Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
JACKSON
Jackson woke to the smell of frying bacon drifting into Zoe’s bedroom.
He stretched out, savoring the comfort of her room.
The sheets smelled faintly of her—soft, floral, familiar.
His gaze wandered, landing on the top of her dresser, which looked like a museum of her life: a delicate gold necklace tangled with a satin ribbon, a few earrings in a trinket dish shaped like a leaf.
Framed photos of her mom and of Zoe laughing at the lake with friends.
A stack of books leaned precariously on the nightstand, half-read novels and a gardening guide.
Clothes were draped over the wicker hamper.
They weren’t even remotely close to being folded.
And the plants. So many plants. A Christmas cactus catching the sun.
A small pothos cutting, its leaves just starting to trail.
Succulents lined along the sill. Air plants perched in tiny glass globes.
The room was nature brought indoors, alive and breathing.
He glanced at his own clothes. They had been tidy on the chair. Last night he’d folded them out of habit, but somehow they were back on the floor now. He shook his head with a grin. Maybe this was what it meant to loosen up and live a little.
With a shrug, he went through to the kitchen wearing only his boxers.
“Well, good morning to me,” Zoe said.
The kitchen was warm with the smell of bacon and coffee, the air hazy with steam from the frying pan. He slid his arms around her waist, kissed her cheek.
“So, how’s the ankle today? Still sore, or did the magic of the Moonlight Kiss flower do its job?”
Zoe laughed softly. “Well, it’s not so bad today… but I’m not sure the magic’s working perfectly. I can still feel it a little.”
Jackson grinned. “Hmm, maybe I need to kiss you again. You know, just to be thorough.”
“Now that, I can agree to.” She turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his.
They broke apart after a moment, Zoe turning back to the stove. “I hope you’re hungry. I made bacon, pancakes, and scrambled eggs. Coffee’s almost ready.”
The table was set with mismatched plates, a jar of wildflowers in the middle. The coffee maker gave a final sputter, filling the carafe with a rich, dark stream. Everything felt domestic, ordinary, and because it was her, extraordinary.
But when Jackson looked up, he saw something flicker across Zoe’s face. The way her shoulders lifted, then sagged. The way her hands tightened on the spatula. He knew her too well not to notice.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly. “Not that I don’t appreciate breakfast—it smells amazing—but you’ve got something on your mind. I’m not trying to rush you, but I can tell it’s eating at you.”
Zoe froze for a beat, spatula hovering over the pan. Then she set it down with care.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “There is something. I haven’t told you because… I’m scared.”
Jackson leaned forward. “Scared? Zoe, I don’t ever want you to be afraid to tell me anything.”
“I know.” Her eyes shimmered when she looked at him. “It’s just—I don’t want this to be a dealbreaker.”
His heart pounded. He had no idea what she could say that would drive him away.
Zoe drew a breath. “A year and a half ago, I went to the doctor. Routine blood work, nothing unusual. That’s when I learned it might be hard for me to get pregnant. If I want to have children, I should start sooner rather than later.”
Jackson swallowed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “But my FSH levels are low. It means my egg reserve isn’t what it should be for my age.
There’s a chance I could go into early menopause.
My egg quality will only keep diminishing.
It’s not an exact science, but my doctor encouraged me to think about starting a family sooner, if that’s something I wanted. ”
The coffee pot signaled it was done off with a loud beep.
“That’s why Ben and I broke up,” Zoe went on. “I thought we’d get married, have kids, but he decided he never wanted them. Ever. We still cared about each other, but neither of us was willing to compromise on something so big.”
Zoe turned then, sliding the pan off the burner. The bacon sizzled down, leaving only the faint hum of the refrigerator. Her hands twisted together.
“I don’t want kids tomorrow. Or next month. Maybe not even next year. But I do want them someday. And I need to know that the person I’m with is open to that dream. Otherwise…” She trailed off, her voice catching.
The kitchen was quiet except for the faint tick of the cooling stove.
Jackson sat back, stunned. His chest felt too tight to hold the relief swelling inside him. For a long moment, he said nothing, because if he opened his mouth too soon, the flood of emotions might drown him.
Finally, he breathed out. “You think I wouldn’t want that with you?”
Her eyes searched his. “I don’t know. You’ve never said.”
He shook his head, a wry, broken laugh escaping him. “Because I didn’t think I could have that much happiness, that I’d be healed well enough to even think about it. But you…” His voice faltered.
“But what?” she whispered.
“You make me want things again, Zoe. Big things. Hopeful things. Yeah, I’m scared. But I want them… with you.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. He rose, crossed to her, and drew her into his arms as she melted against him.