was that a yes on the drink, then?” he asked, as though the idea of her and Lincoln dating didn’t bother him in the least.

“No, I’m good. I keep meaning to stop and get some wine, but—”

“Mollie. You wound me. What kind of wine do you want?”

“No, I’m—”

“Red? White? I’m opening a bottle regardless, so if you don’t voice a preference—”

“White.”

He went to the refrigerator and studied a half dozen bottles before pulling out one with a green label.

“I thought you hated white wine,” she said.

“I do.”

“So, what? You just keep it around for the ladies?”

He pointed at her with the corkscrew. “Which you should be damn glad of.”

Mollie narrowed her eyes slightly. “Jackson. Your supply of chilled white wine doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that that’s the only thing Madison drinks, does it?”

His hands stilled for a moment; anyone who wasn’t looking for it would have missed it.

But Mollie was looking for it, and she couldn’t deny that it caused just the slightest sour taste in her mouth to know that he kept his ex-wife’s favorite beverage on hand.

“Have you talked to her?” Mollie asked quietly.

He glanced up as he pulled out the cork. “You’re telling me you don’t know? Thought you two compared Jackson Burke notes every morning.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten my full written report yet, so help me out,” she snapped sarcastically.

“That dinner was a one-time thing,” he said. “So whatever you two have up your sleeves, you can forget it. I have absolutely zero interest in reconciling with the woman who told the world I was cheating on her and then divorced me after a car accident.”

“Don’t go biting my head off. You’re the one who keeps her favorite wine in the fridge.”

“I don’t—”

Mollie reached across the counter and snatched the wine.

“Mollie—”

He grabbed for it, but she danced out of reach as she glanced at the label.

“I knew it.” The satisfaction of being right warred with disappointment. Turning the bottle around to face him, she taunted, “Let’s see, why is that label familiar? Oh yeah—it’s my sister’s favorite.”

Jackson was on her in a second, jerking the bottle out of her hands. “It’s not like that.”

She glanced up at him, vaguely aware that he was standing closer than he needed to, but neither one of them stepped back.

“Then what’s it like?”

He clenched his jaw. “It’s…complicated.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said. “First it’s the casual dinner, then you start stocking her wine, then—”

“Have you forgotten? Madison and I live in different states.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten, not for a moment,” Mollie said, holding his eyes. “And I don’t think you have either. I think a part of you misses Texas like crazy.”

He looked away, and Mollie’s heart tugged for him—and for herself. Even so, it was a good reminder that deep down he was still Madison’s Jackson. Still a Texan. Still a quarterback first and foremost, even if he couldn’t play anymore.