Page 25 of Rumours and Romance
Mila lets out a huff of relief and sags against the counter. “How could you tell I needed a minute?”
“Because you were cutting off the circulation to my hand,” I reply with a teasing grin.
She winces and I squeeze her hand gently, so she knows I’m not upset. “Sorry. It’s just a lot, you know? Why do I magically look happier with you beside me? What was wrong with me before?”
She sinks down onto a stool and lets her head fall onto the counter. I come behind her and start to gently massage her shoulders.
“There was nothing wrong with you before, and there’s nothing wrong with you right now. Some people just have an idea in their head about what happiness should look like, and when you don’t meet that expectation, they don’t know how to handle it.”
She lifts her head and turns, forcing my hands to drop away. “Exactly.” She studies me for a minute, our eyes locked on each other. “It’s kind of crazy how you get it. Not many people do.”
Not many people feel the way we do. I think it but don’t say it. Because saying it would mean trusting her, trusting that she understands me, and wants the same things. And if a woman as incredible as Mila actually wants the same things out of life that I do, that would be…yeah. That would be something.
“Feel ready to face the hordes again?” I ask, effectively diffusing the weird emotional moment. Mila stands up and takes an exaggerated breath in and out.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She sticks out her hand, and I take it, threading our fingers together. We walk back to the front of the bakery and out into the hot summer day. The difference in Mila is noticeable. She’s not hunching forward; she’s standing up tall, confident, happy. And I know it has nothing to do with me by her side, and everything to do with her remembering she doesn’t have to hinge her happiness on other people’s expectations. She is perfect exactly the way she is.
She really is.
We wander around some more, and this time when people stop and comment, Mila is quick with a reply, redirecting the conversation adeptly when she wants to. I take a backseat and let her lead, making sure to stay appropriately connected and affectionate, but not crossing any lines. Which is why it comes as a surprise when she stops me in the middle of the sidewalk, and steps in front of me, and lifts up to kiss me. I kiss her back, mentally assuming someone’s watching. Then again, our kiss at my house wasn’t because someone was watching.
“Thank you,” she says, dropping back onto her heels and smiling at me.
“For what?”
“Just for being you, for going along with all of this, and for making it a lot easier than it would have been with anyone else.”
Her words do something to me, making me feel weird inside, so I decide to squash them with an attempt at humour. “Are you saying you would have tried this with someone else if I wasn’t around? Wow, and here I was feeling special.”
Her laugh is everything I wanted in that instant. “Oh, you’re special, Jackson. Very special.” She punctuates her words with a waggle of her eyebrows, and I chuckle. “Now, come on. We still need to find you the perfect T-shirt.”
Five minutes later, Mila has somehow convinced me to buy a bright red shirt with a white maple leaf on it and ‘Eh?’ written underneath. It’s tacky. But believe it or not, it’s the least tacky shirt we could find.
“Just put it on, Jackson. Get into the spirit of things.” She’s holding it up in front of me, and the excitement on her face would be enough to make me do a dance in the middle of the street if she asked me to.
“Fine. Hand it over,” I say, pulling my shirt off. When my head is free, I catch her unabashedly staring at me, and fuck, is she licking her lips? “Like what you see?”
Her eyes widen and she blushes furiously. “Oh, stop it. Put a damn shirt on.”
I do, but I do it slowly, tightening my abs as I drag the stiff, cheap fabric over my body. My eyes don’t leave Mila’s face, and I hear a hitch in her breath that makes my dick stir in my pants. When we’re ready to go, I don’t take her hand. I wrap my arm around her waist and tuck her closely into my side. Close enough that I can bend down and whisper in her ear.
“There’s no rule saying you can’t look at my body, Mila. Because if there was, I’ve broken it a thousand times by now because I can’t stop looking at your ass in those shorts.”
Chapter 11
Mila
If there was a prize for most turned on at a Canada Day celebration, I would win. After his comment about my ass, Jackson didn’t whisper anything else even remotely dirty, but he didn’t have to. His hand on my hips, or shoulder, or holding mine, was enough. The way he knew when I needed a break from everything, and took me to the bakery and rubbed my shoulders made me damn near swoon. For a fake boyfriend, he’s doing a bang-up job.
But my nerves were still shot by the end of the day. Hanging out with my brother and all of my friends while pretending to be head over heels for Jackson wasn’t the hard part. After all, I am ridiculously attracted to the guy. It’s more the fact that the entire time I knew we were lying.
I fell asleep quickly last night, and it was one of those deep, dreamless sleeps that should leave you feeling so refreshed and energized the next morning. Instead, I feel like I’m hungover as I stumble into my kitchen, mind set on one thing: coffee. I’m beyond relieved that the bakery is closed, because I’m pretty sure I would do something stupid like overwhip the cream for the pastries and end up with chunky butter if I tried to bake anything today. Thank God for small mercies — last night I remembered to set up the coffee maker on its usual “day off” alarm, so the pot is fresh and steaming. I pour a mug, top it off with cream and brown sugar the way I like it, and make my way into my living room. Milo comes in from outside through the open back door and climbs up on the couch beside me. I wiggle my feet underneath his body, enjoying the comfortable weight of him.
The near silence, interrupted only by the sounds of birds chirping outside, is perfection. I feel the leftover stress from yesterday slowly seep out of my body. I’m mid-sip when Milo lifts his head up and lets out a woof. Seconds later, there’s a knock on my front door.
“Good boy,” I say, ruffling the fur on the top of his head. I get up, and he jumps down off the couch with me. The ease with which he moves now makes me smile. We go to open the door together, and when Milo sees Jackson standing outside, his whole rear end starts to wiggle excitedly. Pretty sure my butt would wiggle with excitement, too, if it wouldn’t make me look crazy. Jackson bends down to give Milo some love and the two of them end up in a pile on my front porch. Eventually he looks up at me with a grin.
“Oh, hey Mila.”
