Page 51 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

Jackson was standing in the middle of the landing with his arms crossed, just waiting.

“You hurt my feelings!” I shouted, startled by my own volume.

“What happened?” When I didn’t answer, his eyes softened and his arms dropped to his sides. “Please, tell me. If you’re mad, you can yell and cuss. Don’t hold back, not from me. Tell me what happened.”

“You hurt my feelings,” I confessed again.

He nodded but didn’t say a word as I stepped through the doorway. Something about being on my doorstep, my turf, made admitting the truth a bit easier. That, and I just knew that Jackson wouldn’t run away, no matter what I said.

He was here to listen.

“I was watching the stars from the playground and you were walking home. You came over. We talked. Then you walked me here. You kissed me and the next day when I came into the bar to say hello, you called me Willow. You told Wayne and Ronny you didn’t remember much from the night before because you were drunk and high. That’s what happened. That’s when you kissed me.”

Jackson’s shoulders fell, but he remained quiet, sensing I wasn’t quite done yet.

“Do you have any idea how long I’d been waiting for you to notice me? How many times I’d walked into the bar and wished you’d finally just see me? Then you did and I was so happy. And then you forgot.”

He nodded, still standing in silence as words came out of me I didn’t even know I’d needed to say.

“You don’t get to be mad at me for not telling you. Of course, I didn’t want to tell you about it. It’s mortifying. The first person to ever kiss me forgot.”

His stoic stance faltered and he staggered backward a couple of inches. “The first?”

“The first.” I nodded, tears filling my eyes. I hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it was out there now along with everything else. “I’m not bold. Or daring. But you . . . you were my risk. I put myself out there for you and it didn’t work. So yeah, I didn’t tell you about the kiss.”

Jackson stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, Willa.”

Why did his apology make me feel worse? Before, I’d only felt bad for myself. Now I felt bad for dumping all of this on him too.

I dropped my chin, drawing my arms around my ribs even tighter, like I was physically trying to dam up the tears. But the wounds were open now, my pain on full display, and the water in my eyes just welled deeper.

“Hey. Don’t cry. I’m the asshole here. I’m sorry.” His hands cupped my face like they had when he’d kissed me. A tear fell and he brushed it away with his thumb. “What can I do?”

I sniffled and stepped back, forcing him to let me go. With some space to collect myself, I pulled in a shaking breath and brushed away the welling tears. “I’d be okay if we never talked about this again.”

“Can’t do it.” He shook his head. “Not until I know this isn’t going to come between us.”

Us. U-S.

Two simple letters that made up possibly my newest favorite word in the entire English language. One tiny word that made some of the hurt wash away.

He didn’t want anything to come between us.

“It won’t.”

“Promise?”

I nodded. “Promise.”

“Good.” Jackson didn’t let me keep my space. With one stride, I was in his arms again and he was stealing another kiss.

This one was different from the others. It was careful and tender. He peppered small kisses all over my mouth, not letting even a little bit go untouched. Then he slid his tongue into my mouth in a slow invasion, letting his taste seep in behind it. After a few gentle strokes, he backed away, planting one last wet kiss on my lips.

He ran his fingers over my ears, tucking away a few frizzy strands of hair. “You deserved a better first kiss.”

“No.” My hands slid around his waist. “It was actually quite perfect.”

“I’m sorry.”