Page 72 of And Now, Back to You

Jackson lifts himself from the bed and pads his way over to the window. I watch as he reaches for the drapes, pulling them wide, bathing himself in the light from outside. He immediately presses his face close to the glass, his nose bumping up against it. I grin.

“Delilah? Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” I manage. I force myself to stop looking at Jackson. I study my shambolic pillow wall instead. It looks like I burrowed right through the middle of it. That’s embarrassing. No wonder Jackson was trying to levitate himself out of the bed this morning. I clear my throat. “I’m here and I’m listening. What’s going on?”

“First, an apology. I’ve consumed all the protein bars in your desk and half of the candy you thought I wouldn’t find.”

“I put that stuff there so you would eat, Gianna.” I sit up in bed and restack the pillows. “Did you find anything with your research?”

After the hotel room incident, I asked her to poke around and see if she could find anything about the person who canceled the reservation.

“I found lots of things.” A chair squeaks, papers rustle, and a mouse clicks around. “Keith is definitely up to something with this trip,” Gianna says, lowering her voice. “But he was smarter than I anticipated with the hotel cancellation. It doesn’t trace back to him.”

“Who does it trace back to?”

“You,” Gianna answers. “It was sent from your email address to the hotel directly.”

“I didn’t send any emails, I swear, I—”

“Hush. Relax. I know that. The IP address on it was from the station, and you were already well on your way to Deep Creek when it was sent. I documented it for you and put it in a super-secret folder with the rest of the stuff.”

My forehead scrunches. “‘Rest of the stuff’?”

At the window, Jackson turns halfway in my direction, then shifts back to gazing out the window. He’s listening, but trying not to.

More clicking. Some furious keyboard typing. “There’s some other stuff, but I want to follow up on it before I bring it to you. Don’t worry your pretty little face about it, okay? Let Momma cook.”

I sigh. Gianna never shares anything before she’s ready. “Not even a hint?”

“Not a hint.” I hear the squeak of her chair as she kicks back. A drawer opening and the rustle of a candy bag. “Now. The important stuff. How’s weather boy?”

My cheeks immediately flush hot. I am painfully aware of the silence in this room, and how he might be able to hear everything I’m saying. I watch him carefully, but his face stays blank.

“Fine,” I answer.

“Fine?”

I pick at a loose thread on the quilt. “Mm-hmm. Fine.”

“Is he being nice?”

I think about waking up with my body on top of his. The way his fingers worked through my hair. How gentle he is with me sometimes. “Yes. He’s being nice.”

That statement makes Jackson turn in my direction, forgetting his attempts to offer me privacy. He leans one shoulder up against the window and gives me a look that I can’t quite decipher—heat, hesitation, bone-deep amusement—one side of his mouth curling up into a smile.

“Because if he’s not being nice, all you need to do is hand him the phone.”

I realize I’m smiling back. “There’s no need for violence, Gi.”

“Just letting you know your options.”

“Oh. Hey. Speaking of options, Mark had an interesting question for me the other day.”

“Mark?” she asks. “Is he the tall one with the beard? The one who grunts?”

I laugh. Jackson has moved over to the tiny coffeepot. He places two mugs out, plucking three of the brown sugar packets I prefer from the container.

“You know who Mark is, Gianna.”