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He groans in mock horror. “What have I done? I was trying to seduce you, and I’ve just shot myself in the foot with a ninety-course meal that won’t end til I’m sixty.”
“You’d look cute at sixty. Same smoking hot body and face, but with a little gray at the temples.”
His grin shows me he’ll never be anything but smoking hot at any age. “Come,” he says, pushing his chair back. “Dance with me.”
It isn’t until then that I realize there’s quiet music playing, and I laugh when I realize it’s a danceable ballad by Taylor Swift. “Did you know I’m a Swiftie?”
He shakes his head. “Lucky guess.” He pulls me toward him and leads us to a space amid the empty tables on the terrace where we can dance. He’s light on his feet, leading me in his arms.
“Hey, you’re a good dancer. Who knew the tightly wound Jackson Corbett had moves?”
“You’ve said that before, that I’m tightly wound. What do I do that makes you think that?”
I toss my head back to get out from under his gaze, which melts me to jelly if I don’t look away. “I dunno. Maybe it was the way you flipped out when I taught Fiona to catch bugs? Or your strict bedtime routine? Or the fact that you hold everything in unless I drag it out of you?”
When I meet his gaze, he looks a little sad. “Yeah, guilty, I guess. Probably left over from when Annabelle took off. Hard to trust people, so I just keep control over everything because I’ll always be the last man standing. I have to be, for Fi.”
“I know. But you can trust me,” I tell him. He should know it already, but I want to make sure he does.
His answer is a kiss, and I’m not surprised it’s all he’s willing to give me. I can tell him to trust me, but he won’t until he feels it.
“I’m still dealing with the death of my parents. Maybe always will be. When people leave, there’s damage. I find it hard to get close to anyone, and when I do, I cling. Abandonment issues mixed with some unhealthy coping mechanisms,” I admit.
“There is…” He takes a breath, and I wait. I don’t want to push, but I sense he might want to talk, and I don’t want to crowd the moment with more of my own thoughts. So I just…dance with him. And wait.
He leads me around the small space, drawing me in close and nuzzling my neck. The song changes to something by Bruno Mars, and Jackson starts talking. At first, he’s so quiet I almost think he’s talking to himself. He keeps his face close to mine. Maybe it’s easier not to make eye contact.
“Everything about our relationship was backwards. We started with the marriage and the kid and then tried to get to know each other after that,” he says. “No wonder it didn’t work. And yet…”
I slide a hand up his back, ending behind his neck. I just want to reassure him. I want him to trust me.
“It would be one thing if she left right after Fi was born, before she knew what an awesome human being our daughter had become. Maybe then I could forgive it because I could chalk it up to ignorance. And regretful mistakes. But—” He closes his eyes against the pain of remembering.
I reach for his hand. As soon as my fingers wrap around his, he opens his eyes. There’s vulnerability but also appreciation in them. I don’t have to say anything, but I want to make sure he knows.
“I know. I wouldn’t be able to leave her either.”
He inhales and looks at the sky, which holds a near-perfect crescent moon against the darkness. Uncomprehending sky.
“I know it makes her sound heartless.” His eyes fall to mine. Vulnerable. Hurt, two years later. “Don’t know why I feel the need to defend her.”
I shrug. “She’s Fiona’s mom. She gave you an amazing girl, even if she left.”
He nods. “True. I try to be satisfied by that, but sometimes, I want to show her what she’s missing.”
I’m struck by an inappropriate pang of jealousy, not wanting her to come back and lay claim to this girl I’ve come to love. And this man…I’m not sure I could bear to watch him go back to her. And he would. He’d have to. For Fi.
The mounting anger makes no sense. I certainly have no right to feel possessive of him. We’re just two people filling emptiness with each other. Maybe it’s slightly more, but it can’t take the place of five years together and parenthood.
I don’t know why I’m getting so far ahead of myself. No one is suggesting Annabelle is on her way back to ask for Jackson’s forgiveness. She’s given no indication she wants to reunite this family. And I don’t even factor into the equation.
All the more reason for me to take a giant step back when I can feel my heart pulling me toward Jackson in ways I can’t fully control.
Control is important. It’s the only thing tethering me to reality, where I have a sister who depends on me and two jobs that keep everything afloat. And I have goals, career goals I’ve worked toward, and the around Jackson can’t make me forget about all of it.
But it does. All I want to do when I’m around him is abandon all my responsibilities and run away, lose myself in him. It’s dangerous. I know better.
We walk farther down the path to where a square of plum trees still blossom even though it’s long past spring. I’m about to ask Jackson if they have some special trick for fertilizing them or otherwise tricking them into thinking it’s still spring, so they’ll put on a show for the guests.
