She shook her head. The motion sent a stabbing sensation through her brain. “I’ll take something when I get home.”
So much for her overnight bag.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. His shoulders shifted back.
Man-mode.Southern gentlemanmode. She stifled a sigh and squeezed her eyes shut.
“My daddy died in a car accident,” he said. “I’d rather you didn’t drive tonight.”
Oh.
Vulnerable wouldn’t have made her top-fifty list of things she knew about Jackson, but it was etched across his face clear as a Minnesota winter sky. She touched a shaky hand to his cheek. “You’re a good man.”
“Not always.” He pulled her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss, then tucked her hand back down onto the table.
Right. Moment over. Because they weren’t about moments.
They had an expiration date. Not that it mattered if they neverstartedsomething.
“I’ll get a room here tonight,” she said.
He blew out a heavy breath. His lips thinned and he tucked his hands under his arms.
She fought the smile, but it felt too good, so she gave up and let it through. “Does your momma know you cuss like that in your head?”
“Eat your cake and take your ketchup.”
It wasn’t pie, but The Harrington made a mean cake. The cake part was as fluffy as cotton candy. Not as sweet, which balanced nicely with the berry filling and buttercream frosting. It made the ketchup shots unnecessary. She was licking the last of the frosting off her fork when she saw one of the older bridesmaids making eyes at Jackson.
He didn’t seem to notice, but she suspected he didn’t miss much. “You don’t have to sit here with me if you want to go enjoy yourself.”
“She’s eyeing your bouquet.” His gaze didn’t waver from the crowd on the dance floor.
“Actually,” she said, “I think she’s looking for a different kind of lollipop.”
She’d made him blush. That didn’t happen often.
“No more cake for you.” A dimple peeked through. “How’s your head?”
“Pretty much still aches like a mother.” She pushed her plate back. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock yet, and Kaci and Lance showed no inclination to leave their party anytime soon. They were leading a conga line around the room, probably because the suggestion had made her mother turn purple.
“Think they’d mind if I bailed?”
“Anna Grace.”
Right. They’d mind if she stayed here nursing a headache on a sugar rush in a loud room.
Jackson stood. “You gonna let me help?”
“No.”
“You’re a right stubborn woman, you know that?”
“I have a headache and a credit card. You’ll have more funout there.”
But she accepted his help out of her seat. Not because she needed it, but because he offered, and she appreciated his patience with her.
She also would’ve appreciated knowing when she could offer him pie again. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen.
