"It is," Jackson said, bobbing his head as he surveyed the area.
"Okay, well," I said, my voice trailing off. "Thank you for the walk. And dinner. And attempting to bake scones with me." I hiked my tote higher on my shoulder, a move that separated my hand from his. "I should go. Up. Go upstairs. To the apartment. Where I live."
Chuckling at my inability to produce complex sentences, Jackson announced, "I want to see you to the door."
I lifted my clasped hands to my lips as I searched for the words to send this man away. He was one of the good ones, I knew it. Too good.
"That's okay. I can't get lost on a single staircase," I said, regret thick in my words. "Jackson, I think"—I glanced to the sky, the moon and stars, and the dark expanse of the ocean for guidance but found none—"I think we should stop seeing each other like this."
Shocking the shit out of me, Jackson replied, "I concur."
"You do?" I snapped. I wasn't expecting him to agree this easily. If I was honest, I'd hoped for a tiny bit of protest. A lady needed hope, right?
He ran a hand down his face as he laughed. "I don't want to walk you home at midnight."
"Well, you insisted so that's not my problem," I replied, flicking my fingers at the street behind him. "I would've been perfectly fine on my own."
Jackson rubbed his brow, laughing. "I don't want to wonder whether I'll bump into you at the market," he continued. "I want to get your phone number from you and not from questionably ethical uses of my office. I want to have dinner with you and then I want to spend the night with you. I want to spend a lot of nights with you. As many as you'll give me. I want to watch you bake and then wash your dishes for you. I want to give the people around here something to talk about because the only dirty secrets we keep are the ones in the bedroom, you hear me?"
Without conscious thought, I took a giant step toward him. It was the wrong direction but I couldn't help myself. "I want you to have that," I said, "with someone who wants it, too."
We stared at each other for the longest minute since humanity started measuring time. It stretched on and on as he stared at me, stern as always, and I did everything in my power to keep from taking his hand and walking him up the stairs with me.
It wasn't about me wanting him anymore. Feelings and expectations were wrapped up in this now, and I couldn't handle those.
"You have really big feelings and I don't know how to deal with that," I said, a little breathless. "My entire world has tipped and twisted in the past week and you're fast-forwarding ahead with these—theseplans." Jackson gave me a slow blink but no other response. "I'm squarely in no-plans mode and you're—hell, you're picking out new dust ruffles."
Another slow blink.
"Jackson, say something or leave. Staring at people in the dark is creepy."
The sails went on clanging and that dog was still barking, and Jackson just blinked at me.
"I don't know what a dust ruffle is," he said. "I don't believe I've picked one out."
I ran my hand through my hair, sighing. "We're in different places. That's all I'm trying to say."
"I understand that you're not ready," he replied. "But know this: I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, waiting for you."
"I speak from experience when I tell you waiting isn't a winning strategy," I said, a rueful grin spreading across my lips. "Don't waste your time repeating my mistakes."
His eyes crinkled as he stared at me. "I don't see it that way."
"Find someone who doesn't make you wait, Jackson. It's not worth it."
Jackson took a breath and glanced away, his eyebrows inching upward. "I have to disagree with you there," he replied. "You might know this town and everyone in it, but you don't know me. If you did, you wouldn't try to change my mind when I already know it. You'd know I'm not a dumb cop fixated on somethin' pretty. You'd also know that I have enough patience to wait for what I want and enough sense to know when it's worth waiting for."
He leaned in, sliding his hand through my hair, and brushed his lips over mine. It was quick but earnest, making promises I realized he intended to keep.
"Good night, Annette," Jackson said, dropping a kiss on my forehead.
The forehead kiss hit me hard. Somehow, it was more intimate than the straightforward lip lock and it left me aching for more. And that—thatright there—was the worst part of this. I couldn't believe anything I felt. Wanting more, wanting to leave, wanting anything; all of it came at me like the first steep ascent on a rollercoaster. I didn't know what waited after the peak and I couldn't pry my fingers away from my face long enough to find out.
"Good night, Jackson," I replied, lifting my gaze to his. "I'll see you around town."
I already knew I was going to bake for him, see him, kiss him again. I knew it as well I knew my own name. Despite all the doubts and distortions in my mind, I wanted Jackson Lau.
And he wanted me, too.
