Something dangerous and beautiful flickered in his expression. His jaw tightened like he was holding back a thousand things at once.
“Malibu…” His voice dropped into something low and rough. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
My breath stuttered. Heat licked up my neck. “Tell me,” I whispered before I could talk myself out of it.
He blinked once, slow, like the request hit somewhere deep. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, voice gravel-soft. “But…” He swallowed. “I can show you.”
Everything in me froze—then trembled. Fight or flight tugged at my ribs, my breath, the back of my throat. He waited. Didn’t step in. Didn’t push. Just stood there in the warm glow of the kitchen, bubbles clinging to his arms, looking at me like I was something worth waiting for.
I hesitated. One heartbeat. Two. “…ok.”
Something in him loosened—a breath he’d been holding, maybe. Slowly, giving me every chance to stop him, he stepped behind me. His hand lifted, hovered, then gently brushed my hair aside. The touch alone sent a shiver up my spine. He leaned in.
The first kiss landed on that tender place between my neck and shoulder—soft, warm, devastating. My knees nearly buckled. A sound caught in my throat, half gasp, half plea.
His other hand found my waist, not gripping, just anchoring. Steady. Safe. He kissed the spot again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the way I reacted. Then he dragged his mouth up to my ear and gave the faintest nip to my earlobe. A whimper slipped out of me—small, helpless, completely involuntary. His breath trembled against my skin.
“That,” he murmured, voice barely holding together. “That right there.” His lips brushed my jaw, slow, reverent. “Feel yourheartbeat?” he whispered. “How fast it is? How you swear if you looked down, you’d be floating off the floor?”
He pressed his forehead to my temple, breathing me in. “That’s what you do to me, Holly. Every time I see you.”
I opened my mouth to respond, to say something. Anything. But before I could, Maria’s voice detonated from the next room. “Hey! Who let Jewel have a juice box?!”
We jerked apart like teenagers caught necking in the backseat. Jackson muttered a curse under his breath, and I nearly flung the plate at the sink. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I shoved it at him. He caught it and then stopped me before I bolted from the room. “Breathe, Malibu.”
“Iambreathing.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, then grinned. His way of saying, “I see you. You’re safe. Are you ok? Are we ok?”
Who knew someone could say so much with just a look?
I couldn’t help but smile back.Yes. All is well.
Somehow.
Later, sprawled in bed with the smell of smoke still clinging to my hair, I stared at the ceiling and replayed every damn second. My mom had been thrilled to have me back in the house, but I escaped her endless questions about college and found myself lying in bed. Eventually, I realized maybe I should’ve stayed in the kitchen, withmyinterrogator of a mother. At least Mom made my brain short-circuit instead of spiral. Unlike him.
His breath against my cheek. The way his whole body went rigid when I touched him. The sound of my name as I lured it from his lips. His mouth against my skin.
The second Maria’s voice broke the spell, my courage evaporated faster than soap bubbles in hot water. But now I couldn’t stop replaying it. The warmth of him, the taste of him, the look in his eyes when I pulled away. Groaning, I smacked a pillow over my face.
Sunday evening came too damn fast. The whole weekend blurred together—voices, smoke, laughter, Jewel toddling around with sticky fingers, Hannah orchestrating everything with her wooden spoon scepter. Jackson and I hadn’t talked much, not really. A handful of words here, a brush of shoulders there. His hand finding mine under the table.
I found myself watching him when I thought no one else noticed—the way he leaned in to listen to August, how his mouth curved when Maria made some joke, the careful way he carried plates to Hannah without being asked.
Creepy. That’s what it made me. A straight-up creep. And yet, I couldn’t make myself stop. Even as I watched his headlights fade on his way back to Camp Geiger.
I made an excuse to stop by the clubhouse right as Jackson was getting ready to leave. He stood by his bike with Mac, nodding at something I couldn’t hear. When he noticed me, he excused himself and crossed the yard in that calm, steady way that made my pulse act stupid.
He stopped an arm’s length away. “Heading out soon.”
I nodded like my skull was too heavy. “Camp Geiger.”
“Yeah.” The word was simple and full.
We didn’t have the right words. I didn’t even know what the right words would be.Don’t gowasn’t an option.Wait for mewas a lie neither of us would tell.
“Text me when you get there,” I said, aiming for practical and landing somewhere near pleading.
