When We Touch

“Anyway, Bucky’s outside—” The noise of squealing tires echoes through my door.

Jackson spins around and jogs to where we left my attacker. “He drove away.”

“Strike that,” I say to Chad. “He must not’ve been hurt that bad. He was able to climb into his truck and drive away.”

“I’ll go by his mamma’s house and pick him up. You come down to the station tomorrow and press charges. We’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you, Chad.”

I end the call, and it seems so quiet in my shop. Jackson stands by the door looking back at me. One small lamp is on inside, and everything is cast in a yellowish glow.

“I guess you want me to go.” He hesitates. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” I nod. He turns and opens the door, and I quickly speak. “Wait…”

My insides are all mixed up. I don’t want him to go, not at all, no matter what my survival instincts have been screaming at me since the first day he appeared in town.

“I could make some coffee if you want,” I continue. Looking around, I see the dish of cupcakes still waiting. “I have these. They’re lemon curd with a pinch of cayenne pepper.”

His brow relaxes with a smile, and he pushes the door shut. “That sounds really good.”

The idea of feeding him cake gives me an unexpected rush. “I read about how in Mexico they sprinkle red pepper on fruit or have it with chocolate. I was just experimenting.”

He walks slowly closer to where I’m standing, and my heart beats faster with every step. “You’re a baker now,” he says with a smile.

“I try,” I say with a little shrug.

“Looks like more than a trial.” He looks around the store, and my eyes move from his square jaw, over his full lips, down his neck.

Finally, his blue eyes return to mine, and I lose my breath. “Thank you,” I manage to say.

“For what?” He takes another step closer, and I can smell that amazing leather and cedar and Jackson scent.

“For saving me.”

“Oh.” He nods, looking down at his hands. I do the same, and I see one of his fists is cut open and bleeding slightly.

“Jackson! You’re hurt.” I start to go to the sink, but he stops me.

“Hang on.” His voice is firm but gentle, and his touch on my arm becomes the focus of my attention. I love his warm, strong grip on me. “I really do want to talk to you. We could do it here or we could go to the cottage if that’s more comfortable?”

“We can talk here.” Looking around, I realize I don’t have anywhere to sit in the store besides the stools around the worktable. “I have a couch and chairs upstairs.”

The faintest hint of a smile ghosts across his lips, and I turn, leading him to the door at the back of the room—the same one he must’ve come through when he saved me from Bucky. The fire in his eyes, his determination to protect me, all of it is branded in my memory.

We walk slowly up the staircase to my apartment. I rush quickly and turn on a few lamps so we have light, although it’s still pretty glowy and atmospheric. When I turn around, he’s looking at the pictures of Coco and me at the beach.

My chest clenches as I remember my mother’s words. Most men are put off by other men’s children.

“She looks like you as a little girl.” My defenses melt when he smiles at me, warmth in his eyes. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s feisty,” I say, and he exhales a laugh.

“I guess she acts like you, too.” He walks around to look at more pictures and finishes softly. “Watch out, little boys.”

I’m completely disarmed, and I don’t know what to do. Jackson is standing here filling my vast, empty apartment with his presence, the dream I gave up so long ago.