Page 105 of And Now, Back to You

“But the first time you said it,” he clarifies, “you meant you’d talk to her back in Baltimore.”

I nod, feeling my forehead scrunch. “Yes. That is the place we live.” I rub my lips together. “But if I’m making you uncomfortable, or crossing a line, I—”

“What about me?” he cuts in, unwilling to let me finish my thought. “Will you see me back in Baltimore?”

“You are her guardian, right?”

“Delilah.”

I grin. “You still work at the radio station, right?”

“Delilah.”

Something thick lodges in my throat. He’s asking for honesty while keeping himself safe. I can still be the brave one, if that’s what he needs. “I’d like to,” I whisper. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

His answering smile is slow. A little bit bashful. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I think so too.”

“Contrary to what some parties initially believed,” I add.

Jackson drops his forehead back to my chest with a groan. Then he tilts his head and peeks up at me from one startling blue eye. “Didn’t you say I had the personality of a wet paper bag?”

“Wet piece of cardboard,” I correct. “And hey. You’re not wearing your glasses. I just realized.”

“Contrary to what some parties believe,” he snipes, “I do not wear my glasses and a three-piece suit to bed.”

I snicker. “You also don’t sleep hanging upside down in the closet.”

He heaves a sigh. “Everyone always nags me to switch to contacts, but—”

“No.” I am immediately, inexplicably defensive. “I like the glasses.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “They make you more you, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t, but it feels like a compliment.” He grins. “So I’ll take it.”

“It is a compliment.” My heart ka-thumps in my chest. I can’t believe I ever thought this man was cold and unfeeling. “Can you see without them?” I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes roving over my face. “Not really, no. Just . . . smudges of color.”

“What colors am I?”

He angles my face toward his.

“Pink, gold—” His fingers tangle gently in the ends of my hair and pull. He smiles at me. “Brown.” His thumb drags over the curve of my cheek. Lower, down to my mouth. “Red,” he whispers, tugging slightly until my lips part.

He keeps his thumb there, across my mouth. My breathing grows shallow. Jackson licks his lips, staring hard at mine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. “Sometimes I get mad about it.”

I blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not.”

And then he drops his mouth to mine, kissing me quiet.

It’s different from the rest of them. It’s not a distraction and it’s not impulsive. It’s a choice. A decision made. He kisses me slow and careful, the same way the water moves down in the lake. Steady and deep. He keeps his arms bracketed on either side of my head, my hands slipping around his biceps while my thighs hug his sides. I’m surrounded by him. His warm breath and pounding heart and his skin pressed to mine beneath the tangle of blankets.