“Good evening, then.”
I kiss him back, my hand finding the back of his neck, tugging him closer.
Light, fun, simple.I repeat the words to myself, even when we break apart and his eyes scan across my face, his expression tender.
My heart squeezes.
I should get up. Get ready for dinner. But I want to stay here.
Even though I’m sure I’m looking at him the same way.
“So, we’re doing dinner with them?” I ask, forcing myself to get out of bed.
“Yes,” he says. “If you’re good with it.”
“I am.” I sort through the few clothes I have, trying to find something to wear.
I grab a shirt and some pants and change in the bathroom, returning to find Jacob wearing more clothes as well.
“No kilt tonight?” I say, an attempt at teasing, and he grins, looking up from typing something on his phone, but as he watches me, his smile begins to fade.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“What?” I tie my hair up in a ponytail, feel a loose strand at the back of my neck, and undo it all so I can tie it again. “Nothing.”
He walks toward me and lifts a finger under the right corner of my mouth. “You get a little divot,” he says. “Here.” He replaces his finger with the pad of this thumb, sweeping over my skin. “I don’t see it all the time, but it pops up every now and then. I think when you’re upset about something.”
“I’m not upset.”
His thumb goes still. “Really?” he asks softly.
“Really,” I say. I shake my head. “It’s, well, I don’t know.”
He takes his hand back, but I reach for it, drawing it back, leaning my cheek into his palm. “There’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I just don’t—I don’t want to talk about it. Not tonight.” I look at him, pleading. “Let’s just get through dinner, and then—you said we could have this? Right?”
His brows draw together. “Have…”
“Have tonight. That we could just—” I swallow. “Now that Maggie and my dad are fine, there’s no—I need to take the car back to Aberdeen. I need to get home. But tonight…we could still—”
“Right,” he says. He blinks, hard, a dazed sort of look on his face. “Right.”
He steps back, his hand falling to his side, then coming up again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed,” he says.
“No, it’s fine, I—”
He smiles, but it’s put on, the way his mouth stretches.
It’s not real.
“You’re right,” he says. “Let’s just do dinner, and we can—there’s no reason to not have a good time tonight.”
A good time. Those words feel so small.
He turns around, picking his sweater up from the chair he tossed it on. He raises his arms, slipping it on.
And when he turns back around, he looks like himself again. “I’m glad they want to do dinner. If it’s your last night here, or one of your last nights, I know they’ll be happy they got to spend it with you.”
My mouth is parched. I lick my lips. “Jacob, I—”
