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Troy’s hand lingers on the doorknob. Angrily, he looks between us and Anabelle. “Whatever, I’ve got to get to work.” He opens the door and storms out of the room.
Jackson and I look at Anabelle, both of us silent for a moment.
“Now that it’s just us,” I begin. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, or do you have questions? It can be about anything.”
Nervously, Anabelle looks to Jackson and then back at me. “No.”
“If you just want to talk to me, Officer Nash can—”
“No.” Her anger and irritation with us is clear. Like father, like daughter. It’s obvious she’s hurting and doesn’t know what to do about it.
“My mom died when I was a teenager. Almost immediately after it happened, we moved here to Hawk Bend. So if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands, my door is always open.”
Anabelle’s eyes go wide, and I think I might have reached her. But just like that, I’ve lost her. “Can I go now?”
I open my side drawer and pull out a counseling slip. After I sign it and time-stamp it, I hand the paper to Anabelle. “Make sure you get straight to class, ok?”
After she leaves, Jackson shuts the door and turns to face me. “The dad’s a real piece of work.”
“Yeah.” I huff. “You couldn’t find anything on him?”
“Not even a parking ticket.” Jackson takes a couple of steps forward but stops. “Are you ok?”
My eyes meet his, and I know why he’s asking. “Yeah, I’m good. If she is acting out now because she never dealt with the feelings associated with losing a parent, I hope she reaches out to me.”
Jackson and I continue to hold eye contact, and the same rush of emotions I felt while dancing with him come flooding back. The air around us practically buzzes with electricity and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I’m suddenly confused about my feelings for him.
“Jackson, at the dance—”
“I actually have to get going. Department meeting.” He quickly shuts me down.
“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can grab dinner later?”
“Not tonight, but I’ll text you.”
Jackson walks out of my office, and I’m left even more confused than I already was. Did our dance leave him feeling different as well? Or can he sense the change in me, and now things between us are just going to be weird? Crap. I throw my head back against my chair and look up at the ceiling. This is not how a bride-to-be should feel weeks before her wedding. My mind should be on Brad, thinking about our future together. Not sitting here trying to figure out what the hell may or may not have happened between Jackson and me.
At brunch yesterday, Lyndsey had tried to get me to confess. I knew she had caught the way I was looking at him. But I dismissed her accusations and told her she was crazy. Jackson is just my best friend, nothing more. I’m not sure if I convinced her or not. How could I when I can’t even convince myself? Thankfully, she eventually changed the subject. The really sucky thing, though, is I have no one to talk to about all this. I can’t go to my dad or Jackson’s mom. If my grandmother was still alive, I could’ve told her, but her and my grandfather passed years ago. So I guess I’m on my own with this one.
For the rest of the day, I do what I do best and deflect. I don’t want to think about Jackson, so I throw myself into my work and even manage to finalize some last-minute wedding stuff while eating lunch. Driving home, I decide to pass by my dad’s. If he’s there, I’ll take it as a sign that I should go in and talk with him. But when I get there, his truck isn’t in the driveway. Before I pull away, my phone pings with an incoming text. It’s Leann, Jackson’s mom, confirming our shopping date for Saturday. I look down the street and see the old oak tree that sits in her front yard.
Over the years, Leann has been like a second mom to me. Leann and my own mother came from completely different worlds, yet they have so many similarities; their warmth and love for their families being the two main ones. I know for a fact that she would sit and listen as I unload all of my doubts and fears about Brad and Jackson, but I’m not really her daughter. I can’t have a conversation with her about Jackson, not like that.
“It’s just cold feet,” I tell myself.
Flipping a U-turn, I head home. There is a bottle of wine in the fridge that’s calling my name. When I pull into my driveway, I notice the back porch light is on. That’s weird. I could’ve sworn all my lights were off when I left this morning. With my Jeep parked in the garage, I turn off the ignition and make my way inside. As soon as I open the door, I’m greeted by the scent of garlic and basil. From where I am, I can hear water boiling on the stove. Jackson. If he’s here, that means everything is good and all the weirdness I’m feeling is strictly one-sided.
With a smile on my face, I make my way toward the kitchen. “I thought you couldn’t do dinner tonight?” I turn the corner and take a step back, surprised. “Brad?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
Brad is standing at the stove wearing my apron over his white button-down shirt and jeans. He’s stirring a pot full of tomato sauce with a big wooden spoon.
“No. Well, kind of. I had asked my dad earlier if he wanted to have dinner. He said if he could, he’d meet me here after work.” It’s better to lie than tell him I thought it was Jackson here cooking for me.
“Ah.” Brad taps the wood spoon on the side of the pot twice before placing it on the counter. “I know you didn’t like my last surprise too much, but I’m hoping this one makes up for it.” He stands before me and cups my face in his hands. “I’ve missed you, and I hate when you’re mad at me.”
“We’ve already made up,” I tell him. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
