Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
ISABELLE
Iwake up the next morning feeling tired and sore, though in a good way. Jackson isn’t in bed with me, and I’m missing the warmth of his body against mine, but the brief sounds of running water coming from the kitchen tell me he’s probably making breakfast.
Rays of sunlight shine inside Jackson’s bedroom, and outside, the city’s bustling with noise and traffic. I’m guessing I overslept.
I cast my mind to our date yesterday and what happened last night, a jittery feeling in my stomach. We stayed up past midnight, and let’s just say, Jackson wasn’t lying when he alluded to having great stamina.
The way he was so attentive with me, the way he checked I was comfortable and safe, the way he knew exactly what to do … it was so amazing.
I stretch my arms and survey Jackson’s room, which I didn’t get a chance to look at properly last night.
His room has a monochrome color scheme, aside from shades of navy here and there.
A flat screen TV hangs on the wall in front of his king-size bed, and a sleek desk and black armchair grace the corner of his room.
Treading out of bed, I put on my underwear and a random white T-shirt I dig out from Jackson’s closet. It’s oversize on me, and it might as well be a dress.
When I head to the kitchen, Jackson’s standing at the counter in boxers, his back muscles prominent as he moves and his gorgeous hair still tousled—from me running my hands through it countless times last night. There’s a waffle maker plugged in on the counter, steam coming out from it.
I love getting to see this domestic side of him.
Jackson turns around at the sound of my footsteps, his throat bobbing as he gives me a once-over. “Fuck.”
I also love that seeing me in his clothes has that effect on him.
“I’m stealing your shirt,” I say.
“You can have all my shirts.”
“All your shirts?” I fake a gasp. “That’s a lot of shirts, Jackson.”
“Thought I’d help diversify your wardrobe,” he says. “Eighty percent of what you wear is just florals. What happens if you get bored of florals one day?”
I huff, crossing my arms. “Okay, one, you haven’t even seen my entire closet. Two, the day I get bored of florals is the day I’ll start hating mint ice cream. Which is never.”
Jackson raises a brow. “You like mint ice cream?”
“Yes. Why?”
“It tastes like toothpaste.”
“It does not,” I argue. I’ll forever wave the mint ice cream is misunderstood flag. “It’s fresh and delicious when paired with chocolate chips.” I pat his bicep. “I guess not everyone is capable of appreciating good food.”
He tips his head to the side. “Coming from someone with questionable taste.”
I give him a smug grin. “You can’t say I have questionable taste, because I went on a date with you. So if I have questionable taste, then that also applies to my dating choices, which means going out with you was a bad choice.”
Jackson frowns and scratches his head. “How did this conversation get here?”
A laugh trickles out of my mouth. “No clue. I’m still stealing your shirt, though.”
“Please do.”
Steam stops seeping out of the waffle maker, a green light turning on. Jackson opens the lid, revealing golden-brown waffles, a warm and buttery smell filling the air.
My stomach growls.
Jackson smirks at me. “Hungry?”
“Yes.” I pout. “That smells so good.”
“Have a seat,” he says. “Breakfast will be served shortly.”
“I want to watch you here.”
He chuckles. “Okay.”
After serving the waffles on two plates, Jackson adds maple syrup, strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream on top.
We grab cutlery and head to the kitchen island with our respective plates, taking our seats. I cut a piece of waffle and place it inside my mouth, my taste buds blessed with the soft and toasty flavor.
Anticipation lingers on Jackson’s face as he watches me chew. “How is it?”
“So good,” I say with a mouthful.
He’s an incredible chef. Though I’m not too surprised, given he is very good with his hands.
“I know.” A satisfied grin twists up his lips, and he takes a bite as well.
Jackson’s phone, which is on the kitchen island, starts ringing with an incoming FaceTime call. He glances at it. “It’s my mom. I forgot that we were going to have a call this morning.”
“Go have your call,” I say. “I’ll just be here, eating.”
He gets out of his seat. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”
I nod and watch as Jackson heads down the hallway. I take a few more bites of my waffles and then decide to use the bathroom. On my way there, I bypass Jackson’s bedroom. His door is open, and he’s thrown on a white cotton T-shirt and shorts, sitting at his desk as he FaceTimes his mom.
A smile forms on my face at the sight.
I’m about to keep walking ahead when his mom asks, “By the way, do you remember Georgie Baker?”
Who on Earth is that?
A frown forms on my face, and my feet are glued to the floor while I continue eavesdropping.
“I don’t think so,” Jackson replies.
I don’t think he’s noticed I’m standing at the door.
“You went to middle school together before her family moved to Canada. Her mom called me the other day to say Georgie will be visiting New York next month and asked if you’re single. She said she wanted your number, but I told her I’d have to ask you first …”
Bitterness clouds my mouth, replacing the delicious aftertaste of Jackson’s waffles.
That’s when Jackson turns to the door, looking like he’s trying to suppress a laugh as he notices me.
I glare at him.
Jackass.
“If you’re interested, I could set you two up for coffee?” his mom adds.
Hell no. Absolutely not. I’ll be damned if I allow Jackson to be set up with this Georgie person.
Jackson clears his throat and turns back to his call. “I see.” He sneaks another glance at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Well, tell Georgie’s mom that—”
“He’s taken,” I blurt out, marching over to Jackson like a woman on a mission.
The smirk on his face reappears, like he’s enjoying watching me get all worked up.
“Oh, hey there!” Jackson’s mom beams at me. She has shoulder-length caramel hair and the same brown eyes as Jackson. “You’re Jackson’s … girlfriend?”
Guilt crashes me as I take in the aftermath of what I’ve just done. I peer at Jackson to gauge his reaction. I probably shouldn’t have crashed his call like that, but … too late now.
“That’s right, Mom,” Jackson says. “This is my girlfriend, Isabelle.”
A tiny butterfly flutters around in my stomach.
Jackson’s mom clasps her hands together. “Aw, you two look so cute together! Lovely to meet you, Isabelle. I’m Suzie.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Suzie.” I smile sheepishly at her, my palms turning clammy. “Apologies for, uh, intruding on your call.”
“Oh no, not at all.” Suzie laughs and then frowns at Jackson. “Jackson, why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend earlier when I was talking about Georgie?”
Jackson chuckles. “Sorry, Mom. Slow reaction.”
Suzie smiles. “Well, I have to get ready for an appointment, so I’ll let you both go, but, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.”
After we say our goodbyes, Jackson ends the call and stands. “I can tell my mom really likes you.”
I fiddle with my fingers. “Did you really mean what you said? About me being your girlfriend?”
Even though we’ve been open about our feelings for each other, we haven’t placed any labels on our relationship yet. I don’t think Jackson would say that to his mom if he didn’t mean it, but I want to bring it up.
Jackson’s brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I mean what I said?” His tone isn’t accusatory, only genuinely curious.
“I just thought …” I scratch my head. “I know we haven’t talked about what we are yet, and we’ve only been on one date so far, so maybe you’d want to go on more dates or spend more time together before we make anything official.”
“I don’t need to go on any more dates to know I want to be your boyfriend.” Certainty traces Jackson’s voice, and he glances at me, brown eyes full of sincerity. He holds my hands in his. “But only if you want this, too.”
His words send a rush of heat to my belly, and my heart warms because I know he’s so sure about me.
Because I feel the exact way toward him.
“I want to be your girlfriend, Jackson.”
A smile slowly stretches across Jackson’s face, like he’s soaking in my words, his dimples making an appearance. “Then it’s official.”
Hell yeah.
He leans forward, lips meeting mine in a sweet kiss, as if to seal our relationship. I stand on my tiptoes and loop my hands around his neck, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.
Maybe confirming our relationship after one date is too soon, but I firmly believe there’s no such thing as a one-size-fits-all timing, and to me … taking that next step with Jackson couldn’t feel more right. Besides, it feels like we’ve already been together for so much longer than just one date.
“For the record, I’m the funnier one in our relationship,” I say.
“If we’re talking about third-grade-level humor, then sure.” Mischief scatters on Jackson’s cheeks.
My mouth drops open. “Excuse me? Third-grade-level humor?”
I refuse to be insulted like that by my boyfriend, especially when it’s about my sense of humor.
“The first time I went to The Daily Brew, you gave me a napkin that said fuck you with a drawing of a stick figure man, Isabelle.”
My lips purse, and I fold my arms. “All right, I admit that was a little childish, but you still found it funny.”
Jackson laughs. “True.” He touches his neck, his ears turning pink. “I just realized I still have that napkin. I think it’s sitting in one of my drawers at work.”
I stare at him with an incredulous look. “You kept it?”
He shrugs. “I found it funny, like you said, and I guess I didn’t want to throw out your artwork.”
I thought he would have tossed it away without a second thought, but the fact that he kept it … my insides are going all gooey.
I give him a teasing grin and nudge in the ribs. “Who’s secretly obsessed with who now?”
A laugh comes out of Jackson’s mouth. “Touché.”