Chapter 20 The Rodeo #2
Jackson brushes my hair away from his face without moving his arm from my waist. "Coffee?"
I answer against his shoulder, entirely unwilling to help him get up. "Yes."
He doesn't move. Neither do I. The bed is too comfortable, the moment too perfect to break.
I don't even reach for the covers while I pretend to consider leaving. "I should get back to town."
His hand rests at my waist while he waits to hear whether I actually want to leave. "Should you?"
I mentally sort the tasks into urgent and things I'd rather put off. "I have prep work for a client tasting. And laundry."
He makes the words solemn, though his thumb is moving lazily against my side. "Important things."
"Very important." I turn in his arms to face him, studying the sleep-soft lines of his face. "But maybe not urgent."
His smile is slow and satisfied. "No?"
I slide my hand beneath his on the blanket, making the offer without getting up. "Maybe I could stay another hour."
Jackson raises his eyebrows at my ambitious limit. "Just an hour?"
I smile at the ceiling, pleased with my own revision. "Maybe two."
"We could have breakfast." He pulls me closer, his hands tracing patterns on my back that make it very hard to think about laundry. "There's food in the kitchen. We can see what the caretaker left."
I lift my head from his shoulder, finally motivated to leave the bed. "Did they stock coffee?"
"Maren, this is my family's lodge." He kisses my forehead. "There's enough coffee here to caffeinate the entire county."
I settle back against the pillows while he searches for his shirt. "Then I'm staying for breakfast."
He grins and rolls out of bed, pulling on clothes with the efficiency of someone who knows exactly where he put them. I watch him from the warmth of the blankets, feeling something settle in my chest that's been unsettled for months.
Jackson catches me reaching for the quilt to get up and points me back toward the pillows. "Don't move. I'll bring it to you."
I pull the blanket up beneath my chin and watch him at the doorway. "Hurry back."
He pauses there, letting me add the essential condition. "With coffee?"
I point toward the kitchen before he can come back empty-handed. "Definitely with coffee."
He disappears toward the kitchen, and I stretch out in the empty bed, letting the morning light warm my skin. Through the window, mountains rise in layers of purple and blue, and the sky is the particular bright color that only exists at altitude.
I think about the Montana job, the life I'm building, the choices still ahead of me.
I think about Jackson in the kitchen making coffee, about the way he held me last night like I was something he'd been missing.
I think about what I want to tell him when he comes back, even if it's only that I've stolen his side of the bed.
Jackson returns with two mugs, climbing back into bed with exaggerated care to avoid spilling.
"One sugar, splash of cream," he says, handing me mine. "I remembered."
I take the mug from him carefully. I've never needed him to memorize a new recipe for loving me. "You always remembered."
"Not always." He settles against the headboard beside me. "But I'm trying to remember more."
We drink our coffee in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb higher over the mountains. At some point, he takes my hand and laces our fingers together, and I let him because I want to, because it feels right, because I'm done pretending I don't want exactly this.
I rest my head against his shoulder, looking past our mugs to the mountains. "I don't want to leave."
He shifts closer, offering the simplest answer without reaching for my keys or my plans. "Then don't."
I curl my fingers around the mug, happy to postpone deciding when. "I have to eventually."
"Not yet." He squeezes my hand. "Stay a little longer."
I look at him, this man I married, this man I left, this man I'm slowly finding my way back to, and I make a choice.
I set my empty mug down and reach for his hand again. "Okay. A little longer."
We finish our coffee. We make breakfast together in the lodge kitchen, eggs and toast and more coffee, simple food that tastes perfect anyway.
We talk about nothing important and everything important, and by the time I finally drive us back down the mountain, the sun is high and the day is half gone and I don't regret a single minute.
He kisses me goodbye at his front door, lingering in a way that makes me not want to go.
Jackson keeps his hand against the door frame while I find my keys, reluctant to end the morning. "When can I see you again?"
"Soon." I touch his face, feeling the scratch of stubble under my fingers. "I'll call you."
Jackson keeps one hand against the door frame while I stand close enough to kiss him again. "Promise?"
I kiss the corner of his mouth before I leave. "Promise."
I drive back to my apartment with the windows down and the radio up, feeling lighter than I have in months. Whatever comes next, the Montana job, the holidays, the slow work of rebuilding a marriage, I'm ready to face it.
At the apartment, I take the five-dollar bill out of my pocket and prop it against the vase. I want to remember how hard we laughed. I want more days like that.