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“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” I whisper. Unable to let the conversation go, I add, “So, should we plan on going until we don’t go any longer?”
“Or until you find someone else you want more than me,” he answers.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue that it would never happen. I’ve never wanted anyone more than Jax. We didn’t work out for a couple of lame reasons—not the least of which is how many states on the map lie between the two we live in.
“Don’t say that,” I warn rather than promise. It’s an ugly thought, us being far apart again.
“We’re not the same as we used to be,” he says in the dark.
“But we’re more than friendly.”
“Way more,” he agrees.
I’m not sure what we’ve decided but I don’t care. Not about anything apart from what we have—no matter how long it lasts.
—
“You’re sure about this?” I ask Jackson for the eighth time as we pull to the curb on the edge of the street. We’re at Vent, a coffeehouse, under the guise of a double date thanks (or no thanks) to my agent. The outcome remains to be seen.
“Mini.” He throws the truck into park and gives me an impatient look. “We’re already here. What do you want to do? Turn around and leave?”
“Kind of?” I scrunch my face.
“Okay.” He begins to reverse and I stop him.
“Wait. No. Let’s get it over with. I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”
He doesn’t look at me when a smile slides over his face, but I can guess he knew I was going to change my mind.
Meredith called yesterday talking ninety miles a minute thanks to too much espresso and her excitement over “this fab idea” she had. I guess one of her friends from OSU—my agent is an alum—owns this lovely establishment.
Mer had this idea to plant a professional photographer and make sure we had a really juicy “Jax and Nina moment” to share with the public. I was hesitant, but then she reminded me that she’s actively looking for my next role, and that most likely Xavier isn’t going to be the key to landing that next role, so I agreed. Only then did she pepper me with her other idea: a reconciliation of sorts between Xavier and me. I didn’t have a chance to argue before she signed off with a “love you, mean it, bye!” I still haven’t digested that part of the conversation.
“Thanks, Jax.”
“You’re welcome, sweets.” My date winks and then opens the door for me. I feel a zip of energy at the wink and the gesture. The coffeehouse is absolutely gorgeous. Exposed brick walls and metal overhead lights are interspersed with wooden benches both rough and smooth with age. Plush couches and chairs are huddled on one side in front of a stage where there’s a stool and a microphone stand, but no one is performing yet. Soft piped-in music plays from unseen speakers.
“Are they here?” I ask of the other couple who’s supposed to join us.
“Doesn’t look like it.” Jax’s hand warms my lower back. “Let’s grab a coffee.”
We order—a frothy, sugary concoction for me, a regular coffee with steamed milk for him, and then we step to the side to wait for our drinks. The place is fairly full, with people taking up the couches and most of the seats near the stage. There are a few open tables with chairs beside the coffee bar and toward the back. Likely no one wants those seats, since they won’t be able to see the stage. Perfect for Jax and me since we’re supposed to be hiding out, or so my agent says is my “motivation” for this role. She wanted cozy and to her credit, cozy is exactly what this evening feels like.
“I wonder if that’s the photographer,” I whisper to Jax as a young guy with piercings and tattoos walks in carrying a small canvas bag.
“Why don’t you not worry about it?”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious.” With our coffee cups, he points to one of the three unoccupied tables in the back. I sit on the padded bench, complete with cushy pillows.
“We’re on a date.” He moves to the bench next to me and sits, handing me my coffee. “So act like it.”
I feel almost shy (odd, after all we’ve done together) snuggling him in public, maybe because of his reaction after the picnic kiss. But this is different—back then we hadn’t been together. Now we’ve been together over and over. He’s not unsure anymore. I tip my chin and kiss him. He returns it, lingering for a second.
His phone buzzes at the same time, and he lifts it to his ear. “Yeah. To the left of the door.” Then he pockets the phone. “They’re here.”
