Chapter Nineteen JACKIE
Chapter Nineteen
JACKIE
I’ve been walking around with this unfamiliar weight in my chest for the couple of days we’ve been back in Silver Lake Falls. It started small, but when we said goodbye to Adam’s parents, and his mother hugged me fiercely, it tilted my world.
“I’m ready to put my talents to good use,” Adam drawls, voice still throaty with sleep as he breezes into the kitchen. He’s freshly showered, light brown hair still damp. On his way to the coffee maker, the scent of soap and pine washes over me, so comforting and familiar.
The thought of his talents stirs memories of his capable hands I shouldn’t indulge. The list crinkles in my fist as I force down a shiver.
“Eliza left me a list.” I do my best to keep my voice even. “The materials are in the barn.”
Adam focuses on pouring the coffee into his cup like he’s playing with volatile substances. “I thought she’d at least give us a tutorial.”
“Umm,” I hesitate, swiping a finger on the edge of the counter. “I might have told her I knew how to do it.”
“God.” He drags a palm over his mouth. “You are so your brother’s sister.”
“She looked down. Has a lot on her plate. I just wanted to cheer her up.” I smile sweetly.
Adam frowns. “Hall texted her again?”
I nod. Eliza doesn’t want to talk about the threatening messages, but we all know they’re always in the back of her mind.
“Come on, we’ll be fine. The boy-genius, and the girl who knows how to use a kitchen scale.”
He snorts, leaning over the island. “Don’t start selling yourself short now.”
The near-compliment melts over me like vanilla ice cream on a hot pie, but I attempt not to look too giddy. We both stare at the list between us. Eliza wants to gift the wedding guests Maine-themed candles as party favors. Something homemade with love.
“The instructions are pretty detailed,” I say. “You get everything ready in here, I’ll get the wax and oils. Jars are washed and dried in that cupboard.”
Adam smirks and pushes off the island, muttering. “How I’ve missed being bossed around like this.”
When I come back, arms full, Adam’s sprawled in a chair, scrolling through his phone, the table already set up for our little workshop.
“Diane Cox has had a rough few weeks,” he says in a deceptively neutral tone. “The network’s dropping her after today’s news.” He fixes me with a sharp, probing look.
The basket of ingredients keeps my hands busy. “Hmm?”
“It’s like somebody’s out to get her.” Now he’s watching me like a human lie detector. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with your last interview, would it?”
Finally, I turn to meet his stare, squaring my shoulders. “Somebody had to level the playing field.” I have zero remorse. “If you come after me, you’d better be spotless. I’m done playing nice.”
Adam leans back, fingers interlaced over his stomach. Heat curls through me as an image of straddling him hits me out of nowhere. He peers at me with unnerving focus, like he wants to peel my brain open, layer after layer, determined to reach the essence of who I am.
He unfolds from the chair slowly, his eyes still locked on me.
“No one holds a grudge like you do,” he says, shaking his head, but closing the distance between us.
The way he looks down at me has me scrambling for answers. He’s not acting like I’m the enemy anymore. There’s a new ease to the way we exist around each other.
But Adam still leaves a space he doesn’t seem willing to close. A space my body suddenly, foolishly wants him to erase, while my brain still clings to the hurt. To the memory of the lies. To the rational part of me that knows wanting him doesn’t undo what he broke.
When he pulls an earbuds case out of his pocket, I assume it’s to tune everything out. Including me. Listening to music is his way to keep his thoughts in check, to stop that beautiful brain of his from running wild.
To my surprise, his palm hovers in front of me, offering me a black earpiece. I don’t make a big deal out of it. I shouldn’t. It’s just some music.
A mellow tune drifts in, smooth as a brushstroke over my brain. The nostalgic beat, beneath the vinyl-style crackle, feels imperfect in a comforting sort of way.
“Do you think she gave us arts and crafts to keep us busy?”
“She’ll be a good mom someday,” Adam chuckles, stirring the melting wax in the pot with steady strokes. “Grab me one of those jars. We need to check the consistency before the next step.”
While he scoops some out, I suddenly remember the labels Eliza tucked in the everything drawer. On autopilot, I reach out, startling him, and a few drops of warm wax drip from the ladle onto my forearm.
I inhale sharply, hissing through my teeth.
“Shit! Are you OK?” He inspects my arm worriedly. “Did I burn you?”
“No, no.” I wave him off, though the warmth slithers down my body, pooling in unwanted places. I skim my fingers over the pearly bump that’s already cooled and hardened on my skin. “It’s fine. It…took me by surprise, that’s all.”
Adam tilts his head, looking at me with open interest. His voice comes out gruff. “That’s new.”
“What?”
“You liked it.”
I’m not going to have this conversation with him, of all people. “To be determined.” I clear my throat. “We need to add the essential oil to each pot.”
“Or,” he says, rolling the ladle between his fingers, cooling the wax on the surface, “we could test my theory.” The challenging hint in his voice is unmistakable.
That weight in my chest dares me forward. I place my arm on the cool counter, palm up, waiting for his next move. “Go ahead.”
This could turn out to be a terrible experiment. Curiosity, however, is a stronger force than self-preservation. I want to trust him with something real. To see if he still knows how to handle it.
“Hm.” His fingertips skim mine, sliding down my palm and wrist, gently pressing my skin until he reaches the crook of my elbow. “Tell me if it’s uncomfortable or too hot.”
His touch is careful. This is new for him, too. Being vulnerable with a piece of ourselves feels so natural in this moment. It was this easy when we were together.
“I trust you not to scar me,” I joke, but my voice barely rises above a whisper to cut through the tension. This is supposed to be a game, I remind myself. Nothing more.
Adam looks away, but I catch a glimpse of an anguish I can’t read.
He hovers the ladle over the pot and slowly brings it over my palm.
The first drops hit my fingertips, and it’s like something is scratching my brain in a spot I didn’t know it needed.
I bite my lip over the surprise noise trying to escape.
Heat seeps under my skin.
Adam gauges my reaction and tilts the ladle again over the middle of my palm.
Drop by drop, moving over the trail he had caressed earlier.
The heat of the wax is nothing compared to the fire swelling low in my belly.
Each drop makes my core pulse, and I can’t mask the soft moan drifting between us in the hushed kitchen.
His throat works, fingers flexing on the handle. He doesn’t say anything, a muscle popping in his jaw as he dips the ladle in the pot again, cooling it with slow rolls before tilting it over my arm once more.
When the last drop falls, I’m trembling.
In the charged silence, dark green eyes linger, sliding from my arm up my neck, over my face, before resting heavily on my lips.
He takes my hand and begins to slowly peel off the hardened wax while I look at him in a daze. “That was enlightening.”
Grasping for a shred of self-control, I start to yank my hand back. “I can clean it myself.”
With a steady clasp, he keeps hold of my wrist, lips twitching. “But I made this mess all over your hand. I’ll take care of it.”
His thumb presses under the brittle wax, peeling it with maddening care. Each scrape bringing me closer to the edge.
We’re locked in with each other, both breathing too hard. He looks ready to take the scoop and continue to use the wax all over me. My body wants every dangerous thing he wants to offer, but I can’t let such insanity fly out of my mouth.
“We should get back to the candles,” I say quietly. “Carter will be back soon to make dinner and…”
“Right,” he whispers, though his stare lingers, dark and focused. “Wouldn’t want to give your brother a show.”
Why does he have to make my heart beat like it’s going to break through my ribcage?
Two hundred jars later, all labeled and stacked in the boxes Eliza left for us, the kitchen is gleaming, and my brother won’t have a fit when he returns.
“Here.” Adam rounds the corner, tossing me something small. “We deserve a little treat.”
The candy lands in my palm, and I can’t help but laugh. “Do you have a box of chocolates stashed under your bed?” He always had sweets around his apartment. Loved to offer them as a reward or a pick-me-up.
“I don’t have to hide my guilty little pleasures,” he says, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth, the sound of contentment vibrating in his chest. It leaves me dry mouthed.
He’s doing it on purpose to rattle me, because the next thing he does is put his lips around the tip of his thumb, looking straight at me when he says, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Oh, I could think of a few things.
Carter must think I’m still five, and he can trick me to get what he wants.
“You need a file,” I drawl. “From the sheriff’s office? And you want both of us to go get it?”
He nods with a straight face, as if this isn’t the most absurd excuse to get me and Adam out of his and Eliza’s hair.
“If you want some alone time with your fiancée, just say so. You don’t have to send us on a wild goose chase.”
Behind me, Adam cackles over the laptop balanced on his knees. “Carter’s never been one for subtleties.”
“Walker is too busy to bring it himself,” Carter insists with a hint of humor in his voice. “Go enjoy Silver Lake Falls for a couple of hours…or more.”