“No.” I can’t help but chuckle. “I get it. There’s something so unnerving about a blind date. I was nervous we would run out of things to talk about, or that you wouldn’t like me.”
“No issues there.” His smile is shy, and the tiniest spark buzzes inside my chest. “I’d like to see you again. If that’s okay with you,” he quickly amends. “But I don’t want to pressure you. So, if you’d rather think about it and get back to me on your timeline, that’s fine too.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’d like that.” Today I was so nervous. I’d like to see him again, this time without that first date pressure. I owe myself that much.
“Yeah?” His smile widens, and little butterflies make their way into my chest. It’s nothing earth-shattering, but it gives way to the possibility that maybe, with time, I could feel about Clint the way I want to feel toward a potential partner.
“Yeah.” I grin, and pull out my phone. “Should we exchange numbers?”
“Definitely. Yes,” he says eagerly.
I open a new contact and hand him my phone so he can enter his information. He does, and afterward, he opens my car door and asks me to text him once I’m safely home. I’m relieved he doesn’t go in for a kiss. I’m not ready for that, and I suspect he isn’t either. My heart hasn’t moved on from Jackson, but eventually I’ll have to. Maybe Clint is the guy to help with the process. Maybe we’ll just becomefriends. Either way, I’m filled with a sense of pride as I drive back to Wilder Valley.
This was a big deal today. My first date post Beckett. Doesn’t matter that it took me eight years—I did it. A nagging thought that it should’ve been Jackson threatens to ruin my good mood, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Because sometimes you don’t get what you want in life, even if you want it really bad.
25
JACKSON
Saturday after workingon the ranch, I go home to shower, and decide I’m done waiting around feeling sorry for myself. Ryan gave me a lot to think about the other day, and he’s right. I can’t avoid getting hurt. Real love doesn’t guarantee safety. But the not knowing is worse. It’s a purgatory I can’t escape.
An hour later, I end up on Rosalie’s doorstep with a bouquet of wildflowers and a bottle of her favorite wine in my hands, and my heart on my sleeve. My shoulders sag when I realize she’s not home. Where could she be? The sun is setting, so I decide to take a seat on her front step and wait it out. From what I know, Rosalie is a homebody, especially at night, so there’s a good chance she’ll be back soon.
When headlights flash, I look up to find her vehicle pulling into the driveway. It hasn’t been more than an hour, but my muscles are tight as I push to my feet. I lift my hand and wave, making my presence known if for some reason she didn’t notice my parked truck.
She pulls inside the garage, and a moment later Edward rounds the corner. He grins and lifts his hand to wave, but waits for his mom to lead the way.
Rosalie is breathtaking as she steps into view and walks forward. Her makeup is done and her hair hangs down around her face in soft curls. She’s dressed in a long, flowy skirt and a black sleeveless top, and I wonder where they’ve come from. She’s dressed for more than a trip to the grocery store. Her gaze is cautious and guarded.
“Jackson?”
“Rosalie,” I retrieve the flowers and bottle of wine, and take a step forward, holding them out. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze averts as she accepts my gifts.
Edward steps closer, his eyes wide and welcoming.
“Hey, Edward! How’s it going?” I hold out my hand and proceed to go through the motions of our signature handshake, which includes multiple slaps, one shoulder jump, and three finger snaps.
I sneak a glance over his shoulder and almost laugh at Rosalie’s reaction. Her eyes are wide and her mouth agape.
Edward turns to his mom. “Mama, I’m gonna change into my jammies for movie night!”
“Okay.” She nods, her unreadable features back in place. “Hold on. I need to unlock the door first.” Edward’s already pulling on the knob. Rosalie steps around me to join him, sliding the key in and pushing the door open as her son races inside. “But take your shower first. And use soap!”
“’Kay, Mom!” he shouts, racing away before the door closes.
Rosalie turns to stare. “What was that?”
“What?”
She motions to where we were just standing. “Your little high-five moment with my son.”
I shrug. “I have signature handshakes with all the kids.” It’s the truth. I’m surprised she doesn’t already know. There isn’t much that gets past her.
“When did you come up with that?”
“I’ve been doing it since Riley and Zach were little.”
