Timid (Lark Cove Book 2)

I might have watched Jackson Page for years, but there was a lot I didn’t know about him. For one, the man was stubborn.

He was so darn stubborn it was driving me insane.

He’d been to the camp every day this week. Every. Single. Day.

After I’d escaped to the showers on Wednesday, I’d thought Jackson would give me some space and back off. But he hadn’t, not even a little. If anything, my rejection seemed to encourage his behavior.

He visited the camp every morning to sit in the kitchen and drink coffee with Hazel. I made sure I was always out and about with the kids—hiding, basically. But I could only avoid my office and the kitchen area for so long. The best part of my job was hanging with the campers, but I also enjoyed the office work. I loved the behind-the-scenes tasks, the ones that made this camp mine. And though avoiding Jackson was a priority, there were bills to pay, phone calls to return and emails from parents to answer.

Jackson loomed outside my office whenever I was there. He didn’t say much. He didn’t invite me to dinner again or ask me to stop by the bar. He was just . . . there. As he talked to Hazel, he stood in the kitchen right where he could see through my office door. Every time I glanced up from my computer, he was watching me. He’d flash me a quick smile and go back to his conversation with Hazel.

Those smiles would fluster me so completely that I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I overpaid our water bill by thirteen cents and most of the emails I sent were riddled with typos.

And it wasn’t just his camp visits either.

Jackson continued leaving me notes in my door. Every. Single. Day. Each evening when I returned home from work, I found a note waiting.

The only reprieve I’d gotten from his presence was at night. His two-in-the-morning visits had stopped, but if he thought he was sparing me sleep, he was mistaken. My mind was too busy to sleep, pondering his notes.

He didn’t press for a date in his notes or apologize again. Instead, they were just sweet and thoughtful and even funny—especially the first one.

Willa

I saw this today and it made me laugh. Thought you might like it too.

Jackson

That message had been scribbled on a yellow Post-it and stuck to a clipping from last Sunday’s Daily Inter Lake newspaper.

Craftsman Boat For Sale. Like New. $9,000.

Girlfriend Pregnant. Wife Pissed. Need Cash for Lawyer.

It wasn’t a big thing but had made me laugh.

The next note wasn’t as funny, but the smile it gave me was bigger.

Willa

In case your sweet tooth is like mine.

Jackson

He’d stuck that note on a Snickers bar. It had melted in its wrapper by the time I’d gotten home, but I’d stuck it in the freezer to harden it up. Even misshapen, it had hit the spot.

Today’s note—left early in the day—had been simple. No gift or funny gimmick. Just a note.

Willa

I hope you had a good week.

Jackson

And it had been a good week.

I never considered a group of campers bad, but there were always weeks that stood out from others. This week’s group of kids was amazing. They were all fun and energetic. Not a single one of them thought they were too cool for certain activities. We had full participation from every kid in every event.

It would be the week I’d remember from this year. They would be the group whose picture I’d frame for my office wall.

Jackson’s notes had been the icing on the cake.

I’d collected a total of four notes from the week, and I’d had more face time with Jackson than ever before. He was weakening my resolve to forget about him. The crush I’d had for so long was being rekindled, this time burning even brighter.

Two more notes and I doubted I’d be able to say no to a dinner invitation.

I had a sneaking suspicion that he knew I was about to give in too. He was probably just waiting me out to see if I’d finally cave—more like when.

Jackson’s charm was irresistible. It was like being surrounded by puppies. You couldn’t not pet them.

The only reason I was still holding strong was because of my fears. I was scared. No, terrified.

Jackson had kissed me and forgotten. He’d overlooked me for years. I could get past those problems and let it all go. Deep down, I’d already forgiven him for forgetting about our night on the swings.

What petrified me was the realization that Jackson had the power to decimate my life. I was halfway in love with him already. If he made me fall the rest of the way, then tossed me aside, I’d be destroyed.

He’d leave me utterly and completely broken.

So here I was, standing at a crossroad. On one side was self-preservation. Jackson Page was on the other.

My phone rang on the kitchen counter and I rushed over to grab it. Seeing Leighton’s picture on the screen, I answered with a smile. “Hey!”

“So? Did you get another note?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

After our dinner with June and Hannah earlier in the week, I’d called and told her all about Jackson. She was on Jackson’s side of my crossroad, waving me over.

“I’ll be there in a sec.” She hung up before I could respond.

I laughed and went to unlock the door since it wouldn’t take her long to get here.

Leighton lived on the other side of town, the “lake side” whereas I lived on the “town side.” The highway was the divider, separating the larger homes on the shoreline from the majority of businesses and locals’ homes on the other.

She hadn’t always lived on the lakeside. When we were kids, her family had lived a couple of blocks away. But her dad was in construction and had made a lot of money over the last twenty years building extravagant lake homes. He’d worked hard, and as a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary present to Leighton’s mom, he’d invested in some lakefront property of his own and built them a beautiful home.

He’d also built a boathouse for Leighton, so like me, she lived on her parents’ property but in her own space.

Ten minutes later, after she’d walked across the highway and up a few blocks to my house, Leighton was sitting next to me on the edge of my bed with Jackson’s note in her hand.

“He loves you.”

I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t love me. He just wants . . . well, I don’t know exactly what he wants.”

“It’s not sex,” she declared, earning another eye roll. “Okay, it’s not only sex. If he wanted his normal slam, bam, thank you, ma’am kind of night, he wouldn’t be leaving you notes and coming to see you at work.”

My lips pursed and I swallowed the bitter taste on my tongue. I didn’t want to think about Jackson doing any kind of slamming or bamming.

“What are you going to do?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. What would you do?”

“I think you should tell him about the kiss in the playground.”

“No sirree.” I shot off the bed. “As far as I’m concerned, that night never happened.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to go out with him. If that night never happened, then you have nothing to be mad about. Especially since he apologized for calling you Willow for so long.”

I frowned, annoyed that she’d tricked me. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. But why not? I mean, you’ve liked this guy for an eternity, so why not go out with him? Yes, he got drunk and high and kissed you, then forgot. Total asshole move. But it was one mistake. If you tell him about it, I bet he’ll feel awful.”

“I’m never telling him about it, Leighton.”

She held up her hands. “Fine. What I’m saying is that he messed up and would probably own it. Just like this note.”

She plucked the apology note from my nightstand. Was it pathetic that I kept them on my nightstand so I could sleep next to them? Probably.

“I don’t want to tell him.” I sighed. “It would be too humiliating.”

“Then don’t tell him. But if he really is interested, why wouldn’t you go out with him?”

I went back to the bed and plopped down. “It hurt. So much. I’ve never felt anything like that before. And that was just after one kiss. What happens if we date for a while and then he dumps me? What if he breaks my heart?”

She set her hand over mine, her pink manicured nails such a contrast to mine, which were unpainted and cut short. “It’s possible. But that’s a risk no matter what. Don’t you want to at least give Jackson a chance? I mean, if I had a guy who I’ve been crushing on for ages ask me out, I’d be too curious to resist.”

I blew out a long breath. She was right, I could get hurt. But that was a risk everyone took when it came to love. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” She put the notes back on the nightstand and scooted back into the pillows.

The couch over by the window was comfy and soft, but whenever Leighton was over, we always camped out on my bed, either to talk or gossip or watch TV. It was our spot.

“Mom and Dad are taking me out to dinner tonight. Want to come?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I can’t. I, um . . . have a date.”

“What?” I yelled, nearly jumping to the ceiling. “With who? When?” Leighton hadn’t dated since high school, not since she’d been assaulted in college, and this was a huge step for her.

Leighton smiled and looked to her lap. “Brendon Jacoby.”

“No way.” My mouth fell open. “How did that happen?”

She picked at one of her nails. “I ran into him at the grocery store last night. He was buying salsa, and I was buying tortilla chips. We met by the nacho cheese and got to talking. He’s having me over for tacos tonight.”

“Yes!” I clapped. “I’m so excited!”

I might not have liked Brendon for myself, but he was a nice guy and perfect for Leighton. He was cute, in a clean-cut, wholesome kind of way. He didn’t have the larger-than-life, drool-over-me presence that Jackson did, but when Brendon walked into a room, most women glanced his way.

“Me too.” Leighton worried her bottom lip and she was about to ruin her nails if she kept picking.

“I’m proud of you. Are you okay?”

“I’m really nervous,” she whispered. “I really like him.”

“Don’t worry,” I said gently. “Just be yourself and he’ll love you.”

“Thanks,” Leighton said with a sad smile. “What should I wear? Most of my stuff screams conservative English teacher. Not single lady who wouldn’t mind a french kiss for the first time in ages.”

I giggled. “Let’s go back to your place and we’ll find something.”

She slid off the bed and stared longingly at a dress I’d laid out over the couch to air-dry. “Our friendship would be so much more convenient if we were the same size.”

“Right?” Even as kids, the two of us had never been able to share clothes.

Leighton had gotten her build from her dad, who’d always reminded me of a real-life Paul Bunyan. She was a knockout with her rich, chocolate hair and feminine curves. She was five nine with legs that went on for days and a bust that not even two of my bras sewed together would support.

“I want something like that navy sundress.” She pointed to the dress I’d been wearing the night Jackson had kissed me on the swing set.

For the first time in our friendship, I was glad we couldn’t share clothes like a lot of other girls did. That dress would be for me, along with the memories that came with it. No matter how much time passed, it would always remind me of that night with Jackson, even if the memory had turned sour.

“We’ll find something.” I slid into some flip-flops, then we traipsed through town and across the highway to her boathouse and got her ready for her date.

After picking out some skinny jeans and a simple green blouse, I left Leighton’s place and walked home in no particular hurry, enjoying the warm sunshine of the early evening.

Saturdays were me days, because during the summer, it was my only day off in the week. Even then, I usually stopped by the camp for an hour or two, just to check in with the counselors. But today, I’d stayed away and let my capable staff run the show.

Tomorrow would be hectic, starting early with a sendoff for the current campers and ending late with a welcome party for the new group of kids. So I was enjoying the day to myself and catching up on some much-needed rest and laundry.

As I strolled down the sidewalk toward my house, my thoughts drifted to Jackson. Would there be another note waiting when I got home? My feet sped up, then I slowed as I remembered the time. He was already at work.

Thea was still in New York and Jackson had to open the bar. That was probably why I’d gotten today’s note so early.

Dang. It had only been a few days, but I’d gotten used to having them by my door when I got home in the evenings.

I walked the rest of the way home, finding my mom sitting on the bottom step of my staircase with her garden gloves and a pair of scissors.

Her blond hair was twisted in a bun and trapped in a visor. She always dressed nicely, even when gardening. Today she wore a pair of navy linen pants and a cream blouse. The only thing casual about Mom was the pair of tan gardening clogs she wore when working outside.

“Hey, sweetie,” she greeted, trimming back a flower.

“Hi. Want some help?”

“Sure! I didn’t realize these had grown so much these past two weeks. I’ve been so focused on getting the strawberry patch in the front yard under control.”

“It’s okay. I just step around them.”

“I think we’d better trim them back.” She picked up a yellow petunia that had been trampled, probably by one of Jackson’s boots.

I laughed. “You’re probably right.”

I picked up the watering can that I used every day to water the flowers and went to the faucet to fill it up. I watered quickly, then found another pair of scissors to help Mom.

It didn’t take us long to work our way up the stairs, trimming until we could actually see the stairs again. When we got to the top, Dad came out from around the garage.

He was wearing his standard khaki chinos, short-sleeved shirt and loafers. The only thing different about his summer attire and his school-year attire was the lack of a tie. He still styled his light blond hair like he was going to work. And he starched and ironed his slacks every morning.

“You girls ready for dinner?” he asked.

“Almost,” I told him, tying up the garbage bag we’d filled.

Saturdays were also my night to eat dinner with my parents. We’d started the ritual after I’d moved into the garage three years ago, so instead of going on dates or meeting friends, I spent my Saturday nights with Mom and Dad.

With the work done, Mom and I descended the stairs, meeting Dad at the bottom.

Mom pulled off her garden gloves and tossed them on a step. “I’m ready.”

“You’re wearing your visor and clogs to dinner?”

She shrugged. “It’s just pizza at the bar.”

“The bar? I thought we were going up to Kalispell.” I wasn’t mentally prepared to go to the bar for dinner. Or adequately dressed.

I normally wore dresses in the summer, except for jeans a couple times a week on days I’d spend outside exploring with the kids at camp. I never went to work without taming my hair and applying some makeup.

But today I’d made no effort. My face was bare and my hair hadn’t been washed—or combed for that matter. It was just pulled back in a messy braid. I was wearing raggedy, olive-green shorts with a black tank top that sometimes doubled as a pajama top. The straps of my yellow bra were showing.

“We don’t want to be driving around if we’re drinking,” Dad said.

“I can be the designated driver.”

He shook his head. “No way. We’re celebrating tonight! We’re so proud of all the work you put into finding someone to buy the camp. Now it’s safe for, hopefully, another fifty years, we want to toast to a job well done with our daughter. Besides, we haven’t been to the bar in ages. I’m craving pizza.”

“Fine,” I muttered. “Can I have ten minutes to change?”

“You look beautiful.” Mom took my hand and tugged me behind her down the driveway. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“But—”

“Oh, Willa,” Dad said, catching up. “You look beautiful.”

And that was how I ended up at the bar on my Saturday night with Jackson coming my way.