“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Jackson warned with a smile. “Pie?” he offered, motioning toward the bake-sale table.
Zoe scanned the table. “Sure. My mom must be on a break. Let’s get something and go before she’s announcing our engagement.”
He chuckled. “Honestly, she’s a force of nature. I can see where you get it from.”
He scanned the rows of pies under clear domes. “Which one’s your favorite?”
She tipped her head, considering. “Cherry, of course. Is there any other?”
Jackson was scandalized. “You’ve had apple, right? Blueberry? Pumpkin?”
She laughed. “I take it you’re a pie guy?”
“Isn’t every man?” Jackson asked, mock-offended. The corner of his mouth lifted into that unguarded grin she always brought out of him.
A few minutes later, they escaped the crowd with paper plates stacked high, settling beneath a string of twinkle lights that shimmered gold against the dusk. The park buzzed softly around them with music and laughter, but over here, it felt like they’d found their own little world.
Zoe passed him a fork, her fingers brushing his. “You’re really going to make me try all of these?”
“Seems fair,” he said, cutting into the cherry pie. The crust broke under his fork, warm, red filling spilling across the plate. He held out the bite between them. “For science.”
Her lips parted, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Science?”
“Sure,” he murmured. “You might find another flavor you like.”
When she leaned in, his pulse kicked hard. Her mouth closed around the fork, lips brushing the plastic and for one stupid, perfect second, all he could think about was what it would feel like if she were tasting him instead.
He forced a breath through his nose, pretending to study her reaction, even though his gaze snagged on her lips, glossy and soft in the light.
“Well?” he asked, the word catching low in his throat.
“Still my favorite,” she said, smiling faintly.
Solar lanterns flickered on around the park, strings of light casting a golden haze across the crowd. Couples drifted toward the open lawn, swaying in easy rhythm as the band struck up a fiddle tune that was equal parts love song and lullaby.
Beside him, Zoe pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders, eyes shining as she watched the first dancers step into the lamplight. The gesture made her collar slip just enough to reveal the smooth line of her collarbone, and Jackson’s throat went dry. He should’ve looked away. Instead, his gaze lingered, hunger gnawing through his restraint.
For a moment, it was easy to imagine this wasn’t an act. That she was his. That he could reach across the blanket, lace his fingers with hers, tug her to her feet, and press her close under the stars.
He decided that’s what he would do.
That’s what people would expect, after all.
Zoe knew it too.
“Come on,” she said suddenly, nudging him with her elbow. “Everyone’s waiting for us to get out there.”
Jackson huffed a laugh, masking the thrum of nerves pounding through him. “Is that so?”
She tipped her chin toward where Mrs. Bishop was waving to them next to Gertie. A few others were watching too, expectant smiles on their faces. Of course they were—it was what the town’s new favorite couple was supposed to do.
Play the part, Jackson reminded himself.
Still, when he stood and offered his hand, his pulse hammered. Zoe slipped her fingers into his and let him lead her toward the patch of grass in front of the gazebo.
The music wrapped around them, fiddle sweet and lilting, guitar steady beneath. Jackson settled his hand at Zoe’s waist,and she looped her arm around his neck like she’d been doing it all her life. They moved in an easy sway, slower than the music really called for, but he couldn’t bring himself to rush. Not when she fit so perfectly against him.
Her head tipped back as she laughed at something he said—he couldn’t even remember the joke—but the sound slid straight into his chest and made him relax. It was an odd sensation, not being on alert all the time.
