Audrey
As I’d hoped, the wine paired excellently with the pasta, smooth enough to compliment the sharpness of the parmesan but with a soft sweetness that offset the smoky flavor of the meat. I’d never had guanciale before, but I already knew that all other pastas had been ruined for me. Maybe all other food.
And wasn’t that surprise number two of the evening.
To say I hadn’t expected a home-cooked meal would have been a massive understatement. To say I hadn’t expected a full-blown candlelight dinner would have been … the crowning prince of understatements. Or something like that. I had officially lost all ability to think straight when I spotted the makeshift vase of tulips on the table.
Brad had never once given me flowers in ten years. And I guess, technically, Jackson hadn’t given me any either, but the fact that he’d gone to the effort of getting them, of arranging the table and cooking me dinner … It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me.
It had become laughingly obvious that this relationship had moved decidedly on from casual to serious and that I wasn’t alone in feeling, and wanting, more.
Damnit, I could hear Tiff laughing from here.
As we ate, I was completely overwhelmed with how sweet Jackson was. That he had done all of this for me. And so I sat there, studying him like he was the answer to the big mystery of my life. Maybe he was.
Jackson was able to look wise beyond his years. It was those eyes—endless pools of shimmering sapphire. And yet, when he smiled, really smiled, he was youth eternal, boyish. It hadn’t surprised me to learn that his fans were split between two camps; those who favored the broody, muscular, scruffy him and those that preferred the clean-shaven, mirthful, playful him. Honestly, I didn’t know how anyone picked between them. He was both. And more.
The words I wanted to say were so heavy in my mouth that I was sure they would tumble into a pile on the table if I let them.
This whole thing had started because I took a crazy chance. What was one more?
“I think I’m—”
Jackson spoke at the same time. “Come to Sarah’s wedding with me.”
I latched on to the statement, relieved to have a pause in my own admission. “Wait, really?”
“Yes. I want you there. I …” His jaw momentarily clenched before he shook it off, making a decision. “I’m crazy about you; you have to know that.”
While I had begun to suspect, to hope, hearing it was like an adrenaline shot to my heart. So much so that I didn’t know whether to laugh or dance or crawl into his lap and kiss him until we were both breathless. Probably a combination of all three.
“I feel the same way. I’ve never felt like this before.” And I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t, but that same worried edge bled into my voice, the same one Tiff had heard the other day, and Jackson, sweet, observant Jackson, heard it, too.
“Audrey?”
Ugh. Why was this so damn hard?
I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t know if I was any more ready for a relationship than when we’d first met, but I also didn’t want to walk away. And I had no idea how to navigate that.
I was torn. I liked him. I more than liked him. I thought about him all the time. Either remembering what we’d done together or imagining the things I wanted us to do. And ok, this whole thing had started with sex and was meant to only be about sex, but I couldn’t deny how easy he was to talk to or how relaxed I felt when I was with him.
But I didn’t know if it was enough.
“It’s just …” It killed me to see the disappointment in his eyes, but I needed to be honest with him. “I want you. I want to be with you. I just … I can’t lose myself again.”
I’d become a ghost when I was with Brad, or maybe it was more accurate to say I was a shadow of myself. I still worked, ate, slept, but it was out of habit. If we went out, it was always together. Brad’s friends became my friends, and my friends—aka Tiff—were tolerated on occasion. We watched the things Brad liked to watch and did the things Brad liked to do. No matter my interest.
After he’d left, I’d felt stripped of all the little markers of what I’d come to know of myself. It was like having to find my personality again. My voice.
And now that I had it, you’d have to pry it from my cold dead hands before I gave it up again.
Not that Jackson was like that. At least, not from what I’d seen so far.
But how did I know that being part of an “us” wouldn’t rob me of me?
He pushed away from the table and came close, laying a gentle hand on mine where it had been toying with the material of my skirt. I twisted my hand so that our hands were linked and met his eyes, his deep blues stormy with concern.
“What if it’s just lust? What if there’s nothing more than sex between us?”
