Page 74 of And Now, Back to You

“You’re cold,” he says.

I laugh. “Yes, well, it’s two degrees outside, Jackson.”

“It’s actually negative seven with the windchill.” He lifts his hand, rubbing at the outside of my jacket. It does absolutely nothing to warm my body up, but it does make my heart glow in my chest.

Stupid.

I’m a silly girl with a silly little crush.

“This coat isn’t warm enough,” he says.

“It’s fine.”

“What’s it filled with? Cotton balls?”

I roll my eyes and try to bite out a response, but my teeth clench down hard around another shiver. We should have waited inside while Mark troubleshooted the livestream. He hasn’t had any luck with getting a steady connection to wire our footage back to the station. We knew it would be difficult to connect this morning, and I wanted to be a team player while he tried to set it up in the cold. No man left behind, and all that.

Jackson grips my bicep. “Come with me,” he says.

He shouts something to Mark that I can’t hear over the wind and then he’s towing me across the porch, around the corner, back to our little alcove where I impulsively kissed him yesterday. I immediately flush hot, then cold, then hot again when he drags me in there with him, tucking me up against the wall. He props his hands over my shoulders, filling up the space in front of me as he uses his body to block out the wind.

Dark blond hair. Piercing blue eyes. A little mark on his nose from his glasses.

All I see is Jackson.

“Mark’s gonna grab us at the thirty-second warning,” he says. He ducks his face down a little bit, closer to mine. I can smell his body wash on his skin. The coffee he had with breakfast. “Okay?”

I nod, my arms curled around myself, still shivering. “Okay.”

“Is this better?”

It’s less exposed to the elements, for sure, but it’s more exposed to my poor decision-making. I watch his face, liquid warmth spilling in my belly at the way we’re standing together.

“It’s better,” I say. My heart picks up. I let myself look at his mouth for one second, two. “How are you feeling?”

He exhales a sharp breath. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “It gets worse the closer we get.”

“Think you’re going to talk about corn sweat again?”

He shifts, the swishy fabric of his jacket brushing up against mine. “I want to say no, but it’s a distinct possibility.”

I know what I should do. I should stand here with Jackson and talk to him about something mundane until Mark taps us for the broadcast. Maybe argue with him a little bit. He seems to like that.

But there’s something about the way Jackson is looking at me. He’s watchful. Expectant. Like he’s waiting for me to take charge, just like last time. The temptation of giving in and calling it a distraction plucks at me the longer we stand tucked together in this tiny alcove. Maybe with one more kiss, I’ll satisfy this craving burning a hole through the center of my chest.

It did help him before.

“I thought we could maybe start with talking about some of the trees and how they’ve evolved in this area to bear the brunt of snowfall,” he says. “Oak trees, actually, are—” He huffs out a harsh breath, one hand reaching up to anchor against the back of his neck. Physically stopping himself from one of his rambles.

“Delilah,” he bites out. “I’m a mess.”

I shake my head. “You’re not. You’re fine.”

His thumb catches slightly in my hair. “I need your help,” he whispers.

My heart climbs to my throat. “How?”

“You know how.”