Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JACKSON
All he could think about was the kiss.
Zach was driving them back to Zoe’s flower shop and conversation flowed easily.
Madison carried most of it, chatting about Edith’s wedding and the preparations at the inn.
Kit was planning a spring feast, with nods to Edith’s Scottish roots.
There would be roast lamb glazed with Krista’s family’s honey, salmon wrapped in puff pastry with lemon and herbs, buttery scones, and cranachan parfaits layered with whipped cream, oats, and raspberries.
Madison was electric when she talked about food, but Jackson couldn’t pay attention to any of it. Not even when Zoe joined in, talking about the Moonlight Kiss flower she was determined to find in time for the wedding.
His mind was fixed on one thing. Zoe had kissed him.
Not a polite brush of lips. Not a spur-of-the-moment, we-won-let’s-show-off kiss.
This was different. Fierce and teasing, tender and consuming.
His hands had tightened at her waist, thumbs grazing the warm strip of skin above her jeans, and he had known he was balancing on a knife’s edge: one wrong move and he’d forget they were in public.
That single moment had left his chest aching and his blood roaring. A promise of crackling heat and a connection so alive it rewrote his heartbeat—something he hadn’t dared imagine in years.
And with that kiss came images he couldn’t control.
Her tangled in his sheets. Her breathless beneath him, then above him, her hands clutching the fabric, her lips breaking on his name.
The kind of wanting that stripped a man bare.
The kind that made him ache to give her everything he had.
To learn her like a language and never stop.
But the fantasy cracked as quickly as it formed.
Because he wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that she was into him.
He couldn’t be that man for her—not yet. Maybe not ever. And the thought of giving in, of letting himself have what he wanted most, only to fail her in the end gutted him.
So he sat in the backseat, letting the conversation roll around him, while his own silence pressed heavier and heavier on his chest.
By the time Zoe’s shop came into view, Jackson convinced himself it would be best if he got out and said goodnight to Zoe just as Zach pulled away. He needed to keep it quick and clean. A friendly goodbye, talk to you tomorrow.
That was the plan, and what he had started to say when Zoe turned to him.
“Do you wanna come up to see that old map of Maple Falls, then? Thought maybe we could plan out our hike?”
“Sure,” Jackson heard himself say, before he could even think better of it.
They slipped through the alley and into the back entrance. Jackson had been upstairs to her apartment plenty of times, but never with her kiss still burning his lips.
Whiskers came out and meowed instantly, weaving between Zoe’s legs as if she hadn’t eaten in years.
“You are not starving,” Zoe said before bending down and scratching her under the chin.
“Don’t let her fool you. If I feed her now, she’ll get the zoomies, and then she’ll be running all over the apartment waking me up at two a.m.”
Jackson almost smiled. He hovered near the entryway, pretending to study a potted lavender plant, trying not to stare at how gorgeous her legs looked in that dress.
“Let’s see…” Zoe pulled open the fridge. “We’ve got… beer, water, oat milk that might be expired, or my magical green smoothie.” She pulled a jar from the back of the fridge that looked like fermented kale.
Jackson shook his head. “Think I’ll stick with a beer.”
“Coward,” she teased, handing him a bottle and grabbing one for herself. “Cheers to surviving our first fake date.”
Jackson clinked his bottle against hers, trying not to get lost in the depth of her eyes.
“Here’s the map,” Zoe said, motioning for him to follow her over to the dining table. She pulled the yellowed paper out from the back of a book and spread it flat.
Jackson followed her over, but stopped dead at the sight of the table. It was an absolute mess. Half covered in books, ribbon scraps, dried flower petals, a glue stick with no cap, and what looked like a half-finished bunny wreath made of twigs and googly eyes.
The corner of Jackson’s mouth tipped up. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Sorry,” she said, sweeping a stack of seed catalogs aside with the back of her arm. “I meant to clean this up, but I had a client emergency this afternoon. Someone needed sympathy daisies with exactly seven stems. Long story.”
“Sympathy daisies?”
“I said it was a long story,” Zoe said while clearing a small spot and unrolling the map. “I’ll tidy this up later.”
“You say that like you have a working definition of tidy.”
“I do,” she said. “It’s just… looser than yours.” She smoothed the map with her palms, pushing a stray petal aside as Jackson leaned in to get a better look.
“See this right here?” she said, pointing to a winding trail that cut across the page. “This one looks like the best place to start. I don’t think half of it actually exists anymore, but it’s all public land.”
“Yeah, I see it.” Jackson leaned forward, scanning the faded ink. It stretched further outside of town than he’d expected, some of it edging into national forest. The elevation changed out that way too.
He straightened and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.
Zoe groaned. “You and your list.”
He smirked, scribbling something down. “Just trying to stay organized.” Zoe rolled her eyes but smiled.
He studied the map, then opened his mouth to comment on the trail, but when he looked up, she was already looking at him.
Heat shot through him. There was that spark again. God, it had always been there, hadn’t it?
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, then back up. “About that kiss,” she whispered. “Maybe we should try it again. Not for show. Not for anyone else. Just… for us.”
“That’s a very bad idea,” he said hoarsely. But his hand was already reaching for her cheek.
“Terrible,” she agreed, leaning in.
This time the kiss was slower. Deeper. No crowd. No celebration. Just the two of them, standing in the middle of her cluttered dining room, the rest of the world melting away.
She tasted like beer and spring air and longing.
He pulled her closer, his hands sliding to her waist, pressing her against the edge of the table. She gasped softly when her back hit the wood, and he swallowed the sound, kissing her again, then lower, along her jaw, down the slope of her neck.
“Wait,” she said, breathless, pulling back just enough to fumble at the table behind her. She shoved aside a ball of floral wire and a rogue glue gun. “Okay, sorry. Now I’m ready.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “You sure?”
She nodded, eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Very.”
Jackson slid his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her, settling her on the table. Books toppled to the floor, a tin of buttons clattered somewhere under the radiator, but he didn’t care. Zoe was already tugging her dress over her head.
Jackson swore under his breath as she revealed the scrap of pink lace fabric that she called a bra. She unclasped it, dropping it to the floor, leaving herself exposed to him in her matching pink panties.
He cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing over her nipples, and watched her shiver.
“You are… breathtaking,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, pulling her closer until her knees parted. He traced a finger along her hip.
“Still good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “God, yes.”
He pulled the fabric aside, letting his touch slip lower, and a deep groan escaped him as she instinctively pressed into him. Her body melted around his fingers. She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb pressed just right there.
Her legs curled around his waist. The scent of her, the warmth of her, the way she responded to him—it unraveled him completely.
Jackson kissed her again, tongues tangling, breath mingling, as her hands pulled at his shirt. He let her tug it over his head. The map crinkled under her hips, her hands gripping his arms.
He moved his fingers faster, feeling her tighten, her breath getting ragged.
“Jackson…” she gasped.
But then the bottom dropped out. The endorphins coursing through his veins kicked up another memory. Heat collided with the past to memories of dark nights, clenched fists, screams of terror.
He suddenly felt unsteady. His breathing grew ragged as he fought the onslaught of memories. He pulled his hand back.
“Wait, what’s wrong?” Her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling. “Did I—?”
“No.” He shook his head hard. “No, it’s not you. It’s not that.”
Her eyes were wide now, confused and flushed and a little vulnerable.
And God, she was beautiful.
“Zoe,” he said, voice breaking, “I need you to know… I feel it too. What’s between us. It’s not fake, it’s not just in your head. I want you—I want this—so much it scares me.”
She blinked, not moving.
“But I’m not ready,” he went on. “I want to be. But I’ve got… I’ve got things I haven’t dealt with yet. I’m still figuring out how to live with what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen. And I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be someone who can give you what you deserve.”
“You don’t have to be perfect—”
“I’m not talking about perfect.” He stepped back again, like space would keep her safe. “I’m talking about functional. I’m not okay right now.”
She opened her mouth, but he kept going.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Or start something I can’t finish. Or worse, lean on you like a crutch and drag you down with me. You’re not my fixer, Zoe. You shouldn’t have to carry someone else’s damage.”
Silence pressed between them, heavy and unyielding.
She was still perched on the table, cheeks flushed, hair wild, topless, chaos spilling around her, and he’d never wanted anyone more.
But he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice almost breaking. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving her warmth and wildness behind. But the ache of wanting her only dug deeper with each step.