Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

L uca

When Jackson is gone, I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what had happened. I feel ashamed. I feel elated. I feel sad, and I feel hopeful. Each emotion cycles through my brain. I try to take deep breaths and calm down.

Mostly, I feel embarrassed that I nearly had a panic attack in front of him. The thought of it is enough to make me anxious. I'd wanted to tell him how wonderful Aunt Frances had been to me. But to do that, I would have had to tell him why, and I can't have him knowing about my father and what he did to me. No, some secrets are meant to stay buried. But I didn't have a panic attack, and that was solely because of Jackson. His large, warm hands on mine, his squeeze on my shoulder, it was comforting. It was enough to break through and stop the spiral I felt myself descending into.

Those hands. I could watch them all day. I think I caught him watching me watch them, but how could those large, powerful hands be so gentle and tender towards his plants? I admit I've been thinking about what it would be like to have those hands on me—on my body. No, I can't start thinking about them now. Anyway, it's unlikely to happen. I could tell he felt awkward. He's probably never met anyone so useless as me before. He's probably used to his strong, manly gardener friends, not some skinny, weak artist given to shaking with anxiety. At least I didn't start crying. That would have just topped it off.

I thought he'd have definitely left after today's incident. But then he agreed to come and work on the garden, which means I'll get to see him every day. It'll be both wonderful and torturous at the same time. To have his awesome good looks and deliciously desirable body so close, but unavailable. I start thinking about his hands again. It isn't fair, but it is at least keeping the demons away for now.