From the outside, it probably looked effortless. Maple Falls’s Couple of the Year contenders, swaying under the lantern light. From the inside, Jackson’s control was unraveling, thread by thread.
Zoe tilted her head back to look at him, her lips curving in that mischievous way that always made his stomach drop. “You know,” she said softly, “for someone who doesn’t want a relationship right now, you’re doing a pretty convincing impression of a man who does.”
Jackson’s jaw flexed. “Is that right?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes glinted with teasing, but there was a flicker of something vulnerable beneath it. “All the little touches, the way you’re looking at me right now…” She leaned in closer, her breath brushing his jaw.
His hand tightened instinctively at her waist. “We’ve got an audience,” he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “Just trying to make it believable.”
She laughed. It was a soft, husky sound that wrapped around him. “Sure, Jackson. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He tried to smile, but it faltered somewhere between guilt and longing. She didn’t know how badly he wished hedidn’tneed help to sleep at night. Yet for all his careful lines and rules to keep his darkness away from her, Zoe still had a way of slipping past every defense he’d built.
Around them, the song faded into applause, couples breaking apart to grab dessert or claim another drink, but Jackson didn’t move right away. He just stood there, holding her, every part of him aware that this closeness was exactly what he’d said he couldn’t have.
And yet—he couldn’t make himself let go.
TWENTY-THREE
ZOE
Sunday, March 16th
For what felt like the nine-hundredth time, Zoe told herself what a shame it was that Jackson didn’t want the same things she did.
The thought chased her the next morning as she walked toward the Pumpkin Pie Bakery, the air still crisp with dew and smelling faintly of lilac from the planters lining the main street. Storefronts gleamed from last night’s rain showers, the whole town humming with that post-festival glow.
Last night had been perfect. Fake or not, it was everything she longed for in a partner. Someone who laughed easily, helped set up tables, stayed through the concert, and then danced with her beneath the lanterns like there was no one else in the world. Someone who looked at her with warmth—and yes, love—in his eyes.
And yet, Jackson was still keeping her at arm’s length.
He’d been painfully honest about it. The kind of honesty that cut clean because it came from a good heart.It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be.
He’d meant every word, and she’d understood. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
The hardest part wasn’t wondering whether he wanted her, because she knew he did. It was wondering if he’d ever feel safe enough to trust her with his whole self, no matter how broken it was.
She’d lain awake after getting home from the walleye festival, staring at the ceiling and replaying their dance. His hand warm at the small of her back, the way he’d looked at her right before the fireworks. That one heartbeat where she’d thought he might kiss her again.
He hadn’t.
And that was the difference between them, wasn’t it? She reached for what she wanted; he pulled away from what he feared.
Her heart squeezed as she slowed outside the bakery. Maybe she could wait for him. She wanted to believe she could. But what if waiting meant watching her own dreams drift further out of reach, even into impossibility?
What if, by the time Jackson was finally ready, she wasn’t the same woman anymore? Would he still want her then? What if she was a single mom, raising a child on her own, building the life she’d always pictured?
Zoe pushed open the glass door of the bakery and was hit with a wave of warm air and sweeter scents than any candle could ever capture. Butter and sugar. Yeast and cinnamon. A faint trace of lemon glaze carried on the steam rising from trays just pulled from the ovens. Her stomach growled in immediate response, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast.
Spring had arrived even in Emily’s bakery window. Instead of Christmas garlands and twinkle lights, pastel bunting fluttered across the glass, and the display case was filled with seasonal temptations: strawberry shortcake cupcakes swirled high with whipped cream, almond scones dusted with powdered sugar,pale-green pistachio macarons nestled in neat rows. At the far end, a tray of lemon bars gleamed like little squares of sunlight.
Behind the counter, Emily was already buzzing with energy, a lavender apron tied snug around her waist, blonde hair twisted up. “Zoe! Perfect timing. I was hoping you’d try the new lavender matcha latte. I’ve been tweaking it all week.” She tapped the menu board where the special was scrawled in cheerful cursive.
Zoe smiled, leaning on the glass case to study the rows of pastries. “I was eyeing that already. You know I can’t say no to lavender.”
Emily grinned, grabbing a cup. “I’ll make it extra foamy, just how you like it. And don’t even think about leaving without trying one of my strawberry cupcakes—they’re selling out faster than I can bake them.”
As Zoe waited for her drink, she glanced toward the back corner and smiled when she spotted Krista and her grandmother, Alice, seated at their usual table.
