Starry-Eyed Love (Spark House)

“Well then, it’s fortunate for us that we’re early risers. We’ll take two of each.” He holds up a pair of fingers, smiling widely.

I try to pay, but Jackson insists on getting it. Once we have our order, we leave the shop and step back out onto the street. The lazy Saturday morning traffic buzzes around us, dogs walking their owners passing by, their tongues lolling as they trot happily along.

Once we’re both standing on the sidewalk, my hand shoots out. “Let me take one of those for you!” He’s holding both of the coffees and the bag of pastries.

He graces me with another amused smile. “That’s okay. I have it. I’m just over here.” He inclines his head to a sleek gray Tesla. Which, of course, makes sense since he’s all about being green.

“I didn’t know you could rent Teslas.” Obviously I’m poking fun.

Jackson arches a brow. “You can’t.”

“Doesn’t it take a year to get one of these?” At least that’s the impression I had.

“For most people, yes.”

“But not for you.” It’s more statement than anything. It’s really starting to set in how big a deal it is that Jackson has taken Spark House under his wing. And that he’s allocating so much time to our event. It’s a good reminder to keep things professional.

“No. Not for me.” His smile is wry as he sets the coffees and paper bag on the roof, opens the door, and extends a hand.

I don’t want to be rude and not take the offer of assistance, but I remember exactly how it felt to shake his hand and the lasting impact on my body. And this time I’ll be trapped in a car with him for at least thirty minutes. Trapped is probably the wrong word. It’s not as though I’m not going to enjoy being in the car with him. The problem is how much I enjoy his proximity.

I suck in a quick breath and slip my fingers into his palm.

Nope.

I did not imagine my previous reaction. Just like last time, my entire body breaks out in a wave of goose bumps. It starts at my arm, travels all the way down to my toes, and sends a skittery feeling along my scalp. I fight a shudder and lose the battle. My fingers flex around Jackson’s, and I swallow past the lump that’s suddenly clogging my throat.

It makes me think of those romance books my gran used to read. Sometimes I’d scoop one up and flip to the sections with the dog-eared pages. Those seemed to be Gran’s favorite and also the steamiest sections.

I’d always been fascinated by the descriptions. The way these women reacted to the hero—the butterflies, the tingles. It had never happened to me. Until now. And here I am, about to be locked inside a space that feels claustrophobically small, especially with all the things currently happening in my head and my body.

Just stay cool, London. I force a smile and drag my gaze away from our clasped hands. Up to the open V of his collared shirt, along the closely shaven expanse of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs, and when I reach his mouth, his tongue peeks out and skims his bottom lip. It feels like a thousand years have passed by the time my eyes finally lock on his. What I see reflected back at me makes all the blood that’s currently residing in my face redirect itself toward the center of my body, and every muscle south of my navel clenches in tandem. I’ve never had someone look at me the way Jackson is right now.

It makes this that much more confusing, because he looks like he wants to pounce on me. I don’t understand what’s happening.

“In you go.” His voice is a gentle hand sweeping down my spine.

I cannot be imagining that there’s something between us. I climb into the passenger side and can’t decide if I want to cry with despair or relief when he releases my hand.

One of the coffees appears in front of my face. I’m very careful to take it from him without making contact with any of his fingers. “Thank you,” I squeak.

“Always my pleasure, London.” His smile is wry, and I don’t think I’m imagining the amused glint in his eye.

He rounds the hood and drops into the driver’s seat. Without his coffee or the bag.

“Jackson?” My voice is still higher than it should be, but at least it’s down from a helium-level squeal.

“Yes?” He touches his finger to the ignition and the engine purrs to life, as his gaze shifts my way.

I point to the roof. “Your coffee.”

His eyes flare. “Shit.”

I’m stunned motionless for a moment because I’ve never heard him swear before. He’s always incredibly proper and composed, but right now he’s not, and it makes me feel the teensiest bit better. And still very discombobulated about this whole thing.