I’m still chewing, so I smile in understanding.
“You actually got him to look at me differently.” The gratitude in his voice touches me. “Shit … I was so shocked when he said he was proud of me. That was all your doing. I could have kissed you.”
I suck in a breath, taking a few pieces of popcorn down into my throat at the same time, and immediately start choking.
He could kiss me?
I cough and wretch, and eventually Jackson’s palm meets my back, and he pounds me a few times. “Are you okay?”
Wheezing, I nod and then cough once again to clear my throat. “Yes,” I rasp. “I’m good.”
Jackson laughs and gives me one more tiny tap on the back before his hand drops. “Go easy on that popcorn.”
“You could have kissed me?” I ask hesitantly, focused on that instead of my near-death experience.
Jackson’s body sort of jerks. “I meant… figure of speech.”
I stare at him thoughtfully. Really? Figure of speech?
“I wouldn’t kiss you,” he insists.
“Wouldn’t or don’t want to?” I press, not sure why I’m pushing this button. He said it was a figure of speech. Nothing more.
Which means I should let it go.
I’m stunned, though, when he makes an admission. “I wouldn’t.”
I can’t help but pounce, accusing him almost gleefully. “Meaning you want to.”
“Meaning I won’t,” he says with determination.
And all of a sudden, I’m confused. I have no clue if we’re still talking figure of speech or if we’re just clouding our intent with innuendo.
Without warning, Jackson stands and grabs one more handful of popcorn. He tips his head to me, tone cordial and dismissive. “Good night, Camille.”
I purse my lips in frustration as he steps back from the stool and pushes it in. I pick up a single piece of popcorn that fell from his hand onto the counter and examine it as he moves to the doorway that leads back into the living room.
“I’d let you,” I say, still staring at the exploded kernel held between my thumb and forefinger.
I can’t see him clearly—only from my peripheral—but he stops at the door. Maybe I’m crazy, but I can feel tension rolling off him.
It’s so quiet, I believe I could be deaf.
He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
I add so there’s no misunderstanding, “Kiss me, I mean. I’d let you kiss me.”
Jackson doesn’t move, and prickles edge up my spine as I wonder if that was enough to goad him into action. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I know that I really would like him to kiss me.
“But I won’t,” he finally says and walks out the door.
CHAPTER 11
Jackson
It’s our last day in the Florida Keys before we head to Arkansas tomorrow. Admittedly, it’s been a bit uncomfortable being around Camille since we had the kiss discussion, but not in the way I’d expected. You’d think she would’ve become an ice princess, turning her down the way I did, but the next morning when I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, I was brought to a complete halt. Camille stood shoulder to shoulder with my mom, an apron on, learning how to make biscuits. She had a dusting of flour across one cheek, and she and my mom were laughing about something.
My mom saw me first. “Good morning.”
I muttered the same back, my eyes cutting to Camille to see how she’d play things.
I got a glorious, genuine smile from Her Royal Highness. “Good morning,” she said, and I could not detect one hint of bitterness or anger.
In fact, she was her normal, cheery self, and it made me question if that whole subject of a kiss went down the way I thought it had.
Could I have misread it all?
Nah. It was what I thought it was. I’d merely made a gaff with that kiss statement… or maybe my subconscious was shining through. Whatever. Bottom line, I wouldn’t give in, and I told her that.
Then it became a war of word meaning… wouldn’t versus whether I wanted to. Somewhere in that exchange, it became clear I wanted to kiss her but was being held back, and she wanted me not to hold back and kiss her.
It took every bit of my willpower to walk out of the kitchen that night.
“But I won’t” is what I said to her.
I really want to, but I won’t.
We left Arlington after another visit with my dad, who was hopefully going to be released from the hospital the next day. Since then, it’s been business as usual. We got back on track with our itinerary and stopped in Miami for a night. The last two days, we’ve explored the Keys where she swam with dolphins, gone out on a charter fishing boat, and explored tiny shops where she bought cheap trinkets for her family and friends.
Rather than a hotel, we’re staying in a luxury home owned by a friend of a friend of the Winterbourne family on Sunset Key, a twenty-seven-acre island only about five hundred yards off the coast of Key West. It’s only accessible by boat, and the estate has its own stretch of private beach that borders right up to the patio and pool at the back of the house.