Sleeping with Jackson, actually sleeping, and not all the things that come before, is one of the few times my body actually feels safe. With our bodies fitted together—his chin hooked over my shoulder, my back against his chest—we’re grown-ups and we’re kids at the same time. He’s comfortable in a way that lets me breathe. He’s late-night drives and the back row of movie theaters, winter days spent feeding swans at the lake. He’s the smell of the paper in my favorite book, the feeling of tree bark under my hands in the backyard of the place I used to live. When he’s like this, warm and present, my mind shuts off and I feel like I can just exist.

In the morning, though, things are different. I wake to sunlight streaming through Jackson’s apartment window, to his arm slung over my ribs. To birds chirping, because it’s morning and it’s almost summer and there are things to be done.

I roll over, my cheek rubbing against Jackson’s stubble. I can’t help admiring the view for a minute before I wiggle out of his grasp. A constellation of freckles trails over the muscles on his shoulder. The scar above his eye begs to be touched.

We’d slept naked last night and the sight of Jackson, laid out under the twist of covers, is so intimate I can’t look for too long. Jackson stirs in his sleep as I’m pulling on one of his T-shirts and the cutoff jeans I wore to the bookstore last night.

“Hey,” he says, a yawn punctuating his words. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta get some work done.” Between Holy Grounds and my date with Jackson, I haven’t so much as looked at Penchant things in over a day. With the countdown on till Penchant’s launch, I can’t afford to waste any time.

“Stay,” he says. “Use my computer.”

He smiles with his eyes closed and nods until I nod too. “Yeah. Okay,” I tell him.

I don’t get right to work even though I should. Instead I rummage through his cabinets until I find a bag of coffee beans, then I fix myself a cup. A picture of Jackson and Conor hangs on the refrigerator, a magnet saying “Keep calm and fuck the Yankees” holding it in place. I stare at the image while my coffee brews.

In the photograph, a young Jackson and Conor give a thumb’s-up sign from a row of plastic stadium seats. The sky is wide and wild overhead, and across the stadium I can just make out the start of the word “Dodgers.” Jackson’s maybe ten, with a baseball mitt laid across his lap, and eight-year-old Conor’s lips are stained blue from the slurpee in his hands. Mr. Wirth stands behind his sons, a large hand on each of their shoulders. Jackson’s mom isn’t in the picture, but I’d like to think she’s the one behind the camera. I’d like to picture them all together on that sunny California day. Happy.

Looking at it makes me want to cry. What should I do about Jackson’s invitation, about Conor’s homecoming party in a few weeks? I want to see Conor but going feels like dragging out the inevitable. Once I’m not here in Swan’s Hollow anymore, the convenient shine of this whole thing with Jackson is going to wear off and he’s going to realize he doesn’t want to keep playing this game. And I’m still going to be in love with him. The idea of that just sucks.

The coffee machine shakes me out of my thoughts and I pour myself a mug. Maybe some work, some action, will make me feel better. I carry my cup out to the living room and sit at Jackson’s desk, taking a long, slow sip of coffee before turning on the computer. When the screen comes to life, Jackson’s email window opens up in front of me.

I don’t mean to read his mail but as I go to close the program, a message in the inbox catches my eye.

Re: Wirth & Sons. Offer Accepted.

A rush of cold spills down my back. Offer accepted? So then Jackson’s finally getting Wirth & Sons back.

I should feel good about this. I should feel happy for him. But it’s too much of a reminder that we’re in this business together for different reasons, no matter how much we’re acting like a team. The fact that he hasn’t even told me he settled the deal with Jim Boyle makes it that much harder to swallow.

Why did I have to see this just when I’d let my guard down? When I’d told him he meant more to me than just a fling? My face heats and I blink back tears. How could I have fallen for Jackson’s stories? His smooth lines were all a means to an end. He’s getting back his business and once I pay him back he’s going to walk out of my life.

I press my fingers against my cheeks, trying to cool down. It’s Matthew all over again, but I’m in even deeper. Fool me once, shame on them. Fool me twice, shame on me. When will I learn?

“Hey, what are you working on?”

I close Jackson’s inbox, guilty, and spin around. Jackson stands behind me, shirtless, giving me a view of that gorgeous body of his.

“Just getting started.” My heart races and I begin to sweat. I turn back to the computer so he won’t see the sin on my face and open up a web browser to do…what? Find a caterer? Update social media? There are so many things to do that my head spins. I’ll be doing this alone in a few short weeks. The thought of it makes my mouth taste like ash.

Jackson sweeps my hair off my neck and I squirm out of his grasp. “We need to start working,” I say.

He kisses the bend of my neck. “We are.”

“No, we’re fucking around.” My voice fills the apartment, thorny and sad.

“I’m making you happy, Natalie.”

Why is that so hard to accept? A shiver of panic races through my chest. If only I hadn’t seen that stupid email to remind me that we’re not in this for the long haul.

“Stop it,” I say. “Just stop. You and I are not a thing, Jackson.”

“So you keep telling me.”

I glare at the screen, my voice small and hard. “Don’t pretend like that bothers you.”

Jackson moves away from me, taking the heat of his body with him. “Of course that bothers me.” His voice vibrates like a wire pulled too tight. “What happened between today and yesterday? Where is this coming from?”

I clench my jaw and glare at him over my shoulder. A look of understanding plays across his features. “Did you see something on my computer?”

I don’t answer. He spins my chair to face him and I hate my stupid red cheeks for giving me away.

“If you did see something, it doesn’t change anything.”

Of course it does. “I know you’re too cool to care about anything, but I care about this,” I say.

“I care about you!”

“If you do care, then why would you do this?” Why would he abandon everything when it’s just starting to get good?

“I’m sorry, do what?” Jackson’s voice sharpens with each word. “Why would I help you succeed? Why I would I spend every waking hour that you’ll let me working with you? Why would I spend my money and my time backing a business that you won’t even let me talk about?” Jackson’s chest rises with ragged breaths. He must sense I’m about to cry or bolt, or both, because he softens his voice. “Natalie, listen to me. I do all those things because I want to be with you.”

But he doesn’t, not really.

“Why?” I ask, my voice raw. “Why do you even want me?”

“Because you’re smart and sexy and fun to be around—”

“So is every other girl.”

“I wasn’t finished. And there’s only one you, so don’t think I’m comparing you to anyone else.” His face gets red. “Most importantly, I want you because you know me.” Jackson looks chagrined. “Because you look beyond the pretty face and see me.”

I don’t even know what to say or feel. All I can think about is how counterproductive this all is. We’re arguing when there’s so much work to be done—a caterer and bartender to hire, business cards to get printed, newspapers to call, social media to run. And that’s not even counting receiving the damn bottles and boxing them up. Putting a listing online and sending boxes in to Amazon. This is exactly what I was worried would happen if we crossed that line—that we’d put this business at risk. That we’d put my future at risk.

My body floods with that overwhelmed feeling I used to get back when I was in college, a persistent panic that I’m in so far over my head that it’s probably time to back out. When it comes to fight-or-flight, flight runs so strong in me that I can feel it in the erratic pulse of my veins.

“I can’t do this.”

“Dammit, Natalie. I’m telling you that I want you and you’re running away again. Why are you so afraid of me?”

Because I’m falling for you. Because no matter what you say now, you’re going to break me all over again. Because I can’t go back to being that person anymore. Not after I’ve become Delilah Overbrook. Not after Penchant and this taste of freedom.

I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. If I can just make myself smaller, maybe I can make this go away.

When I don’t say anything, Jackson continues. “All you’ve done is put up these walls even though we’re so good together.”

“That’s not true,” I say, but it is.

Jackson runs a hand through his hair. “How would you feel if every time we had something good going on, I talked about leaving it?” He frowns when I don’t answer. “It feels like shit, okay?”

“This was supposed to be casual,” I protest.

Jackson gives me a long look. “Don’t lie to yourself, Natalie. This stopped being casual a long time ago. You said so yourself last night.”

A shard of me needs protection, even now, even with Jackson saying all the things I’ve waited so long to hear. The part that Matthew shattered, the widening crack I’m trying to repair. That part of me is stronger every day, but I’m not there yet. And I’ve given Jackson everything, but I can’t give him that. Because I also remember how it felt to have him stare at me after I kissed him, his mouth opening and closing, saying nothing.

I can’t do that again. I won’t.

“What do you want me to say, Jackson? I’ve got an apartment in the city all picked out.” I can’t actually afford to pay for it if Penchant doesn’t haul in some cash, but Jackson doesn’t need to know that.

“What if I come with you?”

I blink at him a minute, at his handsome face and his sad, desperate eyes. “To Boston?”

“Yes. You keep using Boston like some excuse, but I’m calling bullshit. You’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared.” I’m terrified.

Jackson’s face softens and his voice rumbles through me. “It’s me, Nat. I’m always going to be here for you. I’m not going to let you fall. And if Boston is the thing that’s keeping us apart then let’s find another way. I’ve overstayed my welcome here anyway.”

I hear the words and I want to believe them. I want to sink into them and let myself drown. But Jackson just bought his company back. His store that is very much tied to this town. Unless he’s planning to haul the whole Wirth & Sons barn to Boston, he’s lying to me. He’s promising something that can never come true, and if I let myself believe him it’s going to crush me.

I blow out a breath of air and make myself say the words that sit on my tongue like poison. “That’s not the only thing that’s stopping me from being with you.”

Jackson takes half a step forward, his eyes darkening in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“This.” I wave my hands between my tiny, folded body and his heaving chest. “Us. You want something more than I can give.”

“I only want you, Natalie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

My heart. My racing, galloping, terrified, wild heart. I can’t.

“I know,” I whisper. Because I do know. Maybe I’ve always known, just the way I’ve always known I love him. “But it’s not enough.”

“Why not?” he demands.

I open my mouth and my heart squeezes like a tiny fist and all of the blood drips out of me until I am empty and gone. “Because I don’t love you back.”

My whole body trembles with the lie and it’s not until I’m ripping out his heart that I realize he’s given it to me in the first place. But lying is the only way to keep myself safe. Already my body feels like it’s rattling, like I’m riding this rollercoaster of anxiety on rickety tracks. I’m going to crash into a million pieces on the ground. I’m never going to be whole again.

Jackson’s voice shakes, his eyes glassy, and I realize I’ve never seen him cry until today. It’s breaking my heart to break his, and my tears flow now, hot and horrible down my cheeks. My lungs fill with water and I can’t breathe. I’m drowning and it’s all my fault.

“You’re lying, Natalie. You talk about being Delilah, about being so brave, but you’re not even giving this a chance.”

I want to nod, to agree, to fall into his arms. But I can’t. “You deserve someone who’s going to fight for you. And that’s not me.”

He deserves the whole world but so do I. And he can’t be my whole world. I can’t let myself get washed away.

My heart races and my body thrums, dizzy and nauseated. I can’t stay here and keep hurting Jackson. I can’t stay here and keep hurting me. My cheeks burn and I duck my head to gather my things. “I’m going to go.”

Jackson yanks a hand through his hair, his voice thick. “Please don’t walk away from this.”

But I do.

I pause at the threshold of his doorway before I go. I’m still wearing his shirt and I still smell like him. I’ve got the memory of last night leaching into my bones. But if I'm going to save myself, I cannot stay. “Maybe this was always going to be a disaster,” I tell him.

Jackson just looks at me, drawn and disappointed. “That’s a choice you’re making, Natalie. It’s only a disaster because you’re letting it be one.”