“And they say romance is dead,” Jack remarked in that sarcastic voice of his, hand squeezing your own — eyes locked on your face as you stared up at the starry night sky.

He'd spoiled you for Valentine's, taking you out and ravishing you with gifts until his wallet wept, ending the day with some stargazing.

Jack rolled into his side, cupping your face in order to bring his lips to your own in a slow kiss, skin illuminated by the moon.