“Trevor actually,” Jackson amends.
“Of course. Beau’s always called me Sour Patch or trouble.”
“Good nicknames,” Jackson comments idly, still madly sweeping the pad of his thumb under my lips. “I like punk better.”
The motion of his thumb simultaneously drives me crazy and makes me melt. Who knew touch could be so magical. No onehas ever touched me in such a tender way, nor has anyone ever looked at me like Jackson is now.
“I should go inside,” I whisper softly.
“I’ll walk you in.” Jackson pulls away, hops out of the car, and comes around to the passenger side with a warm grin. He carefully helps Honey and me out of the vehicle, then walks with us up to the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow for cupcakes at Bee’s. Do you need a ride into town?”
Iactuallydo need a ride.
“It makes no sense for you to come pick me up, drive me into town, then bring me back.”
Jackson nods in agreement. “You’re right. Do you have plans on Saturday? I could pick you up, we could spend the day hanging out, and end the day at Bee’s?”
My first instinct is to argue, as usual, but I don’t actually have any plans on Saturday. Well, no plans besides sitting in front of the television and binge-watching something.
“Alright.”
He slowly backs away from the front porch with a wide grin, eyes firmly on me. “I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday. Dress comfortably.”
“I have to bring Honey!” I call after him.
“Of course!” he calls back and promptly climbs into his car.
I stand anxiously on the porch, a little cold, and extremely confused as he drives away into the night. Honey shakes her fur, clearly anxious to get out of her service vest. I don’t blame her. We go about our normal evening routine, then cuddle down into the fluffy blankets on my bed in the dark cover of night. Moonlight streams in through the crack in the curtains, slashing across Honey’s golden fur. The soft hoot of an owl outside is the last thing I hear before falling into a deep, contented sleep full of dreams of dark brown eyes and sweet smiles.
6
JACKSON
Finally, something worthwhile to spend my time on. Harper. I knock on his door, shifting from foot to foot as I patiently wait for him to answer. A few long moments pass before the familiar sound of Honey’s nails clacking against the wood flooring reaches my ears. When the door opens, she’s not yet wearing her vest. My eyes almost bug out of their sockets and my fingers twitch at my side.
“Is she off the clock?” I ask quietly, barely concealing my excitement.
Harper sighs heavily as if my eagerness is vile. “She’s off the clock.”
I slowly drop to my knees and rub my hands over Honey’s sweet face. Her tail thumps hard against the wood as I excitedly pet her all over. God, she’s the cutest thing. Dotting kisses all over her face, I hug her tight against me.
“Jesus, get a room, you two.”
“Hush,” I tell Harper without looking away from Honey. “We’re having a moment.”
Honey happily pushes against me until I fall over onto the porch floor. She wiggles on top of me, all joy and happy licksacross my face. I fucking love dogs. But I especially love this one since she so keenly keeps Harper safe. Why does it matter so much to me? I have no idea, but it still matters more than I can say.
“Alright, girl. Harper’s getting jealous.”
Harper scoffs loudly as he heads back inside with a small huff. Honey whines as he leaves, but she dutifully follows him back inside. I watch, heart painfully tender, as Harper lovingly pats her head as if to clearly sayit’s okay, I know I’m the most important man in your life. Harper’s dressed in dark jeans and another soft-as-sin-looking cable-knit sweater, but this time the sweater is a dark navy blue. He looks good enough to eat. His hair is down, loose and soft around his shoulders. Jesus.
“Where are we going?” Harper asks. He folds into the sofa to tug on a pair of maroon Converse.
“It’s a surprise.”
Harper raises one eyebrow at me. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Do you trust me?”
