Chapter 39 #2
“I enrolled in sewing classes,” he explains. “When we weren’t together, I … I wanted to feel close to you through doing something you love.”
My breath hitches. Jackson has a million other better things to do than attend sewing lessons and make a jacket for me, but he did that. Because he thought of me and missed me.
Because he loves me.
“May I?” he asks.
I nod, and he helps me put the jacket on. It feels cozy and snug and like it was made full of love. I want to treasure it forever.
Jackson’s gaze rakes over me, a tentative smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “How is it?”
I say the same words he said to me when he first tried the sweatshirt I’d made for him. “A perfect fit.”
The smile on his face widens, and his eyes brighten as if he’s recalling the memory, too. “I’m glad.”
As I stare into the eyes of the man I love so deeply, I realize what I want to do.
The revelation of Andrew as his birth father and our breakup have taken a toll on him physically. His skin is blotchy, there are dark hollows under his eyes, and there are small things others might not notice, but I always will, like the way the spark in his eyes is gone.
Yet, to me, he’s still the most handsome man in the world.
My man.
Jackson waited so patiently for me to take a leap of faith when I was hesitant, and even when we weren’t officially dating, he always showed how much he cared for me.
Yes, he messed up, but he’s owned up to it, and he wants to fix it.
The bombshell about his mom and Andrew was huge, and I want to show him patience and grace, too.
I trust him, and I want to hand him my heart again.
“I’d wait another eight years, sixteen years, a lifetime if I had to.”
I’d wait a lifetime for him, too.
I can’t let fear overtake me. Sometimes, the best things don’t come easy, but they’re worth fighting for, worth taking a risk, and I’m willing to fight for Jackson more than anything. For us. For our love story.
Tears spill from my eyes again, but this time, they’re not hurt tears.
“I love you, too, Jackson.”
“You … you do?” Jackson asks in a small voice, as if he’s scared he only imagined me saying that.
“I love you, jackass, and I’ll keep saying it. The I love you part, I mean. Not the jackass part. Unless you want me to.”
Jackson’s mouth opens, then closes before opening again, his face lighting up. “Does that mean …”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He immediately crashes his mouth against mine, a beautiful, all-consuming kiss. A kiss that’s akin to the promise of forever love. A kiss that tells me he’s not going to let go of me again, no matter what happens and regardless of what crazy plot twist life might throw at us in the future.
I loop my arms around his neck as he tilts my head for better access, and a needy moan spills from my lips.
I’ve missed him so much.
My love.
My everything.
When Jackson pulls apart from me, he ever so gently cradles my face like it’s something precious, his eyes still glossy.
“I know we officially dated for a little over a month, but I’ve loved you for so much longer than that.
I think I’ve loved you from when I knew you in high school, maybe even from that day when you accidentally spilled paint on me.
You’re my first girlfriend, and you’ll be my last because this is forever. And—”
“Wait,” I cut in, my heart beating fast. “I’m your first girlfriend?”
I’ve never asked Jackson about his relationship history; I just assumed he probably had other girlfriends before me.
He nods, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “It’s not that I never wanted a relationship. I’ve dated, but there wasn’t anyone I could see myself being long-term with. I surmise it might have something to do with the woman in front of me.”
“Surmise instead of guess or think? You really are a word nerd.”
Jackson flaunts me a grin, a genuine smile that shows off his dimples. God, how I’ve missed his beautiful smiles.
“My hobbies are memorizing every word in the Merriam-Webster and Oxford Dictionary, remember?” he says, referencing our conversation on that initial flight from London to New York.
A laugh falls from my mouth. “No more pushing me away. If you break my heart again, I’ll punch your pretty face.”
“I won’t,” Jackson says, sincerity in his eyes and voice. “I promise. You’re stuck with me, Isabelle.”
“Good.” I cup his face, and he leans into my touch. My lips tilt up in a smile, too.
“You told me you think I’m strong and resilient, but that’s exactly how I see you, too,” I add. “I’m so proud of you for quitting your job, chasing your architecture dreams, and going to therapy. That’s huge. And whatever happens next, I’m going to be there with you, every step of the way.”
Moisture fills his eyes, and he opens his mouth, as if to say something, before closing it and kissing me again, sending sparks through my veins.
Unspoken words drift in the air, matching the rhythm of our beating hearts.
But we say them anyway.
“I love you,” he breathes.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
The warehouse fades around us, and as I stare into Jackson’s eyes, I can say with full certainty that he’s my perfect fit.
Until the end of time.