“Sure.”
“And there was some bread that I picked up at the market.”
“Sounds good to me.” After they were settled at the table, Jackson said, “So I saw the manuscript on the bed. Did you leave that for me?”
She nodded. “Did you change your mind about reading it?”
“Definitely not.” He took her hand in his. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“Thank you for caring enough to read it.”
Tonight Serena would sleep and he’d stay up. He loved to read and the fact that Serena had penned this script made it all the more special. No matter how much he tried to deny it, Serena was special. He just didn’t know what to do about his growing feelings for her and his nagging guilt over letting go of his past.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Serena paced back and forth in the great room. Gizmo was right behind her, pacing, too. Back and forth they went, from the staircase to the front door. If she stopped, Gizmo stopped. He always did sense when something was bothering her.
She stopped and looked down at the dog, who sat down and looked up at her. “What are we going to do? We can’t keep pacing. It’s not helping anything.”
“Arff!”
“Sorry. I’m too worked up to sit.”
If only she had something to take her mind off Jackson’s impending critique of her script. But now that the script was done, she didn’t have anything else planned for the trip. If only she knew how to knit or crochet, she’d have something to do with her hands.
Instead, all she could do was wonder if Jackson had liked the story line. He’d left that morning while she’d still been asleep. And now he was home, but he hadn’t even mentioned one word about the script. He could have at least given her a clue if he liked what he’d read so far.
Jackson exited the kitchen.
Serena stopped pacing. Instead of barraging him with questions about her script, she calmly asked, “Do you need help with dinner?”
“No. It’s all under control.”
Should she ask the question that was teetering on the tip of her tongue? But what if he didn’t like it? What if he hated it? Her stomach plummeted.
Forgetting that he was still in the room, she resumed pacing. In time, hopefully the activity would work out some of her nervous tension. Because she’d resolved not to ask Jackson about the script. She would not. It was for the best.
“Anything on your mind?” Jackson asked.
She stopped and looked at him. Was he reading her mind? Or was this his way of toying with her? Well, she wasn’t falling for it.
“No,” she said as normally as possible. “Is it time to eat?”
“Actually it won’t be ready for a while. I thought we could do something in the meantime.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What did you have in mind?”
“You’ll see. Dress warm. We’re going outside.”
She didn’t know what he was up to, but it obviously had nothing to do with her script. “Don’t you have something else you need to do?”
He paused as though considering her question. “Hmm...the meat is marinating. The potatoes are prepped. And the salad is ready. No. I have everything done.”
She frowned at him. How could he forget about her script? Was it that forgettable? Disappointment settled in her chest. “Maybe you have something
to read?”
A smile pulled at his very kissable lips. “I don’t have anything urgent—”