12. Chapter Twelve – Lexie
Lexie
Why am I suddenly so nervous to meet Jackson?
I pace back and forth at the spot we decided to meet at, trying to calm my furiously beating heart. Ever since my talk with Alan, I can’t get Jackson out of my mind.
What if Alan’s right? Of course it matters who I am on my own, but did I ever really lose sight of that in the first place? I’ve always loved baking, I was never financially dependent on Derek and have over all been independent. That never changed, even throughout my engagement to that asshat.
I’m still the girl who spends hours in the kitchen, coming up with new recipes while whistling along to Christmas music, even in September. Still that girl who needs her special pillow to fall asleep.
I’ve always been her.
What changed is that Derek made me doubt myself for being that girl. Now, the question is, why would I let him have that power over me?
And once that realization washed over me, I ran out of excuses. I don’t need to find myself; I know very well who I am, only more scared. Scared to be betrayed again, scared to open up.
No wonder my hands are clammy as I wait for Jackson, my blushed cheeks halfway hidden behind a thick scarf as I scan people walking by for his paparazzi disguise, my heart beating fast whenever someone with a black hat appears.
Which is a lot. It seems the Londoners love themselves a black hat.
Finally, I see a familiar black jacket as well as he appears behind a biker. I stop in my tracks and force myself to take a deep breath. Then another one, until he is close enough to greet me.
"Hey there." He grins and opens his arm for a half-hug, which I step into without hesitation.
"How was your day?" I ask him while we slowly start walking. We’re not the only ones who’ve planned a walk by the Thames and I can feel how tense he is with all the people around.
"It was busy," he says, then let’s go of me to hide a yawn behind his hand. I glance up at him as we pass under a streetlight, noting the dark bags under his eyes.
"You don’t sleep well, do you?”
He glances down at me and gives a slight nod. “Yeah. That and our new director is a hardass. They have to be so we can catch up on the schedule, but it’s taking a toll,” he confesses, hiding another yawn, this time behind his scarf.
“Are they better than the last one though?" I ask him curiously. “No more verbal abuse?”
"Oh, they’re so much better," he explains with a chuckle. "And they don’t even curse, so that’s a change. But we’re still so far behind, and today, we really felt that. We don’t want to rush and take the time to get the perfect takes, but we have to settle because we need to shoot the next scene.” His whole body sags with the deep sigh he exhales. “It’s a bit frustrating.”
"I'm sorry to hear that," I say, patting his arm. "We could've postponed. I'd understand, you know?"
"I know," he replies, and the realization that he actually does understand finally manages to calm my nervous fluttering heart. There’s a nagging thought that has been in the back of my mind ever since I found out that he’s an actor: I never, ever want him to think that I’m only friends with him because he's famous or because I have some agenda.
"On the bright side, we got Japanese food today for lunch, and that was amazing," he adds amusedly, stifling another yawn. "But enough about me. How was your day?"
"Uneventful as always." I grin at him, stopping when a man suddenly steps in front of us. "The most exciting thing that happened today was Alan accidentally dropping a tray of pastries for an order and all of us having to scurry to remake them. Even Bailey jumped in, although Alan immediately sent him to serve customers, because he can’t bake or decorate for the life of him."
"Oh no,” he groans and clutches his jacket right over his heart. “Not your pastries. My heart breaks.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I joke and shake my head at his antics.
"But your pastries always look so intricate," he points out, a low hum coming from his throat. "Really fucking delicious, but they look like they’re a lot of work."
"They are," I agree with a shrug. “Although practice made me pretty quick in assembling them. But I can’t exactly cry over each once they don’t look perfect anymore.” Although admittedly, I still cringe when customers just throw them into their full bags, knowing well they’ll be squished by the time they get home.
I squeal when Jackson’s hand is suddenly on my jacket and he pulls me into him as a biker speeds past us.
"What is it with London and all these bikers?" I curse and shake my head at their recklessness. Yet I'm not unhappy about his arm around my shoulders and the way he pulls me closer while we walk.
"I have no idea," he agrees softly, shaking his head at them but making no attempts to let go of me.
And just like that, my heart is fluttering in my chest again. And after a few steps of collecting my thoughts, I slowly snake my arm around his hips, Alan’s voice echoing in my head.
Does he have a crush on me?
I glance up at him. The corner of his mouth is lifted in the tiniest smile that widens as I move my hand on his hip.
Holy shit, was Alan right?
Eyes wide, I quickly look away, my cheeks flushing as the realization washes over me. He was.
"Want to try out the London Eye today?" he asks, and I glance up at him again.
“Would we even see anything?” I look around, noting the darkness that surrounds us combined with a sheer film of mist in the air. “If I pay forty bucks for a ride, I want to see further than two metres.
“You’ve got a point,” he admits with a chuckle.
We continue our walk. We've walked this path a few times already—right alongside Parliament, then past Westminster, slowly making our way to the palace, yet every time we’ve walked this way, we discovered something new.
It still fucks with my brain, guessing how old all these buildings must be or seeing inscriptions on their walls. The first time I saw a fifteen-hundred something inscription on a house wall, I almost had a stroke.
“It's so hard to actually grasp that some of these buildings are older than our whole country,” I point out in an awestruck whisper as we walk past Parliament, seeing a shadow of Westminster Hall through the fog. “I looked it up after the last time we walked past here and did you know that a part of the Wesminster Palace was built in the eleventh century?”
From the corner of my eye, I see him glance at me, surprised. “Are you for real?”
“Swear to God,” I reiterate with a nod. “Isn’t it freaky? Knowing we’re in places that people lived in a thousand years ago?”
He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat as we walk past it, deep in thought and his arm still around my shoulder.
“You know, I did some research on my own. Did you know that Buckingham Palace opens to tourists in the summer?”
I look up at him, confused. "Are you for real?”
“Absolutely.” He chuckles. “You can buy tickets in the summer. They open it for a few months and let you walk through certain areas with audioguides. It seems the proceeds from it go towards the upkeep of the gallery you can visit."
I’m intrigued. That’s definitely the kind of experience not everyone can get here in London, which makes it all the more something I can brag about for the rest of my life.
“Have you done it?”
“No.” He shoots me a sad smile. "One of the caveats of getting recognized easily. I doubt they’d let me walk through there having my face almost completely covered."
"Don't they have VIP tours for your kind?" I grin as the corners of his mouth twitch.
"I don't think so." He rolls his eyes at me, but the smile on his lips betrays him. "But maybe I just need to ask my manager."
"You do that." I grin. "If you've got the whole fame thing to deal with, there should be something in it for you after all."
I don’t want our walk to end. I’m enjoying our conversation too much, and the way his arm rests on my shoulder, and the way I’m half cuddled to his side and stealing his warmth. As soon as he lets me go once we reach Bake and Books, it feels cold, like a part of me is missing without him plastered to my side.
“Have a good night, Lexie,” he whispers, his face only illuminated by a streetlight behind him, but I swear I can see his pupils jump from my lips to my eyes. But most of all, I am distracted by the way my name falls from his lips, like a promise.
“Sweet dreams, Jackson,” I reply, just as softly. He comes closer, one step below me so we’re at eye level, the air between us charged with tension.
He lifts his hand, and I hold my breath.
Is this it? Will he kiss me?
My heart flutters and I forget how to breathe when his fingertips touch my cheek. But he doesn’t come closer. Instead, he tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his eyes on mine as he takes a step back.
“Sweet dreams, Lexie.”