Timid (Lark Cove Book 2)

Nine years later . . .

“There’s one,” I whispered, pointing toward the shooting star that streaked across the midnight sky.

Even though I was alone, pointing them out had become a habit. My dad had been my stargazing partner for as long as I could remember. As a kid, he’d taught me about the constellations and galaxies. We’d have contests to see who could spot the most shooting stars.

These days, he preferred to sleep at night unless there was a special stellar occasion, like a comet or a lunar eclipse. So my nights counting falling stars were done alone. I’d come out to the playground behind my house, sit in the same swing with my eyes to the sky, then report to Dad the next morning how many I’d counted.

Sending some wood chips flying, I kicked off the ground and got my swing moving. My hands gripped the chains as I pumped my legs for some speed. When I had my momentum built, I let my head fall back. The tips of my long, blond hair nearly touched the ground as I smiled at the Milky Way.

Today had been a good day. No, an incredible day.

Months ago, I’d petitioned a charitable foundation in New York to buy the Flathead Summer Camp, the children’s camp where I worked as the director. It was owned by a local church, but after years of barely covering the overhead and maintenance costs, they’d decided it was time to let it go. The church had wanted to sell it to someone who’d continue it as a camp, but with no buyers, the camp would have to be closed down permanently and the land sold off for private development.

But kids needed that camp. They needed a place to escape for a week every summer without toys or iPads or video games. So I’d written a proposal and sent it to various charitable organizations around the country, then wished on a hundred shooting stars for a miracle.

I still couldn’t believe my wish had come true. Earlier today, the Kendrick Foundation from New York City had agreed to buy my camp. And as a bonus, they were keeping me on as director.

Tonight, I wasn’t wishing on falling stars. I was simply grateful.

My swing slowed to a stop. I pulled myself upright and took in the quiet night. Behind me was Lark Cove School. Its cream cinderblock walls glowed with reflected moonlight. The school and the long playground took up the whole block, except for five houses—three straight ahead and two to the left, one of which was mine.

My parents had never needed to build an outdoor play area. Instead, growing up, I’d just cross the invisible boundary that separated our lawn from the playground’s and use the same swing set and jungle gym that I played on during recess.

All of the houses were dark tonight, the only light coming from across the street where a few porch lights were on. I was admiring a hanging basket of flowers when a dark figure strode onto the sidewalk.

I gasped, nearly falling off my swing as he stepped off the cement and onto the grass.

My fingers slipped into the right pocket of my navy sundress, palming the small canister of pepper spray Dad had bought me for nights when I came out here alone. He’d also given me the whistle I was wearing around my neck.

I contemplated jumping off my swing and hurrying home, but stopped short.

I knew that stride. No, that swagger.

It belonged to the man who’d made my heart race and cheeks flush since I was seventeen.

Jackson.

Was he coming over here? I looked over my shoulder, expecting someone behind me, but there wasn’t.

Forgetting the pepper spray, I used both hands to smooth down my hair. It had a natural wave that looked great for the first eight hours of the day, but somewhere between hours nine and ten, it grew exponentially in volume and frizz. With it sort of tamed, I swallowed the nerves in my throat just as Jackson stepped off the grass and into the wood chips surrounding the swings.

“Hey, Willa.”

Oh. My. Goodness. He’d called me by the right name. Finally! After years of correcting him each time he called me Willow, hearing my name in his deep voice gave me wings.

Heat broke across my cheeks and I managed a breathy “Hi.”

“Is this swing taken?”

I shook my head.

He grinned, then somehow fit his large frame into the small black rubber seat. His broad shoulders extended past the chains by at least five inches on each side, his jean-covered legs too long for the short seat.

“Nice night.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

It came out quieter than I had intended, probably because I’d stopped breathing. So I ducked my chin into a shoulder and pulled in a long breath through my nostrils, hoping he couldn’t hear me shaking.

The chains on his swing creaked as he dug a heel into the wood chips and propelled himself backward. “It’s probably not safe for you to be out here at night.”

“I have this whistle.” I held it up so he could see it. “And some pepper spray in my pocket.”

“Is that what you were reaching for when you spotted me?”

“Sorry.” Mortification crept up my face, flaming my already hot cheeks. The last thing I wanted was for Jackson Page to think I was scared of him. Well, I was scared. More like terrified. But only because I’d crushed on him for basically my entire teenage and adult life.

“I’m just teasing you.” He chuckled. “I’m glad you have the spray. Though I’d feel even better if you were behind a locked door at night, not sitting alone in a playground.”

I gripped the chains on my swing tighter so I couldn’t jump up and start dancing around. He was concerned about me. Me. Willa Doon, the girl who’d been trying to get his attention for nearly a decade.

Jackson pushed off the ground again, letting the silence of the night surround us.

Too shy to say anything, I resumed my swinging too. The color in my face drained away in the cool rush of air. Every time Jackson swung forward and I swung back, I’d catch a whiff of his spicy scent, cloves mixed with forest moss.

A combination that shouldn’t have smelled so good, but boy did it ever.

“Crazy day.”

“What?” I asked as it clicked what he was talking about. “Oh! You mean with Thea. Yeah. That was crazy.”

Two executives from the Kendrick Foundation had flown to Montana today to check out my camp. I’d taken them on a tour and that’s when they’d agreed to buy the place and keep me on as director. To celebrate, I’d taken them down to the bar for a drink.

The Lark Cove Bar was where Jackson had worked for years alongside his childhood friend, Thea. I’d gotten to know Thea and her five-year-old daughter, Charlie, over the years. They were awesome, but I’d never had the courage to ask about Charlie’s father.

It turns out, I hadn’t needed to ask. I’d had a front-row seat as Thea had dropped the bomb of a lifetime on one of the executives I’d brought to the bar.

Logan Kendrick, the chairman of the foundation and now my boss, had met Thea years ago in the city. I hadn’t gotten the dirty details, but I’d deduced from the show that they’d hooked up without sharing important info, like last names or phone numbers. She’d gotten pregnant and come to Montana as a single mom. He’d come out today to buy a camp and gotten a daughter as a bonus.

It was the biggest drama we’d had in Lark Cove in ages.

“How is Thea doing?” I asked.

“I dunno.” He went back to his swinging.

I pushed off the ground, swinging back and forth too, stealing glances at Jackson as our swings crossed at the bottom.

That was the story of my life, watching Jackson Page. It sounded like the title for a made-for-TV movie.

I’d been watching him for years, ever since the first day I’d seen him.

As a teenager, I’d search for him or his truck everywhere. Occasionally, I’d see him at the gas station filling up. Or sometimes I’d spot him at the town grocery store or eating at Bob’s Diner. There weren’t a lot of places to go in Lark Cove, and since he didn’t go to our church and had no reason to come to my school, I’d been forced to settle for chaste glimpses every month or so.

My diaries had the exact dates and times.

I’d seen Jackson even less after high school. I’d moved two hours away to attend college in Missoula, and my infrequent trips home had meant six or more months between sightings. By the time I’d come back home, I’d been certain I would be returning to news that he’d gotten serious about a woman.

No sirree. He was still the same playboy he’d been for years.

Despite all the floozies and bimbos, I’d never stopped crushing on Jackson and I’d never stopped watching for him. It was just easier to do now that I was old enough to go into the bar.

Tonight was different though. Tonight, it was just the two of us. Not once in nine years had we shared a space alone. And because he wasn’t putting on a show for his customers or flirting with every woman in Flathead County—well, except me—I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

Loneliness.

Deep, dark, empty loneliness.

I wanted to jump off my swing and hug it out of him.

Had Jackson always been lonely? Had I been so mesmerized by his handsome face that I’d missed this all along?

Outside of Thea and Hazel at the bar, I’d never seen him around town with a buddy. He’d never had a passenger in his truck or a partner in his fishing boat. The few times I’d seen him at the diner, he’d been eating alone.

Year after year of watching, it was sufficient to say that I’d become an expert on all things Jackson Page.

So how had I missed this loneliness he wore for all the stars to see?

I let my feet dangle and my swing slowed. Jackson gave his a few more pumps but then stopped too. As the two of us rocked back and forth, I took a deep breath and mustered the courage to speak.

“Are you okay, Jackson?”

His shoulders sagged, digging into the chains. He looked over with a sad smile. “I’m having a rough night.”

“Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

He looked out over the grass. “It’s crazy, don’t you think? That after all these years, this guy shows up and all of a sudden Charlie has a dad?”

I didn’t know if Logan’s appearance would spell miracle or disaster for Thea and Charlie. But I did know that Jackson loved that little girl like his own. “For what it’s worth, I spent some time with Logan today. He seems genuinely nice.”

Jackson shrugged. “We’ll see. Thea never said anything bad about him, but I don’t trust the guy. I just . . . don’t want things to change.”

I didn’t have anything wise to say or advice to offer. So I shuffled my feet, scooting my swing a bit closer to his before reaching over to give him a reassuring touch.

The moment my hand settled on his forearm, an electric shock zapped my fingers. What was that? I almost pulled back to examine my palm but stopped, not wanting to let him go. I’d never touched Jackson before, not even to shake his hand.

His face whipped to mine, his eyes widening. Focusing.

My breath caught at the intensity of his gaze, but I still didn’t remove my hand. Instead, I wobbled a smile and stroked his skin with my thumb.

His eyes softened. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.” With my cue to let go, I picked up my feet and swung back to my groove.

He pushed off the ground, resuming an easy swing. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just counting shooting stars.” My eyes tipped up to the sky just in time to see another. “There.” My finger shot in the air. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t they pretty?”

“Beautiful.” But he wasn’t staring at the sky. He was looking at me.

I blushed and dropped my arm as my heartbeat raced. Had Jackson just called me beautiful? Because it seemed like it. I didn’t have a lot of experience with men. None really. But that definitely sounded like flirting. And gosh, I liked it.

“Sure are a lot of stars. You don’t see stars like this in the city.”

I nodded. “I love it out here. I come out as much as I can in the summer to enjoy them. I live right over there.” I pointed past him to the back of my parents’ house. “Above the garage.” Yes, it was borderline loser to live twenty feet from my parents, but it was free and there wasn’t a huge rental market in Lark Cove.

Jackson’s boots skidded on the wood chips as he stopped his swing and stood. With his hand extended, he nodded to my place. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I practically flew out of my seat. The minute my fingers slid against his palm, I got another one of those zaps. My breathing came in erratic pants rather than smooth ins and outs as he led me toward my house. With every step, I wished home wasn’t so close and my mom’s garden miles away, not just yards.

I tried not to wiggle my fingers, keeping them still in his grip so he wouldn’t let me go. But I was so excited to be holding Jackson’s hand, it was nearly impossible. Every atom in my body was buzzing. Never before had electrons whirled around protons and neutrons so fast.

Much too soon, we reached the base of the staircase that ran up the backside of the garage. I’d expected him to let go of my hand, but he didn’t. He towered over my five-five with an odd stare.

Maybe it was the light, or lack thereof, but his eyes seemed duller than usual, the blue clouded by a slight haze, and they looked tired.

I would stand here forever holding Jackson’s hand, but as exhaustion rolled off his wide shoulders, I reluctantly slipped my hand free. “I, um . . . thanks. Maybe we could—”

One moment I was trying to find the words to ask him out to dinner. The next, he was kissing me.

Jackson Page was kissing me.

On the lips.

His thick hands came to my cheeks. His calloused fingers slipped into the roots of my hair. And his tongue ran over my bottom lip.

My eyes went wide. Was this happening? His eyelids were closed. His nose was brushing mine. Our mouths were touching.

Jackson Page was kissing me. On. The. Lips!

I couldn’t not smile. When I did, he took advantage of the part in my lips and his tongue slid inside, tickling the inside of my cheek.

I gasped and turned to mush. Gripping his forearms so I wouldn’t fall, I relaxed completely into his kiss, letting my eyelids fall. His taste was incredible. It was minty with a hint of citrus. There was something else on his tongue too, but I wasn’t sure what.

Hesitantly, I stroked my tongue against his. I had no idea if I was doing this right, but when Jackson moaned into my mouth, I did it again.

From there, whatever he did, I copied. When he crested his tongue over my top lip, I did the same to his bottom. When he nipped at the corner of my mouth, I gave him one right back. And when he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, I waited until his was free, then did the same.

It was hot and wet and magic.

The scruff on his jaw made the skin around my lips the exact right amount of raw. An ache unlike anything I’d felt before curled in my belly. A throb pulsed between my legs. Without thinking, I shuffled my hips closer, brushing against the hardness in his jeans.

He hissed, sending a blast of air between us that cooled the wet skin above my lip. Then after one last lick, he pulled away.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not letting go of my face. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” I breathed. “Don’t be sorry.”

Because I’d never be sorry for that kiss.

My first kiss.

Something I’d avoided for years because I’d been waiting for this kiss with Jackson.

“I’d better go.” His hands dropped from my face and he planted a soft kiss on my forehead. Then he backed away three steps before turning around. Even then, he glanced over his shoulder a couple of times as he walked through my parents’ yard.

I waved and hurried up my stairs. The minute I closed the door behind me, I went to the window beside the door since it overlooked the playground. Crouched on my floor, hidden behind a curtain, I watched as Jackson passed the swings and the silver slide. It didn’t take him long to step back onto the sidewalk and turn toward his house.

When he disappeared behind the corner of the school, I sank to the floor and let a happy grin stretch my cheeks.

After years of watching and waiting and hoping, Jackson had finally noticed me.

Me, the shy girl who’d loved him from a distance. Tonight, he’d made one of my dreams come true.

Sleep didn’t come easy after my kiss with Jackson. I replayed it over and over and over, touching my swollen lips until eventually I crashed around four a.m. When my alarm went off at six, I jumped out of bed with a perky smile, like I’d slept for a day.

The smile stayed all day long. Every time I got weary, I’d think of Jackson’s kiss and get hit with a fresh burst of energy.

By six o’clock, I was eager to get away from the camp. Not because I hadn’t had a great day with the kids and my staff, but because I wanted so badly to see Jackson again. So instead of going home, like I normally did on Tuesday evenings, I steered my Ford Escape toward the bar.

The parking lot was full, but I squeezed into a tight space in the last row. I did a quick check in my visor mirror, pulling my hair into a topknot and smearing on some lip gloss. Then I popped a piece of cinnamon gum. I doubted Jackson would kiss me while working, but he might and I wanted to be prepared.

I walked into the bar with a confidence I hadn’t felt in years, maybe ever. I strolled right up to the bar, sliding into a rickety old stool next to Wayne and Ronny, two locals who came down to the bar most nights. Normally, I picked a table in the middle of the room or a booth in the corner, somewhere I wasn’t conspicuous.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I was going to be front and center.

“Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Willa.” Wayne patted my shoulder. “How are you today?”

“I’m great. How are you?”

“Can’t complain.”

I loved that Wayne always had a smile. I’d known him my entire life and couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in a good mood. Even during his divorce. He was in his late fifties, like my dad, and worked at the school doing maintenance. He’d always walk the halls whistling a cheery tune.

“Um, is Jackson here tonight?” I asked, my eyes scanning the bar.

Wayne didn’t answer because at that moment, Jackson came out of the back carrying a pizza pan. He delivered it to one of the tables, then came back around the bar.

The minute he made eye contact, my heart jumped into my throat. “Hey,” I breathed as the smile on my face got impossibly wider.

Jackson grinned. “Hey, Willow. What can I get for you?”

My smile faltered. Willow? I stared at him, hoping he’d start laughing at his not-so-funny joke, but he just stood there, waiting to take my drink order.

“It’s Willa. With an a,” I snapped. “Will-a.”

He winced. “Sorry. I suck at names. Did you want a drink?”

I suck at names. That’s how he was going to play this? He was going to pretend that last night hadn’t happened? Was kissing me really so bad that he’d resort to childish games?

“I’ll get your drink, Willa,” Wayne offered. “How about a Bud Light?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Coming up.” Jackson whipped a pint glass from beneath the bar and took it to the tap.

“It’s still weird to me that you’re old enough to drink.” Wayne chuckled. “I remember you coming into the school every summer when you were just a little thing, helping your daddy get his classroom all ready for the school year.”

I faked a smile for Wayne as Jackson set down my beer.

He turned and grabbed a bottle of aspirin from behind the cash register, opening the cap and popping a couple of pills into his mouth.

“Not feeling good?” Ronny asked.

Jackson shook his head. “I haven’t had a bitch of a hangover like this in years. The damn thing has lasted all day. Remind me never to do tequila shots, then smoke a joint with the tourists again. I’m a fucking dumbass.”

Ronny and Wayne both laughed.

I did not.

Tequila and weed. That was the taste I couldn’t pinpoint last night. That was the reason for the haze in his eyes. He’d been drunk and high during my first kiss.

“Did you stay out late?” Ronny asked Jackson.

He shrugged. “Not really. I closed up around midnight after the tourists left the bar. Walked home and passed out.”

I stared at his profile, waiting for his eyes to at least flicker my way. He was forgetting a stop on his stroll home. Was that intentional? Did he not want Wayne and Ronny to know he’d even talked to me? Or had he forgotten me completely in his inebriated state?

“You just went home and fell asleep?” I asked.

He glanced over. “Pretty much. Had some crazy dreams though.”

I narrowed my gaze, assessing his expression. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t pretending. He wasn’t omitting pieces of his story.

He really had forgotten.

He’d forgotten the best night of my life. The best first kiss in the history of first kisses.

He’d forgotten me.

The pain nearly knocked me off my stool. Jackson continued to chat with Wayne and Ronny while I stared unblinking at my beer glass. The bubbles collected on the rim, then burst.

Like my heart.

Enough, Willa. Enough.

My friends had told me for years to move on, to forget my schoolgirl crush on Jackson and go after a man who actually knew I existed.

But I’d nurtured and coddled the fantasy for nine years.

I’d finally had enough. This was the kick in the rear I’d needed to let him go. In a way, I was glad this had all happened.

Yep, glad. Super glad.

G-L-A-D, glad.

He was just a silly dream.

And it was time to chase a new one.