Tae nods once before awkwardly shifting her weight like she’s not sure what to do next. After tossing our bags in the bed of my truck, I open the passenger door for her. “Let’s get you settled in. That was a long flight,” I tell her as she slides into the passenger seat and I have to ball my hand into a fist to keep myself from buckling her in the way I used to.
After shutting the passenger door, I give myself a mini pep talk as I round the bed of my truck. I’ve got this. I can spend time with her in closed quarters while keeping my composure. I needto be her support right now, if I don’t, I risk scaring her away, and I have no doubt Taevin would hightail it back to Nashville.
I hesitate a moment when I turn the key in the ignition, almost afraid that if I look over in my passenger seat I won’t find her there. Scared that maybe this whole thing has been a figment of my imagination and the woman I’ve never for one second gotten over won’t really be sitting beside me in the very spot she was in when we dreamed together as we drove down neighborhood streets under midnight stars.
Taevin
Jackson has been quiet, eerily so, since we left his condo and started driving out of the city toward his house. He mentioned it was just outside the Twin Cities, but we’ve been driving for over twenty minutes and the freeway has now turned into a back road that winds through fields of tall green grass and corn.
Apparently the condo was Bennett’s until he moved in with Scarlett last year. As he walked me through it, he told me he bought it so the commute was shorter, and that was where he stayed for most of the season last year. I was shocked because it was fairly empty and cold, void of any pictures or signs that someone actually lived there, which is the opposite of what I’d pictured him in.
But aside from those few remarks back at his condo, he’s been silent.
Shifting in my seat, I face him. “Are you getting hungry?”
He shrugs in reply, giving me nothing once again. His grip tightens on the steering wheel with one hand while his other runs through his hair for the dozenth time. He’s clearly in his own head, and normally I’d respect someone’s need for space, but I’m only in Minnesota right now because of him. So if I have to put myself through this discomfort, he needs to at least talk to me.
With a huff of annoyance I suggest, “We could order something for dinner. Wait, do they deliver food this far out of the city?”
“They do,” he confirms, his curtness has me gritting my teeth until he flips his blinker and slows before taking a left-hand turn.
A cloud of dirt follows us up a gravel driveway as a massive dark house surrounded by evergreens comes into view, and my heart seizes in my chest as the memories come flashing back to me.
“If you could live in any color house what would you choose?” Jax asks me as he drives us through an older neighborhood near my house.
I don’t hesitate with my answer. “Easy, a black house with a pitched roof and weathered oak wood and stone accents throughout.”
“Wow, that was quick. How much have you thought about this?”
“As you know, black is my favorite color. And I’ve got at least a dozen Pinterest boards dedicated to my first apartment, first home, and ultimately my dream home. Oh, I almost forgot. Our dream home will be on a big plot of land where we can hunt and fish and sit out on the back porch to watch our kids play in the field behind our house.”
“Is that all?” he drawls with a dopey grin on his face.
“No. I suppose not. I want it to feel cozy year round, but when it’s Christmas time I want it to feel so magical, we never want to leave. A Christmas tree in every room and dozens to fill our front porch. Then when you come home from a long away trip, you’ll feel our embrace from the moment you pull into the driveway.”
“You’re using the word ‘ours’ a lot to describe your dream house.”
My eyes widen and my cheeks heat.
He shakes his head, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his lips. “Stop. Don’t get embarrassed. I love this. Keep going. Tell me everything. How many bedrooms will there be?”
“Well, we’re having at least three kids, so the house should probably have four bedrooms.”
“Five.”
“Five bedrooms? Seems excessive, but okay.”
“No, five kids.”
“Five?! Are you crazy?” I ask incredulously.
“What? Too many?”
“Yes! Most guys would look at me like I had two heads talking about three kids this day and age.”
“Call me traditional then, baby. I want you barefoot and pregnant as much as possible.”
“You just want to have your wicked way with me as much as possible.”
