That was easier said than done. They wriggled out of the wetsuits with curses and sniggers and finally collapsed back onto the sand. The heat licked at Leah’s skin and she closed her eyes with a sigh, reaching for Jackson’s hand. He laced his fingers through hers.
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Jax. It’s magical.”
She felt his pleasure at her pleasure in his answering squeeze.
Chapter 34
Jackson
“I’d never leave here if I was your parents. You’d have to drag me off the beach and I’d be kicking and screaming all the way.”
Jackson caught Leah’s hand as it swung near to his, rubbing his thumb over the silky skin of her knuckles. The waves lapped gently by their feet, the huge expanse of darkening sky stretching out over the water as the evening began to pull in. They sauntered along the beach, leaving the house behind them. “They hardly ever come now. The memories are tough.” He was too relaxed to be upset at the reminder.
“That’s sad.”
She looked up at him and he shrugged. “Neither of them are really beach people anyway. I don’t think they miss it.”
Leah gave him a nudge, her eyes teasing. “The sand probably gets in the creases of your dad’s frown, huh?”
Jackson chuckled. He didn’t want to think about his parents right now. “Tell me about your family. Do you have any memories of your mom?”
“Not really.” Bending down to pick up a pebble, she stepped on the hem of her sundress and Jackson grabbed her elbow to steady her. In typical Leah-style, she’d tugged on a voluminous knittedsweater for warmth; his callused palms caught on the chunky knit. “There are things I think I remember but it’s more likely they were stories my dad told me. I have a few photos of her so I know what she looked like. My coloring comes from my dad, but he said my laugh sounds exactly the same as hers. She used to laugh a lot, apparently. She was his thing with feathers.”
“She was what?”
“His thing with feathers. It was kind of a play on words because of our surname being Raven. It comes from an Emily Dickinson poem. Dad said she was everything bright and positive in his world.”
Jackson’s fingers flexed. “And what was your dad like?”
“He was fun. And, oh my God, he could talk.” Leah huffed. “He’d chat away all day long—to me or to himself, he wasn’t fussy. Narrating what he’d just done, what he was about to do, what he was thinking. If he went to change his socks, he’d tell me first. We’d have stupid conversations about everything. He’d get me to describe my dream bedroom if we won a million dollars. We’d pick names for pets we didn’t own. We watched disaster movies together and he’d make me guess which character would be the first to die.” She threw the pebble into the waves; it landed with a satisfying plop. “After he died, what I remember most is the silence.”
Jackson brushed her shoulder with his own. “He sounds like a nice man.” The words were insufficient but Leah leaned into him and smiled her thanks anyway. They reached the end of the beach, where the river inlet cut across, and turned back. “What was it like?” he asked softly.
“Being in foster care?”
“Yes.”
Leah squinted over the water. “Are you any good at skimming stones?”
He looked around his feet at the sparse pebbles on the sand, crouching to turn a few over in his fingers. Leah did the same.She held one out and he shook his head. They both searched until Jackson found a couple of smooth, flat stones. He offered her the slimmer one.
Turning side on to the water, he flicked his wrist and sent his stone skimming across the surface. It skipped jauntily four times before disappearing. Jackson grunted and stepped back. Leah’s stone sank without bouncing. “Too high?” She immediately searched for another.
“Yeah, you need to throw flatter—as horizontal as possible. You don’t want too much air.”
Leah tackled the skimming with the same concentration she gave everything, determined to master the technique. Impatiently brushing breeze-tangled waves from her face, she threw every stone he could find for her, fist-pumping when she got the first double-skip.
Captivated, Jackson pulled her to him with a hand around the back of her neck. She tasted of vanilla lip balm and smelled like sunscreen. The combination, along with the cool curve of her lips, sent torrid flames licking at the base of his stomach.
“Let’s go get some food. I’m hungry,” he said, pressing one last kiss to that addictive mouth and drawing back. He caught Leah’s hand in his. “You didn’t answer me before—about the foster homes.”
Her fingers twitched. “Yeah... I guess it was lonely and confusing at times. Very polite. There was no teasing, no jokes, no casual affection. But it was fine. Not too awful, really.”
He heard all the things she didn’t say and felt the dull echo of a shared affinity. Leah’s stark words were an exact description of his childhood after Dominic had gone. Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her closer into his side.
“It wasn’t homely, you know? Nowhere felt familiar. There was no one who shared my memories. I missed my dad. I missedbelonging. It’s frightening to have no place you belong.” Leah’s voice took on a matter-of-fact edge. “But I got used to it and it wasn’t so bad. I struggled to find the right balance between being closed off and too desperate to make friends. Feeling grateful to other people for putting up with you isn’t the best foundation for anything.” She rolled her eyes with typical self-mockery but his heart ached for her.
“When did you leave foster care?”
