Chapter Thirteen
There was no doubt in Jackson’s mind.
After the sandwich picnic by the lake, after talking with Summer about anything and everything, after watching her beautiful face contort into bliss while he made her come—he knew.
She was his mate.
And maybe he’d never been a good protector up until now, but it was time to start. He’d be the man she needed.
He hauled up the ice chest and speed-walked back to Summer’s car as fast as Summer could comfortably walk. She carried the blanket, her arms folded with it in front of her, a dreamy expression on her face.
Like Becca had said, Summer was a woman who was happy alone. But also like Becca had said, maybe Jackson could make her happier. It was his new life goal.
They drove back to her place, Summer driving, Jackson watching her from the passenger seat. She had a strong profile, a nose and mouth that were placed on her face in a way that made it look like she meant business, no matter what. He bet that anything she tackled, she’d succeed at just from sheer force of will.
He’d have to be careful about not being overly protective. Just the same, he was glad they were going back to her place together because he couldn’t have borne the thought of her staying alone after some creeper had been wandering around her yard. At least this way he’d be next to her tonight, and better able to watch over her.
He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to thread his fingers with hers. The contact kept something alive in him that he’d thought long-buried—hope for a home. Summer had brought it forth, the hope that he belonged somewhere. And all along, his home had been here, right where he’d started in Huntwood.
It was too soon for I-love-yous, especially from a human perspective, but his heart was practically bursting with the knowledge that he loved this woman more than life itself. He couldn’t keep it inside for another moment.
“I know it’s sudden,” he said, “but I’ve never experienced anything like what’s going on with us. But I’ve been a man without a home for four years, and if you’ll let me settle near you, that would make me the happiest I’ve been since I lost everything.”
Summer kept his hand in hers, but she looked unsure. “I—I don’t know what to say, Jackson. You’re right. This is very sudden.”
“You don’t have to say anything right now.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her skin. She smiled at him, and he felt relieved. His profession of wanting to settle near her—it hadn’t scared her away. He’d take that as a good sign.
They pulled into her driveway and she cut the engine. “Home again, home again,” she sang.
“Jiggity jig,” he added.
“You know that nursery rhyme?”
“My mom had a book of them,” Jackson said. “She read them to me when I couldn’t sleep. There are some really crazy nursery rhymes, you know?”
“Yeah, I was really into them as a kid. My dad gave me this blank book, and we wrote a bunch down and I illustrated them.”
They climbed out of the car. “Do you still have that book?” Jackson asked. “Because that sounds like one of the cutest things I’ve ever heard of.”
“Oh, it’s somewhere—what the hell is that?” Summer pointed to her front porch.
Something tall and slender was waiting on the top step. Even with his strong night vision, it took Jackson a couple of moments to figure it out.
“It’s a statue,” he said, his voice low. He subtly sniffed the air, and the same acrid cologne from before filled his nostrils.
Summer marched forward, but he grabbed the back of her t-shirt.
“What?” she said.
“Hang on—can you please let me take a look?” There was no one else around, but what if this was some kind of trap? And worse—who on earth would target Summer? He didn’t know her well, but she didn’t seem like the kind of person to collect enemies.
Summer nodded, so he strode forward and looked at the statue from every angle. “It’s two people, kissing.”
“Rodin’s The Kiss?” she asked.
“I don’t know what that looks like, but the statue is familiar,” he said. “Except”—this was creepy—”except their eyes are crossed out.”
“I’m coming up,” Summer said, her voice firm. She squatted at his side and examined the statue. “Yeah, it’s a copy of the famous Rodin sculpture. What is that smell?”
“Seems like whoever left it here coated it in cologne.” Did he tell her, now, that it was the same cologne he’d smelled when he checked out the perimeter of her house?
“Let’s get inside,” she said. “I’ll get the ice chest tomorrow. I just don’t want to be out here.”
He hovered close to her as they walked up the porch and she unlocked the door.
“Some space, please, Jackson?” she said.
“Of course.” He took a step back.
Once they were inside, he sniffed carefully. There was no hint of the cologne in the house, and he could only assume that the guy who’d left the sculpture had stopped at her porch and not found a way in. But he needed to be sure. “Bedroom?” he asked. “Bathroom, kitchen, living room. Are there any other rooms?”
“Just a tiny attic. Otherwise, we’re in five hundred fifty square feet of cottage.”
“Okay.” He took a quick look in all the rooms, even sliding the shower curtain back, and opening Summer’s closet door. He poked his head into the attic access above her closet. “There’s no one here,” he said.
He returned to Summer’s side in the living room, but immediately began moving again. He couldn’t stop visiting each of the windows to look outside.
She gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think there would be anyone inside. I’m going to call the police, and call it a night.”
He stopped his nervous pacing. “Okay. I don’t suppose you’ll let me—”
“No.” She held her hands up, gripped the hair at her temples. “I’m safe inside with everything locked up. I just really want to be alone right now to process this.”
“I don’t feel good about that,” he argued.
“Yeah, but, this is my place, and I’m freaked out, and I only want to report the weird thing to the police and call Becca to check in and then go to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
He wanted to argue, but her face and posture looked completely resolute. She wanted him gone, and she wanted him to go now.
Sighing, he nodded. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. Slightest twinge of fear? Call, and I’ll be here in minutes.”
“Thanks,” she said, coming forward to give him a brief hug.
This was not the night he’d been envisioning since their picnic, but he’d take any excuse to touch her. A hug goodnight, and the thought that he’d be not too far away, quietly watching the outside of her house for trespassers, would have to be enough.