Page 152 of A Perfect Fit

Jackson momentarily squeezes his eyes shut, his facial muscles tense. “And I hate that I didn’t.” His fingers dig into his palms, his knuckles turning white. “The night before our breakup, I decided to step down as CEO and pursue architecture. I walked into work with a plan to only give notice, but when Andrew approached me, I ended up asking what prompted his affair with my mom.”

The heartbreak in his voice slashes right across my chest.

His face grows tight. “When he gave his answer, I lost it, and I quit on the spot, but as soon as I left the building, I panicked and spiraled. I blamed myself for quitting without talking to you beforehand, and I was scared that maybe I’d made the wrong decision, that architecture wouldn’t work out.”

He pinches his nose bridge and exhales again. “The whole time I was walking to The Daily Brew, there was an endless loop of negative thoughts in my head, and I was so convinced you were better off without me. I didn’t plan to end things before arriving, but when I sat down and realized I’d forgotten to pick up the doughnuts I was going to get you, it felt like the final straw. It sounds stupid in hindsight, but …” His voice trembles. “It felt so raw and real at the time.”

My breath snags halfway in my throat, the air in the room turning thin. I knew Jackson was putting a lot of pressure on himself and that he was hurting after the revelation about his mom and Andrew, but I didn’t know about the extent of his internal battle.

“Jackson, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“My whole life, I’ve prided myself on being a high-achiever,” he hoarsely says. “Good grades. Doing well in what I did. Being a reliable, organized person who had his shit together, someone who was capable of being a leader. When I found out about my mom and Andrew, that version of me disappeared, and I blamed myself for it.

“I pushed you away because I was convinced it was selfish of me to lean on you, but I made that choice for the both of us, which wasn’t fair on you. Aaron and Jen called me out on it, and it made me realize … I didn’t want you to see the messy, unpolished parts of me. I was scared that maybe you’d think differently of me if you did. That mindset was so wrong. So fucking wrong.”

My throat turns dry. “I would never think any differently of you, Jackson. Especially not when you were going through all that. I wanted you to lean on me, like how you’d always been there for me.”

“I know.” His hands drop to his sides, his head hanging low. “And I’m so sorry again.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand. It was a lot to take in, and I get that you were overwhelmed. I would’ve been the same.”

A beat of silence passes as his eyes search my face. “Maybe it’s not the right time to say this, but I want to tell you how I feel. I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Anticipation fills my chest. “Jackson …”

“I love you, Isabelle,” he says, a wobbly smile on his lips. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and if you’ll have me, I won’t ever be foolish enough to let you go again.”

My heart beats faster, my breath hitching as the reality of his words sink in.

Jackson loves me.

And he wants me back.

These past three weeks, they’re the words I dreamed of him saying to me every day, but now that it’s actually happening …

I rub my arms. Of course I want to be with him again, but life is always going to be full of ups and downs. Jackson’s had more time now to process his mom and Andrew’s affair, but what if, in the future, something else happens and he shuts me out again?

Jackson’s smile falters when I don’t say anything, his expression falling. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I know you’re worried. And I hate myself for creating that worry.”

I look away and then back at him. “Jackson, I …”

He reaches a hand toward my face, as if wanting to cup my cheek, but then his hand tenses, and he lowers it. His jaw flexes.

“I still don’t have everything figured out yet. I’m job-hunting and applying for architecture school. I started therapy, mostly to help process what happened, but I’m going to address me feeling guilty about asking for help, too. And I’ll keep waiting for you for as long as I have to.” His eyes are glassy with visible redness now. “Because you’re it for me, Bella. It’s always been you. It took me eight years to realize my feelings for you, and I’d wait another eight years, sixteen years, a lifetime if I had to.”

Conviction fills his voice at his last sentence, and the ache in my chest gives way to something else.

Warmth, like the first flame that lights up in a fireplace.

“You came here tonight with a garment bag,” I slowly say. “What was in there?” For some reason, I have a gut feeling that it’s not one of his suit jackets.

“A jacket.” He hesitates, touching his neck. “Originally, I came here tonight thinking I’d give it to you with the flowers and doughnuts, but I got scared that maybe you wouldn’t like it.”

“I would love anything you picked out for me,” I say. “Can I … can I still see it?”

Jackson nods. “I’ll be back.”

He heads to one of the clothes racks I set up inside the warehouse before returning with a denim jacket.