Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

L uca

I don't want to hide from Jackson; I want to be near him. I feel so much calmer in his orbit, even if the past keeps threatening to raise its ugly head. Plus, if I hide in the house, I can't watch him working, and watching those muscles flex, and seeing him bending over . . . it's become my favourite pastime.

He seemed okay when he arrived this morning. It was awkward, but he turned up, so I'm taking that to be a good sign. And he did bring my favourite pastry from the bakery, so maybe he can stand to be in the same place as me.

I take him a coffee at break time.

It's another warm spring day and I want to help out. I cleaned the house, and I need a break from sorting through Aunt Frances' things. In London, I would've had no problem staying all day in my flat or the studio, but here, I actually feel like I want to be outside. I muse on whether it's the garden or Jackson that tugs like a magnet, but the end result is the same, and I'm out in the fresh air.

He gives me a warm smile when I hand him his coffee, which broadens when I ask.

"Can I help again today?"

"Of course, but you know you don't need to ask—it's your garden." He's right of course, but for some reason I think of the garden as Jackson's domain—he seems so at home in it.

"I don't want to mess it up."

"You won't, and if you do, I can always try to fix it." His voice sounds rougher, gravelly, when he says that. I look up and his gaze is intense—I feel seen. Even though he doesn't know my secrets, it looks like he's already dug to the bottom of my soul and he isn't afraid of what he sees there.

"Thank you," I croak, and then hold his gaze for a few seconds longer, hoping that it's enough of an answer for the unspoken meaning.

"Um, what can I do then?" It breaks the spell. I need to. I can't think of anything else to do, as every other scenario running through my head ends with me kissing him—or him kissing me—and neither of those is likely to happen with Jackson being straight.

"Same as yesterday, if you want." His voice is back to normal, light and easy-going, like it's ready for a joke. I like his voice—it feels safe.

I've come out in my hoodie but am soon too warm for it. This time I'm prepared. It's another big step for me to take, but I peel off the hoodie and throw it on the bench—I just have a t-shirt underneath—and try to nonchalantly return to work. But I know Jackson sees me, is taking it in. I look at him—he smiles and nods at me before turning back to work. I think I might be blushing a little. I hope my hair hides it if he notices. Actually, my hair is annoying. It's not really long, but long enough to cling to my face when I get hot and sweaty. I grab one of the bands I have round my wrist and tie it back. It's long enough for that—just.

By lunchtime, I'm exhausted. I have a new appreciation of how fit Jackson is, but then, I can see that just by looking at him—which I do as often as I can. I feel puny and weak next to him. My lack of physical stature hasn't really bothered me before, except maybe at school, but then my elfin looks—as they called my face—was what they teased me about. Being slim and pretty had been a bonus when I was in London. But here in Jackson's presence, I feel weedy and embarrassed about it—him being strong and well built, with muscles for days. But if he finds my appearance odd, he never says anything. In the many times I glance at him, he only looks back with a smile on his handsome face.