I’m still shaking minutes later while the attendees settle into their seats. I was completely unprepared to overhear the exchange between Valerie and Jaxon, but my entire body caved with relief in knowing that he wanted no part in what she was offering.

And the way he held me. The way he wrapped me in his arms and wouldn’t let me go. An avalanche of “what ifs” begins to pile up in my head. Regrets. Wrong turns. What if he had held me tighter in that courtroom and refused to let me walk out that door? Would I have responded the same way?

But no matter how many moments I try to alter in my mind, the truth remains the same. I should never have let him let me go.

Jax is at the front of the class, his back to me as he chooses a brush from his collection when Claire steps up beside me. “Where’s Val?”

I let out an amused breath. “Jax sent her on her way.”

Claire’s jaw drops. “He did not.” I can feel her excitement radiating around us.

“He did.”

Her eyes linger on me as she sucks in a slow breath. “Okay, then. You know, Jax hasn’t had an empty seat in the class in…” She thinks about it, tossing her head back and searching the air. “Over a year, I’d say.”

“Because of Val?” When I’d asked Claire who the bold brunette was that charged into Jaxon’s studio, Claire had mentioned Val was a business associate. She was vague, but it was enough to understand Jax had been mixing whatever that business was with pleasure.

She shakes her head. “No. He might think that, but he’d be wrong. They come to see him. Because he’s talented. The devastatingly handsome and broody parts are just a bonus.” She cocks a brow at me. “But you know all that, don’t you?”

Rolling my eyes, I nudge her with my elbow. “You forgot ‘great with his hands’ and ‘smart.’”

She laughs and nods to the front of the room. “He is all those things. Which is why I would hate to ruin his streak today. I was able to fill one seat with a girl on the waitlist. You should take the other.”

“Maybe you should sit in. I’ll cover everything else,” I suggest. Claire has already warned me that after tonight, I’m on my own during the events anyway. Might as well start now.

After another pause, she shakes her head. “Nope. You should definitely sit in.”

I don’t need time to think about that one. “I don’t paint anymore.”

Jaxon stalks over, a confused look on his face. “You realize there’s a room of thirsty customers waiting for someone to take their orders, right?”

“Sure do,” Claire says before backing away. “I’ll go take care of that. Aurora is going to sit in and take the class. We’re considering it part of her training.” Clare winks.

I swear when I see her again, when we’re alone, she’s going to hear what I have to say, and it’s not going to be pleasant.

Jax, however, seems thrilled. “Really?” he asks, his eyes focused on me.

That word. It’s filled with surprise and hope, expanding my heart in a way I never expected. I take a breath and look up at him.

“I guess so.” I shrug. “I’m free to just sit there and paint nothing, right?”

Jax smiles and shrugs. “The rules are, there are no rules.”

I grin, remembering our favorite line of one of the movies they played during the town’s old movie nights. “This isn’t Grease, tough guy.”

A chuckle leaves his body and reverberates through me, a smile lighting up his face. I love the way his eyes drink me in. The way just one look could pull me to him and steal my breath.

“Maybe not,” he agrees, “but the rules still apply.” He winks and reaches for my hand, loosely grabbing onto my fingers and turning so he has me in tow. “Come on. I’ll get you set up.”

 

 

Class begins, and despite my constant fight against my anxiety, I’m a good sport. I take my time getting reacquainted with the objects in front of me like they’re old friends. My pointer finger feathers over the canvas, feeling its texture one pore at a time. I pick up a brush and run it across my palm, its edges prickling my skin.

Today’s painting is of the bridge at Hollow Falls, but a simplified version, void of textures and layers of depth usually found in one of Jaxon’s creations. I don’t hear a word as Jaxon leads the class. Instead, I’m lost in the feel of it all. The thrill of easing perfect drops of color from their tubes, the faint odor euphoric to my senses. The heaviness of the brush as it quivers in my hold. The excitement of mixing colors to get to that desired hue—the one that belongs only to me, the creator. And the relief of dragging the paint-filled brush across the canvas in one wicked swipe to mark the start of a new journey.

I’m in the corner in the back of the class, where only the wall can see me and my lack of progress. Jaxon gives me space, but every now and then his eyes find mine, lingering long enough to rile my heart. Even Claire is respectful as she brings me wine, never making a move to peek at my canvas. She just smiles and moves on to the next customer.

Before I realize it, an hour has passed, and I’ve managed to fill in the background with the light brown hue of the sky. None of it comes easy. My hands still tremble and my breaths feel forced, but it does get better. Whatever has been stifling my wings for so many years has got to go.

My canvas is still one color and one color only by the time Claire closes down Creek Café and takes off for the night as the final students make their way out the door. It’s all I’ve accomplished, but it’s more than I have to show for the last seven years.

Jax approaches, a curl of brown hair flipping outward beneath his gray knit cap. I look up with a blush. I’m not sure if I’m nervous because my canvas is all but empty or because I’m finally taking in more of Jaxon with my eyes. I wouldn’t allow myself to be so greedy before. After everything that had happened, I didn’t feel deserving. He was mine once, and I made the decision to let him go. To free him of the stigma that came with dating Henry June’s daughter. Because even though he said he didn’t care, I didn’t believe him.

“Can I?” he says, dragging me out of my damaging thoughts.

I take a deep breath as I nod. “Sure. I didn’t get very far. It’s literally just one co—” He steps forward, and I can’t finish my sentence. My stomach flips at his nearness. This is so embarrassing. There’s nothing for him to see, yet somehow I know he’ll make me feel like it’s everything. I laugh through my nerves as he stops behind me. He’s not even touching me, but I can feel him everywhere.

Seconds go by, maybe minutes, and I’m intensely aware of the silence as he stares over my head at a canvas filled with nothing but a burnt sky. The sound of metal scraping the floor comes next. I turn to find him pulling a chair up beside me. He sits, his eyes still focused on the painting but his hand moving to cover mine.

“Show me.”

My heart kicks, chills erupt over my skin, and my breathing begins to shallow once again.

“Sh-show you?”

Why did I think I could do this? Because he asked.

His hand squeezes mine, and I feel it in my heart. My lungs inflate with my next deep breath.

“Paint something.”

“Jax,” I beg, on the verge of tears.

He waits, not saying a word. His patience makes me want to try. For me. For him. For us. Whenever there was too much to say, we’d let art do the talking. We’d let the brush plot the story while the colors brought it to life.

So I try…because I really want to.

I swallow. My shaky hand moves the brush to the dollop of white on my palette. Clouds. I’ll dab in some clouds and call it a day. Easy enough. But when I lift the brush just inches from the canvas…I freeze. My vision blackens, and I hear the words that always come during a state of panic. “To understand truth, one must find courage to seek light in the darkness.” My father’s words.

I move my shaky hand to drop the brush on the table and open my eyes. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s just not in me anymore.”

“Of course it’s still in you. You just need to try.” His tone is somewhere between encouraging and frustrated.

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two hours?” I gesture to the canvas, returning his frustration with my own. “It was never this hard before. I’d get inspired; I’d paint. That was it. It was all so simple. And now…”

“And now, what? Aurora, talk to me.”

Standing, I move away from the canvas and back up to the wall. I just need some space from him. Being so close to him has this strange effect on my thoughts. They get all twisted and tangled, but I know how important this conversation is. He wants to understand, and I need to find a way to deal with this fear I have of painting.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. It’s just—I freeze. I wish I could explain it better, Jax.”

“Can you try?”

My breath stutters again before I speak. “I don’t know.” I shake my head, hating how hard it is to wrangle the words to help him understand. But he’s patient, waiting in silence, his eyes relaxed as he stares at me from his stool.

“You know those three days I was missing?” I cringe at my own words, but Jaxon just nods.

I take another breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. “It’s just a dark spot in my memory. All the important pieces that could shed light on the darkness are missing. But I know they’re there somewhere.” I look up again. This time I don’t break eye contact. “That’s the part I don’t know how to explain. The memories are there. I just can’t see them.” I take in a shaky breath, then swallow. “But I sense them.”

Man, this is harder than I thought. I twist my body, trying to gain comfort but finding none. I know I must sound crazy to Jaxon. My therapist never used the word crazy, but I’m sure he thought I was too. How can I not be? Three entire days are missing from my memory. It makes no sense. But Jaxon wants to know, so I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him everything I don’t understand.

“When I lift a brush to canvas and get a hit of the oncoming rush…something holds me back. Something keeps me in the dark. It doesn’t help that I’ve been doing this to myself for seven years. The longer I stayed away from my art and this place and you, the more boulders I put up to deter myself from ever returning.

“My therapist used my love for waterfalls to explain how I coped with life after the trauma. He called it the Waterfall Effect. I was the riverbed, trying to hold steady in the roughest water. Time was the river, and it continued to move over me, fast and furious on its way to the drop. He said that every boulder I set up was me trying to stop time—stemming from a fear of moving forward and a fear of returning to where I came from.”

I take a long, slow breath as I lean against the wall for support. Jaxon hasn’t moved, and his expression hasn’t changed. He’s just listening, patiently.

“But with every boulder came a consequence, Jax—elements that messed with my landscape, my mind. Because sometimes the current was just too strong to keep out. Still is.” I bite my lip and track his movement as he stands and moves toward me. I press myself further into the wall, rushing to finish, because I don’t know what will happen if he comes any closer. “That’s where the darkness comes in. The panic attacks. Sometimes, there’s just too much to process, and it feels like I’m drowning.”

I push off the wall, feeling anxious in my own skin, my heart pounding in my chest. “A stream is unforgiving, unrelenting. It doesn’t stop moving. It pays no attention to the direction it’s headed. To the damage it’s causing. To the lives it’s changing. To the path it’s carving. And despite the changes, I still stood there, losing more of myself while time stripped pieces of me away.”

My confession stirs between us in the silence until he moves a tentative hand to my waist. “You fear you’re lost, but you’re not.” He speaks firmly, his tone low even though there’s no one around to hear us. “There’s a reason you came back, even if you don’t completely understand it. You’ve always trusted your heart to guide you, and that’s why I trust that your intentions have been and always will be driven by something good.” He lets out a breath and closes the small gap between us, his warmth a familiar comfort as his front grazes mine. “You survived, Aurora.” His confidence strikes me right in the chest. My body quivers at his words. “If that’s not moving forward during your darkest days, then I don’t know what is.”

Deep down, I know he’s right. But what about our lives between then and now—the time and distance? How does it affect us? How have we changed? How do we fit?

He’s been with other women, and as much as it kills me, I knew it would happen. I just never thought I’d be back to face the consequences. And now, there’s so much I need to accept. There are so many questions I want to ask, but I’m not even sure how to begin.

“That sounds like just the type of thing your father would go on one of his tangents about.”

I shrug, brimming with emotion as I turn my head to look at Jaxon, tears building in the back of my throat. “My therapist used the Waterfall Effect metaphor when speaking about my father’s disorder, too. He could sense I had never come to terms with losing my father. The man on trial was someone else entirely.” My eyes flutter to his. It feels good to talk about my father again—the man I loved, not the accused murderer. “When I was twelve and my parents sat me down to explain that my father had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, I didn’t understand what that meant. I didn’t see anything wrong with him at the time. He didn’t seem insane to me.” I shrug, forgiving my younger self as I speak. “I explained that to doctor Rohls, and he went on about how the mind is affected by knowledge, time, and the environment, the same way waterfalls affect the landscape around them.”

My eyes catch his to make sure I’m not losing him. He’s staring at the canvas, deep in thought. “And for the first time in my life, it all clicked. If water represents knowledge, and knowledge produces energy, and that energy runs through the stream—” I pause, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks as I remind myself of my father. Sometimes he could be a bit much, but I still devoured his every word—and at times like this, it shows.

“Keep going,” Jaxon urges, filling my chest with warmth.

I nod, swallowing before I continue. “The mind manifests based on all the elements combined, and time, velocity, and knowledge impact the mind, just like waterfalls transform landscapes over time. Doctor Rohls believed in the transfer of knowledge between all beings—and how that knowledge changes over time. Good and bad, until it overflows into a pool of knowledge. The plunge pool.” I smile at the mental image.

“Everything is connected,” he says.

I nod again, thrilled that Jaxon gets it. “Well, when it comes to the mind of a schizophrenic, the force of nature is a bit rougher on the mind, and completely unpredictable. In the end, that pool of knowledge shallows, providing less energy, less knowledge, to the mind.” I bat my eyes away again, unwilling to give into my fears about my own pool depleting one day. “Not every case of a schizophrenic is the same, but doctor Rohls wanted me to understand what happened and why.” An ache creeps into my heart, squeezing it tight. “He wanted me to know that no matter what happened from my father’s diagnosis and on, he loved me, even if he wasn’t able to show it the same way anymore.”

Jaxon squeezes my side again, and the comfort I felt as we spoke about my father, about the Waterfall Effect, melts away. I pull away from him, not wanting his comfort. Not with the hours previous poisoning what this talk could have been.

“Jax.” I swallow, hating myself for my next question. But I have to know before all of this gets even more complicated than it already is. “Who is Val?”

He pulls his hand from my waist like he’s been burned. “What?”

I cringe at his surprise. Obviously he’s not interested in Val now, but they have a past just like we do. Is it awful that I want to know what happened between them? Why she decided to show up tonight? What if there are more women like her?

Jaxon’s expression morphs from surprise to irritation in less than a second. “Why does it matter?”

I swallow and shrug, turning my eyes away. “I don’t know. Never mind. It was stupid.”

He stands, towering over me. Shit. I struck a nerve. “Aurora. Jesus Christ. Are you jealous of Val? After I kicked her out of here? Did I not make it clear enough to her? To you?”

“I’m sorry. I just hate that there have been others.” My voice shakes, and my body quivers.

Jaxon’s hands lift and drop, slapping his thighs in defeat. “Casually, yes. I told you that last night.”

He’s right. And I deserve everything I’m feeling. The tightness in my chest, the rot in my gut, and the clamminess of my palms. “Did you love her?” Just saying the words wracks my body with chills. I know he’ll be upset by the question. We are where we are because of decisions I made for the both of us. But maybe I deserve the pain that comes with his. Maybe I want him to know I care.

“Did I what?” Jaxon’s eyes flash.

My mouth opens to repeat the question, and then snaps shut again when I see his face.

“It was sex, Aurora. That’s all,” he roars. “What the fuck?” His face twists, and I realize my question hurt him. “Are you trying to make something more out of this? Because that would be pretty shitty considering you left me no other choice but to move on when you walked away from me in that courthouse.” Letting out an incredulous laugh, he shakes his head in frustration. “Newsflash, Aurora. I loved you with everything I had. This”—he grips his chest, pulling the fabric of his shirt—“was all yours. And I never wanted it back even when you ripped it out of my chest. So, no, Aurora. I didn’t love her. I couldn’t love her, not even if I wanted to. How could I when there was nothing left to give?”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes as his words sink in. When I walked away from Jaxon, and I left him with nothing. He was empty, just like me. Except he found a way to cope. My tear-filled eyes scan the art on the walls. He did this. He created all of this, while I did nothing with my life. Nothing that means anything, anyway.

Heat licks at the walls of my chest. “At least you had your art. I had nothing.”

Jaxon’s mouth closes, his jaw tenses, and he pushes a breath out of his nose. “You think I wanted any of this without you?” he roars. Then, with a quick swivel, he grabs the canvas from the easel and tosses it across the room. I jump at the clatter it makes against the tile but recover quickly when he stalks away. The anger and disappointment he carries as he leaves is so heavy I want to run, but I think I’ve done enough of that.

I hurt him then, and I’m hurting him now. It’s up to me to stop the cycle. I just don’t know how.

Without another word between us, Jaxon wipes down the stations while I gather the abandoned wine glasses. I try to not pay any attention to his locked jaw, hard eyes, and the fact that he conveniently works his way around the room opposite me. But I notice everything.

I wash the glasses in the kitchen sink, working slowly. I know when I walk into the studio again, it will be time to leave and maybe mutter a goodbye before Jaxon and I go our separate ways. In this moment, it feels like the chasm between us has widened. And I’m not ready for another goodbye, even if it’s just for the night. I don’t want every moment with him to be filled with tension, anger, and regret. But we’re filled to the brim with it.

The last dish is put away and the dirty rags are in the hamper when I finally slip back into the studio. The lights are out, but I see Jaxon clearly lit by the glow of the street lamps streaming through the windows. He’s sitting on his desk, staring down, shoulders pressed forward and hands gripping the edge, his knuckles white.

My chest squeezes at the sight of him. His face carries pain I’ve ignored for far too long. For a second, he reminds me of that same lost boy painting his dreams on cabin walls. I longed for him to look at me the way he looked at his paintings.

Now, I just want him to look at me.

When too many moments pass, I brave the journey across the room and stand in front of him. He still doesn’t move, so I press my palms into his legs and apply the slightest pressure for him to part them. He does.

I step into the narrow space he left for me, his inner thighs brushing firmly against my hips. He’s not making this easy, but he’s not putting up a fight either. My heart pounds furiously as I slide my hands forward. They move up his thighs, stopping just before they reach his waist. “Jax, look at me.”

His long lashes whip against his lids, and I’m transported into his storm. Jaxon’s world was always filled with chaos, with constant responsibility masked with words like opportunity and future. He was ready to flee the country the moment he got his chance, despite what his leaving would do to his relationship with his parents. I’m reminded of that boy when Jaxon looks up at me now, every inch of his features calling attention to his pain. The deep creases in his forehead. The pout of his lips. The heavy breaths that move his chest.

Desperately, I search his troubled eyes for that anchor he promised. This time it’s me who needs to pull him back to shore. I have that power.

My chest pushes into his with each breath as my hands firmly slide up his arms, over every ridge of terrain until they meet his shoulders. I squeeze, then cup his neck, my thumb brushing up into his shallow beard. His scruff is new to me, and there’s something intoxicating about the way it scratches my skin. I imagine the way it might feel if he were to kiss that tender spot in the crook of my shoulder…or in between my legs.

I shiver. I’ve only ever imagined him tasting me there. Jaxon was always so careful with me, never wanting to move faster than he thought I was ready for. Little did he know, I wanted it all. I was just too afraid to tell him.

His arms are still locked and pressed into the desk, but I swear I feel them shaking, relenting, so close to giving in.

I lean in and press my lips to his ear. “I’m sorry, Jax.” He shivers, and my breathing grows heavier. “For leaving. For staying away. For coming back.” My voice croaks at my words. “All of it.”

Guilt chooses this moment to swarm in. I should have thought about what coming back would do to him if he were still here. I should have never felt I had a right to return. Not without an invitation.

Maybe the town is right to hate me for what my father did. Maybe I’m not as innocent as I want to believe.

Suddenly I feel his strong hands on my back, pulling me close so our chests meet. My head falls to his shoulder, and it feels so damn good to be this close to him. He smells intoxicating, too.

I lift my head to search his eyes, waiting for a signal to tell me what to do next, because all I can think about right now is how heavy my breathing is, how close our mouths are, and how none of it is enough. I can already feel the force building between us, ready to spark. All I know is that if it feels this good just to be in his arms, I might die if our lips ever touch again.

His eyes fall to my lips like he can hear my thoughts. He circles his palm against my lower back as we linger in this embrace, swallowing our fears and filling the space with years of unspoken words and feelings. It’s simply too strong to deny.

My lips find his first.

My tongue slips out and skates across his thick bottom lip, trying not to shake on the outside the way I am on the inside. He groans and his arms tighten, crushing me to him in a possessive hold. And just like that, our mouths fuse together.

My next breath catches in my throat as a shiver crawls over me and panic trickles through my veins. I’m desperate for a taste of the past, but I’m terrified of all that comes with it. Darkness tumbles in, and I try to shove it away. We’re so close, I want to cry. I need him as much as I am terrified.

But Jaxon would never let me drown. “Are you okay?” he murmurs into my mouth.

I completely melt, my body molding into his, fitting into him just like I was meant to. I nod as I kiss him again, this time unrelenting.

Once we’re settled in each other’s arms, his firm lips take the lead in a slow dance only the two of us know. I remember his demanding mouth and the way it used to part mine, just like it’s doing now. Naturally. Hungrily. The stroke of his tongue as it dips and tangles with mine.

I’m lost in all things Jaxon when my fingers slide through the loose tendrils of his hair to slip off his knit cap. It falls to the desk and his thick curls tumble out. His hair is longer and wilder than I remember. There’s more to run my hands through. More to clutch for support as my pulse quickens. More to tug when I feel the bulge between his legs press hard into my belly.

My hands play out their fantasies. They weave through his thick locks, gripping from the root and pulling him deeper into the kiss. I moan, and he groans in return, his arousal rubbing against me, so needy. His hands start to travel over my black jean skirt until his fingers grip the bottom hem, skimming the skin just below my ass.

I gasp, pulling me from his mouth. Jaxon doesn’t miss a beat. He moves to my neck, his scruff tickling my sensitive skin and releasing chills all over my body. He tastes me, samples me, sucks me, until my mind is spinning and my skin feels raw to the touch. My hands continue to comb through his hair, tugging when he sucks, and scratching when he draws his tongue from my neck to my ear.

He nibbles on my earlobe, sending a zing of heat coursing through my body. “Fuck, Aurora. I could get drunk off you.”

Our lips connect again. I haven’t forgotten the way it feels to be wrapped up in Jaxon Mills, but it’s even better than I remember. His hold is stronger and his kisses more urgent yet somehow paced to perfection. He’s taking his time, but his need is thick and hard against me. He groans like he’s on the verge of stripping himself bare to climb inside me.

Panting, I pull my mouth from his and reach for my shirt, lifting it over my head and tossing it to the floor beside us.

Jaxon’s pained eyes slip down to my breasts as his hand moves to a strap of my bra. But instead of sliding it off my shoulder, he traces the edge of the fabric with his finger, down the strap, around the cup, and over the swell of my breasts. He moves a finger back and forth, teasing my sensitive skin until I think I’m going to lose it.

“You were always so beautiful,” he says, and my heart stops. His eyes reach mine, but his fingers are still moving over my skin, never quite reaching the places I want them to. “You always felt so soft, like silk.” I gasp when he hooks a finger beneath the fabric and slides the cup from my breast. “Your nipples were always so hard for me.” He looks down as if to confirm that nothing has changed and sucks in a breath, blinking hard. “Goddamn, you’re still so beautiful.”

I feel the heat of his mouth on my skin just before it wraps around my nipple. His tongue swirls. Desire pools in my belly and aches between my thighs, and I moan when he begins to suck me into his mouth. As if that isn’t enough to make me almost explode, his fingers tug at the bottom of my skirt, yanking the fabric up over my ass so it’s bunched at my waist. He palms both cheeks, squeezing, then lifts me onto the desk to straddle him.

Fuck. My core hits his length just as he bites down lightly on my nipple. I cry out, tossing my head back and feeding my breast to his hungry mouth as I rub against him.

Bang. Bang. Bang. A heavy beating on the glass from the front window of the studio breaks us apart. I look over Jaxon’s shoulder to see a flashlight, bright and aimed directly at me.

“Shit,” Jaxon says as he replaces my bra and slides me off him.

How reckless were we to be so exposed, to do this somewhere anyone could walk by? But in the heat of the moment, I didn’t care.

“Everything okay in there?” a voice calls from outside.

Jaxon’s head snaps toward the sound. He frowns. “It’s the sheriff doing his rounds. Let me go tell him we’re not robbing the place.” He hops off the desk, adjusts himself, then scrambles to grab my shirt and throw it to me. He takes two giant leaps to the front door, unlocks it, and pokes his head out.

“It’s just me, Brooks. Closing up for the night and heading out. Everything okay?”

“Ah, Jaxon. Thought I saw some movement. You alone in there?”

“Uh, no. Aurora’s closing the café, so I’m walking her to her car.”

Sheriff Brooks grunts in understanding. “Got it. Glad you’re both safe. Make sure she gets home okay tonight. There’s been some suspicious activity in the woods over the last week or so. Just be cautious. You know how kids are when they’re home from school and stir-crazy. Pullin’ pranks and gettin’ naked in the woods.” Brooks chuckles.

“All right. Thanks, Brooks.” Jaxon shuts the door and leans against it, staring back at me with a light chuckle. “That was almost as much fun as getting caught by him under the waterfall.”

A laugh bursts from my mouth. Now that is a memory I could never forget. How erotic and embarrassing all at the same time. Jaxon swore no one would be able to see us if we made love behind the sheet of the falls. I trusted him, like always. So there, under Hollow Falls, my back propped against the rocks, Jaxon stripped me completely bare and entered me. Just as soon as we’d started, Sheriff Brooks shone a light on us through the cascade, directly on us. He must have seen Jaxon’s motorcycle and known it was us because he called out our names and warned us to leave or he would call our parents.

Jaxon wouldn’t have cared, but he knew I did. My father was sensitive to us being together, mostly because of Jaxon’s age. A seventeen-year-old with a twenty-one-year-old was a forbidden affair in my father’s eyes. Legally and emotionally, though, we were doing nothing wrong.

A heavy sigh brings me back to the present. “We should get going,” Jaxon says. “You have everything?” His reluctance is relief to my ears. He doesn’t want to go. Neither do I.

I nod, feeling a pout begin to form on my mouth. “Yeah, just let me grab my things.”

I’m still dizzy from his kiss as I walk into the café and grab my things behind the counter. There’s a missed call and a text notification I decide to ignore. I won’t be getting back to anyone tonight with Jaxon’s scent dizzying my thoughts and the memory of his kiss burning its way through my insides.

I shiver, zipping up my phone case, and meet Jaxon at the door where I left him.

He locks up and shoves his hands in his pockets as we walk toward the parking lot. After the kiss we just shared, I can’t help but feel disappointed he didn’t take my hand. “You working tomorrow?” he asks, his head down.

Small talk. I can handle that.

“No, not tomorrow. I was planning on going for a hike. I’ve been here for two weeks and the only falls I’ve seen are yours.”

He cocks his head at me and raises a brow. “Hiking alone?”

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Can I?”

I smile. “Yes. Be my tour guide.”

We’re at my car, both of us wearing smiles, and Jaxon catches me off guard by sweeping down and taking my mouth with his. He steps forward, backing me up to the door, his knee finding a home in between my thighs. His mouth is so firm and demanding, I can feel the bruising of my lips before he pulls away. Still, I want more.

“I’m sorry Sheriff Brooks interrupted us,” he says against my mouth.

I blush and give him a peck on the mouth. “Me too.”

He backs away, his fingers clutching mine until the very last moment. “Tomorrow.” And it’s all he says before he climbs onto his bike, sets his helmet on his head, and starts his engine. He waits for me to leave first, and I try to hide my smile as I go.

Tomorrow.