“Not great for visibility, but perfect for privacy to discuss the details,” Jackson comments.
“Details?” I ask as we sit down in the booth. Jackson slides around so that he’s next to me, and after the waiter takes our drink orders, he continues.
“We can tell the truth about how we met, but we need a story for how I asked you out and when, and we need rules for what we’re going to do or say to people, that kind of thing.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
He looks embarrassed by my comment. “Not really, I just figure if we’re going to do it, we might as well do it well.”
He’s right, of course. And somehow, seeing his discomfort makes my own disappear.
“Jackson, I’m teasing. You’re right, of course. I propose one formal date a week, hand holding is okay, and we tell people I asked you out. What started as me being friendly to the newcomer turned into more when we realized we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” I wiggle my eyebrows to show him I’m joking, and it works when I see his shoulders relax.
“Sounds good to me. But I’m going to add on a couple of things. People have seen us kiss. Well, Rosie did, which from what you tell me is as good as the entire town seeing it. Which means we might have to do it again.” His eyes darken as he looks at me, and my tongue darts out to lick my lip. Is it hot in here? Or is it just the idea of kissing Jackson again?
“Kissing. Yeah, we can do that.”
He nods, slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. I see his gaze flick down to my mouth and up again. The silence grows more and more heated until we’re interrupted by the waiter bringing over a bottle of wine.
“Oh, we only ordered a glass each,” I say, stopping him from pouring from what looks like a very expensive bottle.
“I know; this is compliments of the Martins.” Our waiter gestures across the restaurant to where Turner and Sandra Martin, who own the local hardware store, are smiling and waving at us. My eyes widen and I force a smile and wave back while Jackson chuckles behind me. Just like that, my panic and discomfort over what we are doing is back, and more intense than ever. The waiter pours our wine, and we lift a glass. Jackson nods at the Martins while I’m still blushing furiously.
“Looks like there’s even more perks to being your fake boyfriend, Mila Monroe,” Jackson murmurs as he takes a sip of wine.
“Oh my God. Jackson.” I put my glass down and my hands twist together in my lap. “This is why I hate lying. Oh God, why did I suggest we do this? This is a terrible idea. What are we doing? I can’t —”
Jackson’s lips cover mine, effectively shutting off my panicked line of thought. My hands still, as one of his covers them and the other cups the nape of my neck. My eyes flutter closed, and for just a second I let myself forget that this is all pretend. But he pulls back all too soon, and I have to stop myself from whimpering at the loss of contact.
“Stop freaking out.” He whispers the words against my lips before pressing one more quick kiss against my mouth. Then he backs away and when I open my eyes, he’s looking at me over his wineglass, a peculiar expression on his face. Like maybe that kiss affected him just as much as it did me.
Chapter 8
Jackson
It would be easy to tell myself that I kissed Mila last night to put on a good show for everyone at the restaurant. We need to sell this relationship as real, after all. But the truth is different. The truth is I wanted to kiss her. And I enjoyed it. Possibly too much.
I may have been out of the dating scene for a few years, thanks to my ill-fated relationship with Stefani, but I can easily say that my fake date with Mila was better than any real date I can remember going on. After we got over the initial awkward stage, amplified by the Martin’s wine gift, everything went great. The conversation flowed, we laughed, we shared food, and touching her felt right. Dropping her off at her house was the worst part, only because I didn’t want the night to end. If I have to be in a pretend relationship with anyone, I’m glad it’s someone I am at least attracted to, and get along with. I’m glad it’s Mila.
I’ve got the morning off today, but it’s an unseasonably cold day. Too cold to hit the water, so I’ve decided to go on a hike Mila told me about that’s just outside of town. Apparently, there are some hot springs up there, so I tossed some swim shorts into my pack along with some water and snacks, but we’ll see. Mostly I just want to get out and have some time to clear my head. I had a message on my phone from my mom, who is still in contact with Stefani’s mom. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything about my ex, just asked how things were going and reminded me to call her. But even that small piece of contact from home, or my former home, got me thinking about how it all went so fucking wrong.
It has only been a handful of months since Stefani pulled the rug out from underneath my feet. I’ve spent many nights thinking back over the years we were together, trying to figure out if there were clues or anything that I missed that could have prepared me for her revelation that our relationship was built on lies. I’m not sure if it helps or makes it hurt even more that I cannot think of a damn thing. She had me so well fooled. So convinced that we wanted the same thing — a partnership, a marriage, a life focused on just the two of us and our personal and career aspirations. We talked about all of the trips we would take, the corners of the world we wanted to explore. We shared our dreams and goals and planned out how to support each other. And the entire time, she was holding back, keeping her true desires a secret. She didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth up front. Not only that, but she had so little respect for my wants and opinions that she figured she could convince me to change my mind. Her exact words still haunt me.
“I didn’t think you really meant it. I mean, if you really loved me, you would give me a baby.”
I’m not saying people shouldn’t be willing to compromise and change their minds if it’s of their own free will. But what she said was nothing short of emotional blackmail. So, I called her bluff.
Thinking about the day I walked away fills me with an unhappy frustration, so I pick up the pace until I’m running up the trail. The incline is significant, but not unmanageable, and the trees offer some shade. Still, I’m certainly breathing heavy when the trail levels out and I come to a clearing. There’s tall grass, and large rocks scattered, making me wonder how this place came to be. It looks like it was plucked from the pages of a fairy tale. I half expect woodland creatures to start singing, but instead all I hear is birds chirping and people’s voices.
The sight of two men sitting on the ground, bottles of water in hand, brings me to a stop. It’s Ethan and Reid. Before I can debate turning around before they see me, Ethan waves me over. I have no idea what he’s heard about Mila and I, but I think I’m about to find out.
“Jackson. Good to see you, enjoying your hike?”
“Sure. It’s beautiful up here,” I reply to Ethan’s question.
Reid gestures to the ground beside them. “Take a break with us. We’re on our way down, but this fucker made me run sprints up the last section.”
“Not my fault your cardio sucks.”
