“Orrr,” he responded, frowning sharply, “you can go.”

“Even though I brought you food? That just seems rude. I won’t talk, I swear. I just want a nice place to watch the fireworks.”

“Did Alex tell you I was here?”

“He might have mentioned it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did. How was the carnival?” he asked.

I smirked. “Do you really care about the ins and outs of Chester events?”

“Not at all, but it seems like a big deal to you, so I thought I’d ask.”

Swoon.

Wait, did I just swoon?

When was the last time I swooned?

“It was good. They raised a lot of money for a great cause.” I told him about the MISS Foundation and what it meant to me, how they’d helped me through my miscarriages.

“Seven?” he questioned.

I nodded slowly. “Seven. I spoke with Josie about it a few weeks back. She’s lost a few of her own, too, and she has little hearts on her wrist with angel wings in memory of their lives. I thought about doing that, too, but my family’s a bit against tattoos. It’s not classy, as my mama would say.”

“Your body, your choice,” Jackson said, making me smile a little. “I think it’s a good idea to have a reminder of them.”

“Yeah…maybe. I’m just a bit tired of disappointing my mom.”

“Sometimes, you have to disappoint people to better yourself,” he told me.

“Maybe,” I said, still uncertain.

“You’ll get there,” he told me. “To the point where you don’t care what other people think.”

“That sounds like a great place to be.”

“Trust me, it is.” He turned toward me, locking those beautiful hazel eyes with mine. “You would make a great mother.”

Oh, Jackson…

“Ah, come on, princess. I thought we were past the crying thing,” he joked, brushing his thumb beneath my eyes.

“Sorry, I…that was a really nice thing to say, Jackson. Thank you.”

“Just the truth.”

We sat in silence, and it wasn’t long before the big show began. If there was one thing Chester was extremely good at—other than gossip—it was putting on a fireworks display.

“This peach festival was the last chunk of time I spent with my mom,” Jackson told me, staring out at the sky as it lit up. “We sat up here eating Bomb Pops and Cheetos Puffs, watching the display. We were quiet, and I just remember feeling whole, like for the first time in a long time, everything would be all right. I mean, sure she passed away shortly after that, but at that moment, the world was still. At that moment, I was happy.”

“Those are the things you have to hold—the moments.”

He gave me a half smile. “This is a good moment,” he said, his voice low as he turned back out toward the fireworks.

Yes, it was.

“So, Jackson, are we like…friends?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes in the most dramatic way. “Come on. Don’t do that, Grace.”

“Do what?”

“Be corny.”

“How is that corny?”

“Because you don’t ask people if they are your friend. They just…are.”

“Oh.” I nodded slowly, staring out into the night. “So, we just…are?”

“Yeah.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “We just are.”

I wouldn’t tell him how good it felt—just being with him.

As he looked out, his voice dropped low. “Listen, I know I’m not easy all the time. I’m a bit cold and hard to read, so thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“Being my friend. I never knew I needed you, but I did—I do.” He tilted his head my way and gave me a small smile, the kind that always made my heart skip. Jackson Emery didn’t smile a lot, so whenever he did, it felt like a secret gift he was only giving to me. “The only friend I’ve ever had was Tucker, you know? Then came you.”

“You want to know a secret?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“I think you’re the most graceful person in this town.”

He laughed. “Bullshit.”

“No, I mean it—not the you they make you out to be, but the real you, the one who gives his all to care for his father, the one who holds a girl who’s having a panic attack, the one who doesn’t fight back when the world is fighting you. You have the most grace I’ve ever seen.”

“Princess?”

“Yes, Oscar?”

“You make it really hard.”

“For what?”

“For me to hate the whole world.”

31

Grace

Jackson and I began seeing one another most days. It was as if I was his escape from reality, and he was mine—or more so, we were each other’s escape from the fa?ade of superficiality in Chester. The town had been my home all my life, but lately, it felt as if I didn’t fit there anymore. The only time I felt like anything made sense was when I was with Jackson.

In his darkness, I found my light.

We began doing all types of activities together as a way of learning more about each other and ourselves. His life was spent caring for his father, and mine was spent being perfect for my mother, so for the first time ever, we took the time to learn who we were as individuals—together.

We went to movies we would’ve never seen before and loved them. We went hiking, which I hated. We tried to build furniture just to say we could do it. (He could. I couldn’t.) Some of my favorite times, though, were sitting in the back of The Silent Bookshop beside one another, flipping through different novels together. It was so easy to be quiet with him. The silence felt a little like home.

My other favorite moments were spent on his couch doing nothing but talking about anything and everything. Those were the times when I felt as if I learned the most about the man across from me. Those were the small moments I adored.

“I didn’t learn to swim until I was seventeen years old. I’ve only ever had one pet, and it was a cat named Mouse. My two front teeth got knocked out when I fell face first during the Founder’s Day parade one year. I can understand Spanish but can’t speak a word of it, and I think cardinals are my favorite bird,” I told him, giving him random facts.

He melted into the couch cushion a bit. “I was named after Jackson Pollock. My middle name is Paul because that was Jackson’s real first name. I almost fell in love once when I was nineteen with a girl passing through town. I think I chose her because I knew she wouldn’t stay. I hate peas but think they work fine in beef stroganoff. I’m obsessed with Game of Thrones, and I secretly judge anyone who isn’t.”

“Confession: I’ve never seen Game of Thrones.”

His eyes darted over to me before quickly looking away. “Oh, well, that’s okay.”

I laughed. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Secretly judging me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not.”

“You totally are! I see it in your eyes.”

“No, I mean, I get it—it’s not your fault you’re shockingly uncool.”

I snickered and shoved him. “Screw you.”

“Nah, I don’t screw people who don’t fuck with Jon Snow.”

My cheeks heated at his comment, and I hoped he couldn’t see the redness of my face in the partially darkened room.

“I bet you’re the type of person who’s never seen Breaking Bad or The Walking Dead either.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Sons of Anarchy?”

“Um, never heard of it.”

His eyes bugged out. “Geez, Grace! What exactly do you do with your time?”

I smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know, live life?”

He grimaced. “I bet you crochet for fun.”

I blushed.

He narrowed his eyes. “You do crochet, don’t you?”

I bit my thumb.

I freaking loved to crochet.

“Oh my gosh, you’re an old woman,” he groaned, slapping his hand against his face. “Well, hell, if we are going to keep crossing paths, you’ll have to sit through a few episodes of Game of Thrones. I’m going to un-old you.”

I kept laughing. “Well, if we’re watching Game of Thrones, I’m crocheting as I do it.”

“You can’t crochet while watching. You need to be one-hundred-percent focused on the show, otherwise it’s just a waste of time. You won’t know what’s…Grace?”

“Yes?”

He glanced down, and I saw that somehow, at some point, my hand had found its way to his. I’d laced my fingers with his fingers. I’d moved in close enough to touch him, and I hadn’t even noticed.

I quickly pulled my hand away and took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be,” he replied. His hand slowly inched closer to me, and his pinky finger brushed against mine. “You miss this, yeah? The small moments?”

I closed my eyes at the touch. “Yes.”

His hand slowly slid on top of mine, our fingers intertwining. “And this?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth. “Holding hands?”

Take a small breath…

“Yes.”

He moved his body closer to me then took his other hand and placed it on the nape of my neck. His fingers slowly began to massage my skin, making me tilt my head to the side. “And you miss this?”

Yes…

Oh, yes, I missed that.

Our thighs brushed, our breaths sawing in and out in sync.

Yes…yes…yes…