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“Maybe we could talk about this some other time,” Reese said, angry and embarrassed. “Literally any other time than right this minute.”
Oh, shit. “Right. Sorry. Carry on.”ReeseDespite Jackson’s best efforts to embarrass me in front of the whole damn world, I felt good. Really damn good. Even though we’d just started the long journey back to Tulip, alone in a van with a broken radio. Nothing could dampen the good mood winning first place had created. Or taking home the first-place ribbon for most unique sauce. Or the second-place ribbon for overall crowd favorite. It was almost as if I was alone in my van.
Almost.
If being alone somehow sucked all the oxygen from the air and filled it with a distinctly masculine scent that was impossible to escape, even with the window halfway down. Other than that, I was all alone savoring the win I couldn’t wait to share with Aunt Bette. Maybe she’d be in a state where we could brainstorm ideas together. Maybe.
Hopefully.
“Are you finally ready to talk?”
I had to stifle a groan and the deep, rumbly intrusion into my thoughts.
Hell no, I wasn’t ready to talk, especially not about this. But I sucked in a deep breath and summoned all my calm as I blew it out and turned to face Jackson.
“Oh, so now you care about whether I want to have such an intensely private conversation in front of a county’s worth of people? Unbelievable!” And of course, he chose to bring it up, once again, when I couldn’t escape. I’d managed to go a full year without anyone finding out and now, by the time we got back to Tulip, the whole town would know.
“I’m sorry, okay?” The more words tumbled from his mouth, the more the speedometer fell, and I braced myself for a Conversation. “You were looking so nervous as the judges got closer and closer, nibbling your lip until I thought it might bleed, and I wanted to say something. Hell, I wanted to say anything to make you smile or laugh, so you’d stop worrying. I chose wrong,” he admitted, defeated. “What else can I say?”
I looked at Jackson, really looked at him, because for the first time since I met him, I started to wonder if there were some important tidbits I might have missed. His hazel eyes were filled with concern, like he was genuinely worried that I might be mad. I mean, I was mad, but not mad mad. Just a little upset. But dammit, I couldn’t deny that his explanation was sweet as hell.
“Yes, you chose wrong. Really, really wrong.”
His broad shoulders fell at my words and I let that settle in, the fact that Jackson was disappointed that I agreed with him on this particular topic. “I know.”
“But I am willing to concede that your intentions were good. Really good.” I couldn’t remember a time in my life when anyone other than Aunt Bette had cared that much about my comfort. Then I thought about it and realized it wasn’t true—Rafe did all the time, just by threatening to maim Jackson for me. Still, I was touched by the gesture, and more so by the intent.
His shoulders relaxed and the slow, hesitant smile he tossed across the car hit me in the belly. And, yeah, lower too. “It’s true, my intentions were good, but my timing was shit.”
“Total shit,” I agreed with a smile to soften the blow.
“Yeah, thanks, Reese.”
“No, Jackson, thank you. For apologizing. It means a lot.” And as far as I knew, an apology from a man was about as rare as a unicorn. “And you are forgiven. For blurting my business in front of about a thousand people.”
He scoffed. “It couldn’t have been more than a few hundred. Tops.”
“That doesn’t make this any better,” I told him with a glare.
“But I am forgiven, right?”
“For that, yes.” I couldn’t hold it against him when his goal had been to soothe me. “Not for everything.” Not for leaving in the middle of the night, no matter the reason.
“Not for accepting the spot on the task force.” His voice had turned bland, almost cold but not quite. Detached was more accurate. “That’s my job, Reese. Always will be.”
I rolled my eyes. “Spare me the dramatics, Jackson. I’m not upset that you went to go help people. Obviously. But you didn’t bother to tell me. To leave a note. A voicemail. Or what about when the assignment was over? You didn’t try to explain, not even once.”
And I couldn’t forgive him for that, not ever.
“I tried to talk to you when I came back to town and you gave me the cold shoulder every single time.” He let out a laugh that was half bitter and half amused, I guess. “Now I know why.”
“But you didn’t try to explain or apologize. In fact, my guess is that you forgot altogether.” A fact that burned my skin bitterly and made acid churn in my gut. “It’s fine, Jackson. I accept your apology, all right?” Belated and half-hearted though it was.
