That’s okay.
Would it be nice to hear Jackson say he likes me, too? Of course it would.
But I’m playing the long game here, and momentum is working in my favor. Like I secretly hoped, the hostage weekend turned out not to be a one-time thing. It’s kicked off a new chapter for us. One that includes being honest with each other, holding hands at a picnic, and filthy-hot office sex.
We’re moving in the right direction. The more time we spend together, the stronger my feelings for him grow.
Jackson and I have something.
Something worth fighting for.
All I have to do is make him see that, too.
Right on cue, Jackson opens the door to my office, tiptoes across the room even though I’m not there, mug and note in hand, and deposits both on my desk.
“What are you staring at?” Wagner gruffs from the driver’s seat.
“Jackson.”
We stop at a red light, and I angle my phone to show him. He shoots an inquisitive look my way, one brow cocked. “You’re spying on him?”
“It’s the hallmark of any healthy relationship. Oh, and also stop calling him Michael Jackson in front of you-know-who.”
“Why? Would you prefer Janet?”
My jaw drops. “I can’t believe Sammy ratted me out.”
“He tells meeverything. Remember that next time you want to take him on a picnic packed with nothing but junk food.”
“He ate nuts and some veggies, too, thank you very much. Why are you so grouchy this morning?” The light turns green. “You can go,” I say.
Wagner glares at me for a beat before taking off, muttering something I can’t hear under his breath. He’s in an even more foul mood than usual. A giggle floats up from the back seat, where Sammy is watchingPeppa Pigon his tablet. I sometimes wonder how such a bundle of pure joy could come from the loins of a miserable bastard like my brother.
Or maybe Wagner is his usual level of miserableness, and I’m just noticing it more because I’m flying high.
Things with Jackson are solidifying. Stolen kisses in the break room, tender moments here and there around the sanctuary, and the almost daily quickie in my office bathroom—things are unfolding the way I hoped.
I’ve even been contemplating whether to ask him again if he wants to move in with me when his cabin gets razed. I mentioned it when I first broke the news that the cabin had to go, but he got so angry he might have missed it. I realize it’s super soon and highly likely to freak him out, so I’d have to frame it as a temporary, stop-gap measure until a new cabin gets built at the center. He’s going to need a place to stay for a few weeks, and my grandparents’ house has two guest rooms. That’s it. Nothing more.
I’m not convinced he’d go for it. Normally, I’d ask Wagner for advice, but as we pull into the sanctuary, his scowl is extra scowly, so I save raising the topic for another time.
“Thanks for taking me to drop my car off at the mechanic.”
“Don’t mention it,” he grunts.
I unbuckle my seat belt and turn to him. “That’s it. Who took a shit in your cereal this morning? What’s wrong?”
He thumps his head against the top of the seat a few times. “Ollie sent me an email late last night with some very disturbing information.”
“He’s not taking up parkour again once his leg heals, is he?”
My attempt at humor lands like a fart at a funeral. Wagner’s jaw sets even harder. “He found out why I’m having trouble securing investors. Turns out someone is spreading rumors about our wines. Lack of quality control, to be specific.”
My brain immediately jumps to one person. “Think it’s Duporth?”
“That was my first thought, too. But based on the type of information being leaked, Ollie suspects it’s an inside job.”
“What? That’s fucked-up.”
