Page 96 of And Now, Back to You

“We’ll have to see,” he says carefully.

“About what that means, or—”

He presses his thumb over my mouth, hushing me. “I won’t agree to timelines.” He lifts his thumb. Settles it beneath my ear instead, stroking back and forth. “Let’s see how it goes.”

“Why do you look so unhappy about that?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because I’m unhappy about it. You know I like my labels, Delilah.”

Strangely enough, it’s a bit of a comfort. That Jackson isn’t willing to toss all his rules and regulations to the side for whatever this is. “You’re the one who said it was a distraction,” I remind him. “That it doesn’t need to be more than that.”

He sighs. “I knew that upset you.” He leans back to get a good look at me. “I said it doesn’t need to be, but I never said I didn’t want it to be. That first kiss meant something to me, Delilah. All of them did. You just—knocked me on my ass. I wasn’t ready for you.”

I look at the collar of his sweater instead of at his face. I drag my fingertips back and forth across the stitching. “I don’t want to be a pit stop in your quest to push your boundaries. We’ll . . . explore this here. No hard feelings at the end, okay?”

He watches me carefully, then reluctantly nods his head.

“And if it starts impacting our work, we stop?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. He gathers me closer, both hands at the small of my back. “Like, say, if we’re caught kissing each other before our broadcast with a hot mic?”

I drop my forehead to the base of his throat. He laughs, that deep, slightly rough sound, his hand cupping the back of my head. It feels so nice to be held like this, my ear pressed to the amusement rumbling in his chest.

Warm. Safe.

“I see your point,” I mumble into cozy fabric that smells like aftershave and a coffee with exactly three sugars.

It doesn’t escape my notice that this is the most honest I’ve been with another person. I’ve shared what I want and what I don’t. My hesitations for moving forward and the hope that clings to the very edges. And Jackson has listened, patient and sure, letting me untangle the knots in my head.

His hand slips down my back. “Anything else we need to discuss?”

I rest my chin in the middle of his chest. “I don’t think so, no.” I smile. “Why? Do you have plans?”

His tongue appears briefly at the corner of his mouth, his eyes tripping a shade darker. “Something like that.”

“Want to look at the weather maps?” I whisper.

He cups my jaw with his hand, tilting my face up. “Maybe later.”

“You sure? What was it— Oh. The Northeast Snowfall Impact Scale.” He makes a low sound and I laugh. “I could talk you through it,” I whisper.

“Now that”—his nose bumps against mine—“I’m interested in.”

Someone knocks at the door. Three quick raps. Jackson drops his forehead to mine with a groan.

“Delilah,” Mark calls through the barrier. “I need you for a sec.”

Jackson slips his hand under my hair, squeezing at my neck. “Later,” he promises. He steps away from me, keeping his body turned carefully away. “I’ll get the door.”

Mark’s face is torn between exasperation, frustration, and amusement when Jackson swings open the door. He holds out his phone.

“Here,” he says.

I stare at his outstretched arm. “What?”

“You’re getting calls on my work line.”

“Me? From who?”