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Leading Amanda to the stage, he introduced her to Samantha, who greeted her with a warm smile and a hug. Amanda eagerly engaged the singer in conversation, her writer’s mind visibly churning as Samantha shared about how she’d returned to town to find herself.
Amanda hung onto every word as Samantha told her how she’d walked off the stage during a concert, got into a car, and drove to Aspen Cove because it was the one place she’d felt happy as a child.
Back behind the bar, Jackson kept a watchful eye on Amanda. Her animated gestures, her soak in the moment demeanor—she was in her element. He imagined the type of story she was creating from this encounter, or the characters she might be conjuring up from the colorful personalities in Bishop's Brewhouse.
When she left, he walked her to the door and kissed her like his life depended on it. Maybe it was because she brought so much life into his. When he walked back into the bar, everyone still there clapped and hooted, making him feel both embarrassed and lucky to have a woman that could cause such a stir.
When the bar’s doors closed, and the last patrons had trickled out, Jackson stood outside the bar with the cold burning his exposed skin. He locked the door behind him, the metallic click echoing in the quiet street. The night was clear, the stars glittering above like distant diamonds against the black velvet canvas of the sky.
The journey back to the cabin was quiet, filled with almost palpable energy. He kept his eyes focused on the road, but his mind was filled with thoughts of Amanda.
He arrived at the cabin, a welcoming silhouette against the melting blanket of snow. He found her at the door waiting for his arrival. He parked, and he and Gunner walked to the house.
“I waited to thank you,” she said from the doorway. Her smile was like a lighthouse beam. “That was a perfect night.”
He knew the night could be exceptional but was still trying to take it slow.
“I’m glad you had fun. If you’re closing things up, I’ll walk you to your room.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her down the hallway. As they stood at her bedroom door, Jackson leaned in, his gaze lingering on her lips. He tilted her face to meet his, and their mouths met in a sweet, lingering kiss.
It was a simple kiss, nothing more than a press of lips, yet it carried a promise, a silent confession of things unsaid. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was a turning point, a gentle crossing of a line that signaled a deeper connection and more to come.
Amanda seemed to feel it too. When they pulled apart, her breath hitched, her eyes wide and vulnerable as they met his. There was a hunger there, a longing that matched his own. The last of his self-restraint shattered when she bit her lip, and her gaze dropped to his. He placed one last gentle kiss on her cheek, whispering a husky goodnight before he turned away.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Amanda had always revered the quiet solace of early mornings, the muted whispers of a world still wrapped in slumber. This time was a haven for her, a peaceful sanctuary where she was entangled in the delicate trappings of her imagination. It was a time when her thoughts, unbound by the distractions of the waking world, ebbed, and flowed freely, painting a vibrant mosaic of words and tales in her mind.
She found her usual spot at the small desk by the window. Outside, nature was gradually awakening, a choreographed ballet of life that took place every dawn. Birds started serenading the approaching day; their songs wove through the morning air, intertwining with the soft rustling of leaves as if exchanging sleepy tales of the previous night’s adventures.
She settled in, her laptop open in front of her, its screen bathed in the glow of the dawning day. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. And then they began their dance, a graceful waltz of letters and spaces, giving life to the echoes in her mind.
Her characters, still sleepy-eyed and rumpled from the confines of her imagination, began to stir, and take shape under her gentle guidance. They emerged from the shadowy corners, stretching and yawning, whispering their stories into her ear. Their lives, dreams, sorrows, and triumphs were all spun into existence in the muted colors of the early morning.
As Amanda delved deeper into her story, a movement at her feet pulled her from her literary world. Catsby had claimed his spot on the chair next to the corner, his half-closed eyes filled with curiosity. A soft, rumbling purr vibrated from him, a pattern syncing with Amanda’s fingers tapping on the keys.
Catsby’s tail curled around his body, and his gaze locked onto Amanda. It was as if the feline was conveying a silent message—his look seemed to say,Proceed; I’ll just be here, quietly ruling my kingdom.
Basking in the harmony of bird songs, the gentle rustle of the world outside, and the steady purring of Catsby, Amanda smiled. She looked at the words flowing across her screen, at Catsby’s contentedly curled form, then out the window where the dawn was slowly unfurling its radiant colors. And she knew, without a doubt, that this moment, this experience, this book was perfect.
She put her mug down and watched Jackson through the window as he moved in the half-light of morning. He was stacking wood, his actions precise and practiced. Seeing him work stirred something in her chest—admiration for his dedication and determination. But it was time to focus on her laptop, why she’d come to Aspen Cove in the first place—to write a story. The peaceful morning made it easy for her creativity to flow. Heck, she wrote at all hours of the day and night here. If sleep weren’t a necessity, she’d write around the clock.
When she rechecked the time, hours had passed, and it was nearing lunchtime. She needed to go into Copper Creek and get supplies for Thanksgiving. A list of items came to mind—sweet potatoes, marshmallows, cranberries, ham...
She was mulling over her shopping list when Jackson’s voice drifted to her from the door. “Hey,” he said in a rich timbre that tugged her from her thoughts. He appeared in the doorway, muscles pronounced under his worn flannel shirt, his eyes filled with a muted curiosity as they glanced at her screen. “Hope I’m not interrupting your creative process.”
A soft chuckle slipped past her lips. “Not at all, Jackson,” she reassured him, closing her laptop and welcoming the break. Her eyes met his, their whiskey depths reflecting the growing light outside. “I was just thinking about heading out soon. I need to get supplies for Thanksgiving—stuff The Corner Store won’t carry.”
His eyebrows lifted. A thoughtful frown etched on his handsome face as he leaned against the door frame. “Heading to Copper Creek?” he asked, the faintest hint of hope lacing his words. At her nod, he let out a soft breath, a nearly inaudible sigh. The silence hung briefly before he offered, “I can drive you there. I have a few errands to run myself.”
Her heart thumped against her ribs, and her chest filled with a giddy swirl of excitement. “That would be great.” Recovering her composure, she asked, “Will your errands take you anywhere exciting?”
He smiled. “I need to stop by the bookstore here in town to get something I ordered.” His voice was casual, as if picking up a book was as mundane as fetching a gallon of milk.
“Bookstores are my kryptonite,” she confessed, her lips stretching into a broad grin. She couldn’t deny the thrill coursing through her veins at the thought of browsing through rows and rows of books, getting lost in their worlds.
He laughed, a rich sound that filled the cabin. “Then I guess it’s settled,” he said, his voice softer now. “Leave in fifteen?”
Nodding, she retreated to her room, her mind racing. She found herself in front of her closet, eyes scanning the neatly hung clothes. It wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. But as her fingers trailed over her selection, lingering on a comfortable flannel shirt, her heart thrummed a different tune. She pushed aside the thrill bubbling within her. This was just a casual outing with Jackson, nothing more.
