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I rush over to Jackson and touch his arm. He tried to turn his head away from me, but his cheek is puffing up by the second.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine. He didn’t hit me that hard. He probably wishes he hadn’t.”
The guys park Mark on a picnic bench, his elbows on his knees and his head hung low. I find Jackson’s glasses and hand them to him. Miraculously, they didn’t break.
“I’m so sorry I brought this drama. I thought he was done, honestly,” I say.
Jackson touches my arm. “Don’t be sorry. He needs to learn he can’t throw away a person like you.”
“Let’s get you some ice, Jackson,” Emily says. She jerks her head toward Mark. “Do you want to talk to him?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to talk to him ever again.”
“Do you want me to call the police? Put hands on him?” Emily asks, pushing her sleeves up and tightening her ponytail.
“Please don’t punch him, Emily,” I say.
“Let me at him. I had a horrible customer leave a one-star review, so I have some anger I need to unleash.”
“You can yell at him. I’ll take care of Jackson.”
“I can do that,” Emily says as she storms toward Mark, surrounded by the same three men who carted him away like a corpse.
I take Jackson by the arm, although he can walk fine by himself. Our customers pat his arm, telling him he did a good job and they’re proud of him. We walk to the employee breakroom where there’s ice and a first aid kit.
Sitting him down, I turn to the cabinet and find the white box and a cup to fill ice with. I pull a plastic bag out of our stash and fill it with ice. We don’t talk as I rummage for what he needs.
“Okay, let’s see what we have,” I say, after the items I need are spread on the table.
My fingertips touch Jackson’s cheek so I can tilt his head to the light. There’s a small cut, about an inch long above a swelling, reddening bump. It could develop into a shiner, and I will do everything possible to mitigate the damage.
“Do you need to go to the ER? I can drive you. Pay you back.”
“No, it’s fine.” Jackson contorts his face, opening his eye wide and moving his jaw. “Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve been punched. It wasn’t very hard, but still.” He winces as I dab a cotton ball drenched with hydrogen peroxide on it.
“You took it like a champ.”
“I tried,” Jackson says. He looks up at me. “I’m sorry I spoke for you.”
“It’s okay.”
It’s more than okay. It was the sexiest thing a man has ever done for me.
I can’t say that to him. Our friendship confuses me, but it’s my favorite thing about my life in Goldheart. I don’t want to mess it up.
“You deserve the very best, Sunny. The very, very best.”
Swallowing is hard as I wipe away the residue and pat it dry with a clean cotton ball. He touches my wrist, briefly, and drops his hand back in his lap. My heart thumps at his touch, and I hold my breath, so I don’t inhale his scent.
It’s becoming harder and harder to be around him and my stomach not to do a full gymnastics floor routine. Right now, it’s going for the gold medal.
“Did you learn first aid at the same place you got haircuts?”
I laugh. “My sister Summer used to get in fights when we were kids. She was called ‘Stinky Summer’ one too many times by Tamra Watson. I learned how to do laundry at seven because of that. And how to dress wounds so Mom wouldn’t notice. She still did, but I got better at it. We also covered a black eye once with makeup.”
“Summer sounds like a riot.”
