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Curiosity wins as I follow him out. By the time I round the front of the truck, Jackson already has the hood propped open. Steam curls upward into the cool afternoon air as he leans back from the heated engine. Carefully reaching into the engine compartment, eyes scanning components with practiced familiarity. And annoyingly, it looks good on him.

“Radiator hose,” he says after a few seconds.

“You can tell that from looking at it?”

Jackson points at a split in the thick rubber hose that glistens beneath the engine. “You see this? Coolant has sprayed everywhere.”

I stare blankly. Jackson glances up and bites back a laugh. “You have no idea what any of those words mean.”

“Not even a little.”

His smile appears, slow at first. “So this is what it must have felt like for you.”

Confused, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“To know something I don’t. You are a renovation queen, and I was the court jester. I get why you kept me around.”

“You were free labor.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” He smirks as he leans back from the hood.

“So …” I start, unsure of how to react to him. “Any ideas on how to pass the time?”

Jackson scans the area, placing his hand over his brow to block the sun. “The river is probably a quarter-mile this way. I think if we cut through here, we can sit by the river while we wait.”

I love the river. One of the many reasons I have chosen to stay in Cascadia. Unfortunately, due to my work schedule, I haven’t been able to enjoy it nearly as much as I’d like.

“I’d like that.” I eye the rocky terrain. “But I don’t think I can manage well with this thing.” I lift up my booted leg.

Looking down at my legs, Jackson seems to be forming a plan. He takes a step closer to me, then stops short. “We can stay here, wait in the back of the truck. Or, I can carry you on my back til we get there.”

“I don’t remember the last time someone gave me a piggyback ride.” Why does it sound so sweet?

“No pressure. I know how much you love the river. Plus, I would be honored to be your noble steed.”

I laugh. “Alright, Mr. Ed, let’s go.”

Turning his back to me, he bends down. I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands slide up my outer thigh, grabbing me tightly. Then, in a swift motion, he stands, pulling me with him. I grip tighter, unaccustomed to the sensation of being carried.

“I got you, Sugar,” he assures me as he places his forearms under my knees and starts at a steady pace.

I can’t remember the last time I let someone willingly carry any part of my weight.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, adjusting to the closeness we haven’t felt in so long. The intimacy of our position, mixed with not looking at him, loosens something inside me.

“The last time I got a piggyback ride that I can remember was from my dad. We were at my elementary school’s fun run and I rolled my ankle racing one of the boys in my class. Mom wasn’t there, but I was still afraid she’d tell me I was fine. I told Dad I knew it wasn’t broken, that I could walk.”

He shifts my weight higher on his back as we continue down the trail.

“He looked at me and said, ‘A broken leg is worse than a twisted ankle. But that doesn’t mean anyone should be walking on either.’” My smile widens at the memory. “And then he took me out for ice cream. Said it healed ninety-nine percent of problems. Still to this day, I crave a scoop whenever something hurts.”

Jackson tilts his head sideways and smiles up at me. “So that’s why you’ve always had a secretive sweet tooth.”

“Shut it.” I squeeze my legs tighter around him as punishment, which I instantly regret. The memory of the last time I had my legs wrapped around him comes to mind and I can tell it goes through Jackson’s too.

Clearing my throat, I search for a change of subject. “I actually answered his call the other day. We are going to get together in a few weeks.”

Jackson’s steps stutter in surprise. “Really? That’s good. Why the change of heart?”