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“Are you trying to win another beer?”
Doc shook his head. “No, son, this isn’t about a free beer. It’s about something much more important.” He picked up the marker and hovered over the napkin. “Love, like tic-tac-toe, is a delicate balance of strategy and timing. Let’s imagine the game board as the world of relationships. Each square represents a potential partner or an opportunity to connect.” He placed an X in the center square. “Now, the first lesson is about patience. As the first player waits for their turn, taking your time and not rushing into love is crucial. Embrace the beauty of the journey and let connections develop naturally, rather than forcing moves.” He handed the pen to Jackson, who placed an O in the top right-hand corner.
Doc pointed to his X and Jackson’s O. “Next, we have the importance of balance. The game of love is a give and take.” He marked an X to the right of his original and handed Jackson the marker. He knew he’d lose, but they traded turns, with him blocking Doc’s easy win. “Love flourishes when everything lines up like the three winning squares in a row. Seek a partner who complements you, both in strengths and weaknesses. Together, you’ll form an unbreakable bond, like a winning line in tic-tac-toe.” He marked his X and Jackson his O. Clearly, he was losing the game but gaining something far more valuable. “Now, let’s talk about resilience,” Doc said. “You’ll encounter setbacks and losses in love, as you’ll encounter losses in tic-tac-toe. But remember, defeat doesn’t define you. Learn from each experience, adapt your strategies, and keep playing the game with an open heart.” He marked the final X and drew a line connecting them. “Finally, remember that love, like tic-tac-toe, isn’t just about winning or losing. It’s about the joy of playing, the laughter shared, and the memories made. Embrace the moments, cherish the connections, and find happiness in the process.”
Jackson stared at the marked-up napkin and smiled. In the time it took to lose, he’d been schooled in the art of a successful union.
“I’ll remember that.” He picked up the napkin and tucked it into his pocket.
Doc’s eyes met his, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Something to think about, son.”
And with that, Doc stood, his game won, and his beer finished. He nodded at Jackson, placed a five-dollar bill on the bar, and walked away, leaving him with his thoughts and the quiet hum of the bar.
When he closed up for the night, Jackson smiled at the thought of seeing Amanda again. The journey ahead might be uncertain, but he was ready to take it slow, one step at a time. After all, according to Doc, the trip was more important than the win.
As he flicked off the lights, he glanced down at Gunner. “Come on, Gunner. Let’s go home.”
He drove up the road to the cabin and thought about Doc’s words, realizing that while he was right, he was wrong too. Love should never be a game. Playing with someone’s heart and mind wasn’t ever a good idea. And because Amanda had such a bad experience the last time, he wanted to be upfront and honest about his growing feelings for her. If she didn’t share his attraction, nothing was lost or gained. He’d focus on getting her cabin in shape and finding another place to call home.
The lights were still on when he arrived which meant Amanda was awake. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. He didn’t know what the future held or how Amanda would react, but he knew one thing. He had to be honest. For her. For him. For them.
With a final pat to Gunner’s head, Jackson walked up the steps and pushed open the front door. It was time to talk.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Amanda's fingertips flew across the keyboard of her laptop, moving in sync with the cadence of her thoughts. The cabin was wrapped in a peaceful stillness, accompanied only by the gentle crackling of the fire and the tap-tap-tapping of her fingers on the keys. She wove worlds with her words, lost in the embrace of her creative sanctuary when, like a melodic interruption, the low groan of the cabin door pierced the silence.
Her gaze lifted, curiosity lighting her eyes as Jackson strode in like a wayward traveler returning from a distant adventure. Weariness hung on his shoulders like a cloak, tugging at Amanda's heartstrings. A glance at the clock confirmed her suspicions—it was late, almost nearing midnight. Where had the time gone?
As she looked at him, her lips curled into a slight smile. She saw the stubble on his cheeks and chin, which made his chiseled jaw look roguish. The day-old growth gave the impression of a man who didn't have time to waste on shaving but was still effortlessly handsome. His hair was military-short, with just enough length on top to be tousled by the wind. It made him look like he could wield an ax through any fight that stood in his way.
“I didn't expect you to be up," he said.
Amanda closed her laptop. Its presence was now secondary to Jackson’s presence. "Well, a writer's mind never slumbers," she replied with a touch of whimsy, her words floating like a playful butterfly. "Besides, inspiration tends to strike at the oddest hours."
A hint of accomplishment crept into Amanda's voice as she directed Jackson's attention to the corner of the room. The bookshelf, once a chaotic assemblage of literary misfits, now stood tall and dignified, like a proud conductor of stories. Once overcrowded and unruly, its shelves now held an organized collection of titles. Amanda had spent hours arranging and rearranging, ensuring each book found its proper place. One shelf remained empty—a welcoming void, waiting to be filled by Jackson's literary treasures.
Jackson's gaze softened, the bookshelf reflected in his eyes like a mirrored promise. His voice, a gentle murmur, carried the weight of gratefulness. "Amanda, this ... it means a lot. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I'm glad you're awake because we need to talk."
Amanda's heart skipped a beat, her breath hitching in the stillness. The phrase “we need to talk” reverberated in her mind, evoking memories of past relationships and the stormy clouds they brought. Dread, icy and unyielding, trickled up her spine.
She masked her fear with a reassuring smile, trying to steady her voice. "Is everything alright?" Her words were hesitant and lacked confidence, making her worries linger unsaid.
Jackson hesitated, looking around as if trying to assemble his thoughts. The silence stretched for seconds that did nothing to quell her anxiety. The atmosphere in their cabin had grown heavy and tense as if all the world's uncertainties were present in that one small space.
"It's about the kiss."
Why did he bring up the kiss?
"Oh." With a flicker of desperation, she sought solace in offering food. Though she tried to maintain composure, her voice quivered as she spoke. "I made my special baked ziti earlier. It's in the fridge. You must be hungry. I'll heat it for you."
She rose, placed two plates on the table, and heated the dish on the stovetop. It was a way to distract herself from the looming unease. Providing nourishment became an unspoken plea for their connection to remain intact, a silent hope that the conversation wouldn't lead to distance or separation.
Underneath her seemingly serene expression, Amanda was a bundle of nerves. She had known Jackson for only three days, yet somehow, he had become an essential part of her life.
