“I’ll finally have my own Beatrice Wilmot original.” “The first of many.” His grin is so deliriously wide it makes my heart sing. “What’s it called?” he asks. “Two Wrongs Make a Right.” Jamie slowly lowers my phone. He blinks. Then blinks again, before he dabs the corner of his eye. That’s when I realize what’s happening. My heart drops to the floor. “Jamie? I made you cry. I’m so sorry—” “Come here, you,” he says, curling me tight in his grasp, setting my phone on the nightstand next to him. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs as he nuzzles me. “It’s just those pesky fall allergies again.”