Jackson’s waiting by the door to the guesthouse when I slam down the path, out of breath and furious.

“Where were you?” He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Those glasses are back on his face, making him look different and the same all at once.

“Long story involving entitled teenagers.” I sort through my keys and unlock the door. “I couldn’t very well leave the shop unmanned so I had to stay.”

“Kids these days,” Jackson says, and I have to agree. No wonder Mr. Spence was so eager to give me some of Jess’s hours.

The five minute warning alarm on my phone goes off.

“Shit.” I run through the front door, Jackson close behind me. Jackson opens his laptop and we sit down at the kitchen table. “Click into the meeting link,” I say, and he obliges. “It’s a Skype call, right? Just audio?”

“I think so.” He opens up the meeting notice. A chat box appears on the screen, along with a video image of me and Jackson.

Ummm. That video’s not supposed to be there.

“Switch it over to audio only.”

Jackson tries and then shakes his head. “No luck, Nat.”

I look at him, panic in my eyes. Jackson? Jackson would look gorgeous in anything. He would look gorgeous in nothing, too. But I’m a mess after my shift. My hair’s frazzled and there’s a spreading stain on my Holy Grounds shirt. Today I need to look professional in front of this lube CEO. If I don’t look professional, he's not going to take me seriously and sell me this product.

“Shit!” I dash toward my bedroom and grab the first clean shirt I can find.

“One minute,” Jackson calls.

I run toward the kitchen, whipping off my dirty shirt so I can get the new one on in time. Just before I pull the new shirt over my head, I catch Jackson staring at the delicate lace of my bra. He doesn’t look away.

“Jackson,” I say, snapping him out of it. “Come on.”

I sit down next to him just as the screen lights up and the man on screen says hello. He’s middle-aged and smiling, a row of awards tacked to the wall behind his desk.

“Nice to meet you, Delilah,” the CEO tells me.

Under the table, Jackson reaches for my hand and squeezes. I shiver with excitement. We’re doing this, Jackson and I. We’re really, truly doing this. I don’t know what lights me up more—that idea or Jackson’s touch.

“Before we talk about the product, I’d like to hear a little about your company,” the CEO says. “We’re just getting into making custom formulas and I want to make sure we have a good fit before we move forward getting you a price quote.”

“Of course,” I say. “As I mentioned in my email, Penchant is looking to order a batch of custom silicone lube. We’d sell primarily online and in a few regional shops. We’re hoping to have an order placed within the next few weeks and to have product launched as soon as possible.”

“We’re looking to launch with one hundred units,” Jackson chimes in, reciting the number we’d agreed on. “We’d then ramp up once we’ve tested the product with our market. We’d expect to order lot sizes of two thousand five hundred units from there.”

I need to start small with this—not only do I not have the money to fund a bigger order, I want to make sure this will work before I make an investment I can’t come back from. Still, the numbers make my head spin. If we can sell each bottle for twenty dollars, that first order could give us back two thousand dollars. It’s more than I make in a single month as a barista. And two thousand five hundred units? That’s fifty thousand dollars. Even when I subtract the cut I’ll pay Amazon and Jackson, it’s more than enough to get me back to Boston. If we can make this work and I can keep selling beyond the twenty-five hundred units, I can pay my rent and not have to get another job. I can write my book and get my life back. If, if, if. But first the CEO has to say yes.

“I like the look of you guys,” the CEO says. “You know, I’m just a regular guy. I started my business when my wife sent me to buy lube and I realized how much crap is in the ones out in the supermarkets. Lots of ingredients that aren’t great for your body. And my dad, he was a rocket scientist, so I figured, I can use science to make a great product, too.”

I have no idea what the hell this guy’s rocket scientist dad has to do with lube but I nod along anyway. Beside me, Jackson’s body vibrates as he tries to hold back a silent laugh. I step on his toes and smile sweetly into the camera.

The CEO clicks a pen open and shut. “I have to let you know, though, that we can’t do an order for less than twenty-five hundred units.”

The smile falls off my face. “Why not?” I ask as carefully as possible. Why would they have minimums? There’s no way I can afford twenty-five hundred units. I haven’t seen pricing yet, but I can’t afford twenty-five hundred units of anything.

My skin flushes and I can’t catch a full breath of air. I can feel Jackson looking at me out of the corner of his eye and I try to squelch down my panic.

Click goes the pen. “The margins aren’t there for us with a hundred bottles. The set-up cost is more expensive than it would be worth. You know.”

Jackson saves me from having to respond. “No problem,” he says, squeezing my hand. I stretch my lips back into a forced smile and the CEO spends another thirty minutes talking about lube.

After the CEO tells us about his rocket scientist dad yet again, Jackson leans closer to the computer. “Do you think we can move forward with a price quotation?”

The CEO rubs his beard and smiles into the camera. “Sure. I’ll have something for you by the end of the week and I’ll get more samples in the mail for you today.”

I hold my breath until the call goes dark, then I close the laptop screen just to be sure no one can hear us.

“You okay?” Jackson turns to me. “You looked green there for a minute.”

I blow a strand of hair out of my face. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just the minimum is so much higher than I was hoping for. I want to be legitimate, but man.”

He nods. “I guess this is a chance for you to put your money where your mouth is.”

I gape at him, not believing he just said that. If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“Don’t worry,” Jackson says at the look on my face. “Let’s just see what the quote says. The important part is, he took us seriously.”

That part, at least, makes me feel a little better.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“As serious as rocket science.”

“Oh shut up.” I grin and elbow Jackson in the side.

I feel better—still breathless, but happier. The more anyone takes us seriously, the more I take this venture seriously, too. It’s going to work, this business. All I need is one yes and we’re already halfway there.

“You know,” I say thoughtfully, looking over at Jackson, “I think the glasses give you a whole Clark Kent/Superman vibe. Except it’s more like Jackson Wirth and Skippy Sawmill.”

“Again with that name,” Jackson says.

“Again. It’s gonna happen whether you like it or not.”

“Glad it makes you so happy. I guess it’s better than having you run away from me.”

Oh crap. I don’t want to talk about the first night I saw Jackson. I don’t want to talk about the reasons I ran away or why my instinct was to hide in the grubby little bathroom at Hooligans. I don’t want to ruin today’s victory by thinking about the past.

“So what do you think your dad would have said about all of this?” I ask. Change of subject in T minus five, four, three, two, one. But, actually, I kind of want to know.

I imagine Mr. Wirth would like the adventure of it all. The entrepreneurship and the challenge. “Spit and mettle and elbow grease,” like he always used to say.

Instead of the default grin I expect to see, something like longing flashes across Jackson’s face. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the table before rubbing a hand across his eyes. “I guess you can say I’m doing this for him.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to go on. Jackson drums his fingers against the edge of the table before he continues. “When he died,” he says at last, “he was in the hole. Dad had a silent business partner, and given the money situation, his partner—this Jim Boyle guy—wanted full rights to the business. He basically blocked me out except for a small share.”

“What about your mom? Couldn’t she help?”

Jackson shakes his head. “She was a mess after Dad died, she and Conor. They had enough to worry about. So I’ve been saving cash for a while now.” He nods his head between us. “The money from this endeavor is going to help me buy back my dad’s share. Eventually I’d like to totally buy the guy out.”

That knocks the wind out of me. All this time I’d thought Jackson wasn’t running the business because he was just being lazy. And here it was because he couldn’t, because it was so far out of his control.

I’m the biggest asshole.

Tears prick at my eyes and I want to cry. For Jackson who loved his dad, and for Mr. Wirth who put on a brave face to spare his family the worry.

“Jackson, I had no idea.”

Jackson gives me a tired smile. “I thought one day I might buy the business from my dad. I never thought I’d have to buy it from someone else.”

The hole of things left behind, the ragged edges and the future you said goodbye to. Before I can think about the consequences I cover Jackson’s hand with mine. For him, but also for me. “We’ll get it back for you, Jackson.”

He nods, a muscle going tight in his jaw. “I know. Skippy Sawmill always delivers.”

I rub the edge of my thumb over the back of his hand, and Jackson catches my fingers with his. He flips his hand so our palms meet, lacing his fingers through mine. A hundred thousand volts of electricity shoot through me and the whole world stops moving. Oh god.

I offer Jackson a shaky smile. “Would Skippy Sawmill like a beer?” I whisper.

He squeezes my hand and drops it. “That he would.”

I walk to the fridge on weak legs and grab a beer for Jackson. On second thought, I grab one for me, too.

I crack open my drink and let a cold swallow warm me up. It feels good to share secrets with Jackson. I’ve missed it.

But then I catch myself.

Don’t get attached, I tell myself. He’s no good for you. And anyway, you’re leaving. Right after we launch this product and Jackson buys back his business, I’ll head back to Boston. By the end of summer, this partnership will be over and I’ll be gone.