Kate
Exhausted, heart brimming with love, and with a tender soreness between my legs, I reach across the car to run the backs of my knuckles over Jackson’s short beard. He leans into the touch, twisting to give my fingers a quick kiss as they go by.
Rather than trying to squeeze in one last trip to the hot springs before leaving this morning, we opted to stay tangled up in bed, having languid sex bookended by more of Jackson’s questions.
He said his favorite color these days is the specific green shade in the center of my hazel irises, and insisted we need a trip to the beach before either of us can genuinely declare we prefer mountains.
We kissed and touched and laughed, and I spent the entire time utterly in awe of him.
Reaching the end of the dirt road, we turn into the small town where Jackson bought the flowers. And I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I did then, but it turns out I somehow love this man more and more each day.
“Looks like a market of some kind there,” Jackson says, nodding toward a quaint park space crowded with vendors under pop-up tents.
People are milling about in the midday sun, sipping giant plastic cups filled with what appears to be lemonade, and letting their kids run wild in an open field and on a massive colorful playground. “We should stop. See what they have.”
“Well…” To be honest, I want to get home…but that damn excitement flickering on his face has me pulling into the parking lot before I can tell him no.
Jackson squints against the sun, and I hold out my sunglasses when we step out of the car.
With a snort, he shakes his head and reaches for my hand.
After so many years together, his touch was something I took for granted.
The way our hands naturally slipped together when we were out in public, the loose hold around my waist he’d opt for sometimes.
I’ll never take it for granted again.
I squeeze his fingers, bringing my other hand up to hold his firm bicep as we meander through the small crowd. The wafting scents of coffee and cut flowers and the earthiness of freshly picked produce dance around us, pulling my attention in a million different directions.
We stop for a taste test of local honey, followed by his incredibly sticky lips pressing to my forehead, then lips. And I want to really kiss him, but the damn smile on my mouth won’t budge.
“Come on, handsome,” I say, sticky and sweet, against his lips. “I smell espresso and it’s calling my name.”
“I was thinking the same about those lemonades everyone’s walking around with.”
Naturally, the two vendors are on opposite ends of the row of white and blue pop-up tents. I give him a gentle tap on the butt—one he reciprocates—and say, “Let’s split up and meet back here?”
After a short peck, I watch him walk away. Fully checking out his ass as he goes. I’m allowed to do that again without feeling like a creep, and like I said, I’m not taking anything for granted.
The lineup at the espresso cart is long, which, though annoying, probably means it’s some damn good coffee. And I need that after a night with little sleep. After the hot springs, we showered together, went to sleep with his dick inside me, and woke up for more sleepy sex as the sun rose.
I roll my neck, stretching and yawning, and tip my head to watch the slow movement of swirly, fluffy clouds across the light blue sky. The sun’s hot on my head, even hotter when I smooth my hand down my dark hair. And by the time it’s my turn to order, I’m nearly asleep where I stand.
Nothing a giant vanilla latte with an extra shot can’t fix. Instead of sleeping, I’ll be vibrating for the entire drive home. And probably needing to pee a hundred times. It’s fine.
Cradling the cardboard cup like it’s my most prized possession, I saunter through the market, and when Jackson’s not at the agreed-upon meeting spot, I continue toward the distant, bright yellow lemonade stand.
“Hey, handsome.” I sidle up next to him in line, slipping my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “What’s taking so long? It’s lemon juice and water.”
“My fault. I got distracted by something on the way here.”
“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow.
His smile borders on smirking, smug and secretive. “I’ll show you after I order.”
“I do love a good surprise.”
“Yeah? I think this is a damn good surprise.”
I stay attached to his butt while he places his order, giving it a little squeeze that makes him jump. He laughs under his breath and shifts his weight, shooting me a look that’s half scandalized, half delighted.
He taps his card and accepts the lemonade from the vendor. “You’re lucky I’m still recovering, or I’d throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I say, bumping his hip.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go sit and enjoy the fresh air for a minute before we have to leave.”
Jackson leads me off the path toward a quiet patch of grass under a wide old oak.
He sits on the edge of a low stone wall and waits for me to settle beside him.
Our knees brush, kicking my heart into overdrive the way it always does.
He takes a long sip of lemonade, making a small noise of delight in the back of his throat.
“Oh, this is good.” He lifts the cup in front of his eyes to inspect it with an impressed look. “Not too lemony. You should try it.”
If I’m going to try what he’s drinking, I only want to taste it from his lips. In a cool, refreshing, perfectly lemony kiss, I do exactly that. Sweeping my tongue across his, relishing the cold and the sweetness on his breath.
Pulling away, he looks at me—really looks.
The sun picks up every freckle on his creamy skin.
Normally by early June, he’d have a deep tan and overlapping freckles despite my insistence on wearing sunscreen every day.
Free hand combing through his wavy hair, he’s as gorgeous as ever backdropped by green gardens and a crisp blue sky.
“So, there’s something I want to say.” He glances down at the plastic cup in his hands.
I straighten a little, pulse skipping. “Okay…”
“I bought this while you were getting coffee.” Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, he pulls out a simple burnt-orange cloth bag. “From the silversmith booth—the one we saw with the fancy belt buckles you liked.”
I nod, curious. The bag is nowhere near large enough to fit a buckle.
With shaky hands, he works to untie the knotted string holding the bag closed, and spills a simple silver ring into his palm—brushed, slightly uneven, clearly hand-forged. It gleams in the sunlight, not flashy, not perfect. But it looks solid. Made to last.
My heart sits in the back of my throat, watching him twist the ring around in his fingers.
“You’ve never made a big deal about me not having a wedding ring anymore, but I hated it.
” He hastily works down a swallow. “I’m not the same guy who put on the first one, but I’m still yours.
I want to belong to each other, Kate. I want our family…
and, even though you said it was unnecessary, I needed something on my hand to show that.
Something to show you I’m staying forever. ”
The silver band glints in the sun as he slides it onto his left ring finger with quiet finality. It fits perfectly in place, sinking into the grooves in his flesh like it’s meant to be there.
His rough hands move to caress my face, the cold metal of the ring pressed to my jaw, securing me in place. As if I had any intention of going anywhere. Watching his face is enthralling, and I could let myself get lost in his eyes forever.
“I love you.”
It’s everything I needed to hear, and everything I was terrified to admit I needed.
“Jackson…” The tears come fast, hot, and silent.
“It’s been on the tip of my tongue for so long, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t muscle memory or obligation or…I’m not saying it because I’m trying to remember, Kit. I’m saying it because I know.”
“You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that,” I admit.
For the first time since the moment Red walked into my kitchen that morning, my lungs can expand to full capacity, and the world around us is in full Technicolor.
I add, “We’re going to be okay.”
“Yeah, we are, Kit. We love each other…and I think that’s all it takes to be okay.”
He tilts my head, seeking my lips, brushing kisses over them.
Careful, reverent, and tinged with the faintest hint of lemon.
Salt and sugar coalesce on my tongue, and the slight scratch of his beard sends arousal trickling down my spine to settle in my core.
My husband’s touch feels like a vow made all over again.
“I love you,” I murmur, eyes flickering open to meet his.
His thumb sweeps across the plane of my cheek, chasing the trails of fallen tears and clearing them away.
“I know you do.” His lips tug at the corners, stealing my heart and my soul entirely. “I love you, too.”