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Chapter Twenty-Three
Despite texting Carson about coming home late, Jackson was actually glad Oleander agreed to go back to hers. He didn’t want to sound eager, but he wanted to see her apartment. She’d seen the inside of his, spent a night there and bonded with Raph and now it felt natural that he saw hers.
The drive back to her apartment was filled with laughter and lots of hand holding. Jackson asked silly questions about her musical tastes and favorite ice cream flavors. They even played a game of identifying the song playing on the radio within 30 seconds of it starting. Despite her lack of interest in popular music, Oleander beat him by six songs. It was safe to say she was shocked too.
Oleander unlocked her front door and let them into her apartment. Jackson took in the white walls, mismatched furniture, colorful art on the walls and plants in fun pots scattered all over the main room. It was a much bigger space than what he and Carson shared, but it was homey.
“This is exactly the kind of place I imagined you’d live in.”
“Really?”
Jackson nodded, smiling as he moved towards the bookshelves and brushed his fingers along the spines. One of his favorite authors was James Rymer and Oleander had every single one of his books, some had more than one copy or edition.
“Would you like a tour of my bedroom?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation.
“When I first moved in here with Frankie, we spent hours pouring over colors and themes we liked and what we wanted for our space,” Oleander explained, leading the way to her room. “And we hit up every garage sale and thrift store and put this together.”
“The amount of colors, the plants, the artwork, the books—it all really does feel veryyou.”
Oleander pushed open the door to her bedroom, ushering him in. “It’s actually more Frankie than me, but I’m glad you think I’m made up of colors.”
“Every single color of the rainbow is in you,” Jackson told her as he stepped inside her room and paused. While the main rooms were a mix of everything, Oleander’s bedroom was a lot calmer. There were plants and books on two shelves, but her walls were plain and the only big pop of color came from her comforter, which was haphazardly spread across her bed.
He turned as the door clicked shut, but instead of looking at Oleander, his eyes snagged on the art hanging on the wall—their canvases from Sangria and Strokes had been framed and hung up. His heart stuttered at the knowledge that she’d kept it and when he glanced at her, Oleander was blushing.
“Like I said, those were the best dates of my life.”
“I actually forgot about this,” he admitted, moving towards the art. “Thisis a much better surprise.”
“Good,” Oleander smiled and slid off her sneakers, then reached for his hand and tugged him towards the bed. She released his hand and jumped into the middle, laughing as she stretched out and patted the space beside her. So Jackson did what she did—toed off his shoes, bounced over and collapsed beside her. He turned onto his side and looked at her, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest again.
Thiswaslove.
He’d never felt this with Ursula, but heknewwhat this feeling was. Oleander turned to face him and grinned, making Jackson smile wider. But her expression changed and Jackson frowned, as Oleander sighed softly.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
His heart stalled. “Okay?”
“Before we started dating,” Oleander paused and chewed on her lip, “I’d been going on dates.”
“As one does.”
“Dates with potential husbands.”
“What?” Jackson’s eyes widened.
“SomeIndian families still believe in arranged marriages and that means introducing their eligible children to each other.”
“You met eligible bachelors.”
Oleander nodded. “I met a bunch and they were…not it. They wanted someone who wasn’t me, someone who I would never truly be.”
“What did they want?”
“A woman who would stay home and cook, raise a family and take care of him. Someone with a high paying job or a woman who was skinny and fairer.”
