Page 125 of And Now, Back to You

I stick the note in my pocket. “Maybe it’s both?”

“Can it be both?”

I shrug. “I’m not even sure what we’re arguing about anymore.”

“Oh. Is this arguing?” He pushes off the back of his car and saunters closer. He stops right in front of me, so close I need to tip my head back to watch his face. He has a subdued smile, his eyes tell the truth. He’s happy to see me. “Hello, Delilah.”

I’m happy to see him too. “Hi, Jackson.”

He spares a quick glance at the station, then shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “How’s your grandpa doing?”

“Better. Thanks. He’s getting discharged this afternoon. I’m going to go over there and pick him up before the evening report. What about you? How are the girls?”

A smile lifts one edge of his mouth. “They’re good. Though I’m not convinced spending so much time with Aiden was in their best interest.”

“Oh?”

“Bad influence,” he says. “I can tell you about it at lunch.” He hooks one finger in the opening of my jacket, using it to pull me closer. I didn’t bother zipping it up all the way before I left the station, and his knuckle brushes against the very practical and professional silk blouse I have on underneath. He releases a sigh that sounds like it’s come from the very center of his being.

Blue eyes find mine. “We aren’t working together anymore,” he says.

“No. We are not.”

I’ve felt his absence like a shadow. I keep almost turning during my weather reports, looking for someone who isn’t there.

Jackson’s face finally loses the tension, his mask slipping. He looks earnest. “Maybe we could—”

“Delilah! Jackson!” Maggie bellows our names across the parking lot, a bucket of ice water over both of our heads. I try to take a step back, but Jackson still has his finger hooked in the front of my jacket.

I arch an eyebrow. He gives me an arch look back and doesn’t let me go.

“What?” he yells over my head.

Maggie is shivering in her patent leather boots, her arms curled around herself. “Can you come inside? I need to talk to both of you.”

Jackson mutters an expletive under his breath. “Is it important?”

“No, Jackson. I want to talk about the weather.” Maggie’s face darkens. “Do I ask you for unimportant things?”

Another expletive, more emphatic this time. He peers down at me, frustration in the lines of his face. “We don’t have to go in.”

I glance over my shoulder at Maggie, shivering at the entrance of the radio station. “I think we do, actually.”

“We could make a run for it,” he says, wistful. “Get in my car. Drive to the border. Never come back.” He pauses. “Make out.”

“A beautiful dream.” I pat his chest, already turning and tiptoeing my way across the pockets of ice. “You seem to have a Thelma and Louise fixation.”

Jackson grips my elbow and gently helps me over the worst of it. “That’s not my fixation,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Never mind.” He sounds so forlorn it makes me laugh. Like his very favorite toy has been ripped away.

We finally manage to make our way over to Maggie, her palm propping open the door to the station. A wave of warmth curls around me, and I sigh gratefully.

“Come on,” she says, angling her head toward the hallway. “Let’s talk in my office.”

We follow dutifully behind her, Jackson’s hand at the small of my back the entire time.