Millie
I WAS OVERCOME BY NERVES. All morning I couldn’t stop fretting over this coffee date with Jackson. I mean, what did I really know about the guy. Sure, I knew he was a good dad, his house was nice, and something about those glasses he wore made my body pulse, but I didn’t really know him.
Shoot, I hadn’t even known he was a teacher until he’d mentioned it in that text.
Although, out of all the professions out there, high school English teacher was better than assassin, or jewelry thief.
But, when I stepped out into the storefront and saw him standing there, not even trying to hide his pleasure at seeing me, I shoved my doubts to the side and decided to dive in.
It was just coffee, after all, it wasn’t as if I was his new mail-order bride. There was no commitment being made.
“Thank you,” I replied, when his compliment penetrated my thoughts. I’d probably tried on twenty different outfits before finally deciding on the blue dress. It was conservative, yet flirty. At least, that’s what I hoped.
“Are you ready?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose in what I was beginning to realize was a nervous gesture.
“Yes,” I replied, giving him a true smile. It was easier knowing that he was just as nervous as I was. “Let’s go.”
“It’s a beautiful day, shall we walk?” Jackson asked, mockingly holding out his arm in a gallant gesture.
I laughed at his silliness and tucked my arm in his.
“I’d love that.”
As we started on the short walk to the coffee house, I asked, “So, what made you get into high school English?”
“I always knew I wanted to be a teacher, and I’ve always loved literature, so it seemed like a no-brainer,” Jackson replied easily. “I started out with your basic freshman English, but now I teach an advanced class, focusing on the classics, like Shakespeare, Austen, and Alcott, and it’s great because the kids in my class choose to be there, so they actually want to learn what I’m teaching.”
“Wow, that sounds wonderful,” I replied, my heart pitter-pattering at the thought of Jackson laying down to read Jane Austen at night. “And very rewarding.”
“It is,” he agreed. Just then, the wind kicked up and his scent hit me. A bit of spice, with a hint of something I couldn’t name. He smelled wonderful.
I was beginning to wonder what the hell was wrong with this guy. There had to be something. No one was this perfect.
Maybe he picks his nose or bites his toenails . . .
But as I looked at his profile, my hand warm on his arm, I hoped that I was wrong. I wanted him to be real.
“And for you,” Jackson added, pulling me out of my thoughts. “It must be rewarding running your own business. A family business at that.”
I nodded, then looked down at the ground as we walked and said, “After our mother died, we decided to do what she would have wanted us to, and follow our dreams. Sure, it was risky, but we learned the hard way that you need to go after what you want before it’s too late.”
“Hey,” Jackson said, stopping on the sidewalk and putting his hand under my chin. As he was lifting it up to bring my eyes to his, I noticed that he was no longer wearing his wedding ring.
My heart leapt.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said softly when our eyes met.
“Thank you.”
“It takes a lot of bravery and strength to take a chance on doing what you love. I know your mother would be proud of you and your sisters.”
All my worries and doubts fled at his words, and I knew I wanted to see where things went with him. I wanted this coffee date to be our beginning.
“I really appreciate that,” I said with a small smile, then tugged on his arm to get us moving again. A half a block down, we came to the awning above Rooster’s Coffee House, and I gave Jackson thanks when he held the door open for me to go inside.
The smell of coffee, pastries, and cinnamon assaulted me as I walked in, and turned to Jackson with a sigh.
“I love this place.”
“I’ve never been,” he admitted, “but it smells great.”
Not only did it smell great, but it was decorated in a rustic, farmhouse style. Lots of distressed wood, tin fixtures, and, of course, roosters everywhere.
We walked to the counter, where he ordered a black coffee and croissant, and I ordered a salted caramel latte and a cranberry scone. Once we had our treats, we took the white iron bistro table in the back.
“Salted caramel, huh?” Jackson asked after he held out my seat, then took his own. “I’ve heard that’s the current craze.”
“You’ve never had anything salted caramel?” I asked, my jaw dropping slightly. “Candy, cupcakes, ice cream, latte, nothing?”
Jackson chuckled at my dramatic response and shook his head.
“Nope, the combo never appealed to me. I mean, salt on top of caramel, it just doesn’t seem right.”
“Sometimes a pinch of salt is all you need to take something bland, and make it absolutely delicious,” I replied, holding my drink out to him. “Here, you have to try it.”
Jackson accepted the challenge, taking my hot cup and lifting it to his lips. I was mesmerized by the sight of his lips on the rim of my cup, then laughed when he pulled away to reveal the slight whipped cream mustache that was left behind.
He darted his tongue out to wipe his lip clean, then his eyes darkened when he noticed I was watching, my breath stuck in my throat.
“Delicious,” Jackson said gruffly, and I had to agree, it was.