Page 111 of Forbidden Forward

“Amazing.” I glance at Jackie. “Wouldn’t you agree, First Mate?” I hold up my palm for a high five.

Jackie startles and hesitates a beat before smacking my hand. She adds, “Absolutely!” but it’s drowned out by the kids cheering and running over each other in their excitement to tell Peggy it was the best sail ever.

Peggy lifts her eyebrow in question at me.

“Best sail ever,” I concur. And it totally was. Because Jackie was there.

Peggy helps me secure the lines while Jackie gets the kids ready. We head toward the van in record time—we’re getting this routine down to a science now—and Peggy turns and gives Jackie an apologetic smile. “I had to load up some supplies, so I don’t have enough room to take you back.” My scheming aunt slides guileless eyes to me. “You don’t mind driving Jackie back to her Jeep, do you?”

I shake my head. Vigorously. I don’t even know where her Jeep is parked. Could be in Alabama, for all I know. And I don’t really care, nor do I care that my aunt has obviously arranged this.

Jackie, meanwhile, opens and closes her mouth a few times, her confused gaze pinballing between Peggy and me. Finally, those clear fern-green eyes narrow on me. “Are you sure?”

Peggy points to somewhere in the distance. “She’s not that far. Just in the restaurant parking lot where we usually meet the kids and their parents.”

“No problem.” My voice is cucumber-cool, belying the riot of fizzy pops in my gut.

We buckle up the kids and wave good-bye as the van pulls out of the parking lot. Jackie looks up at me. I forgot how small she is or how her skin glows or how—“Do you need help stowing stuff or cleaning up?”

“Yeah.” My brain blanks on what those chores might be, but it doesn’t matter if I get to be around her for a little while longer. What I’m going to say while I’m around her is something I have yet to formulate. There’s so much I want to say, but my brain is scrambled.

We amble back toward the boat, and I ask, “Where are you staying?”

“I’m not. I drove down early this morning and plan to drive back this afternoon.”

Unable to corral my disappointment, I keep my thoughts to myself the rest of the way. As we near the Gail, I outpace her so I can lower myself in first and help her down. She places her hands in mine, and I absently run my thumbs over her fingers. They’re delicate and soft and feel so right.

Once she’s on deck, she slides them from my hold and slips them into the front pockets of her jeans.

“Tea?” I blurt out. When confusion sparks in her irises, I quickly add, “Don’t know about you, but I could use some warming up.” Shit. That didn’t come out right. “I mean, it was getting cold out there, and I figured some hot tea might take the chill off.” Too bad it can’t help me sound less like an idiot.

Jackie smirks. “Sounds good, but unspiked for me, please.” Pulling off her beanie, she fluffs her hair and surveys the salon. “Looks pretty shipshape, Captain. What else do we need to do?”

“Nothing right now. Have a seat while I put the kettle on.” I take my time pulling out teabags. I know what she likes, but I offer her a choice anyway to defuse the awkwardness between us. My hand shakes, and I grip the box a little too hard to steady it, shooting teabags in all directions.

With a laugh, Jackie jumps from the settee and begins gathering the paper packets. I crouch to help her and land in a cloud of her fragrance. Cookies. Flowers. Lemons. Everything I love. I’m so lost in her scent I whack her head with mine.

“Shit! Sorry.” I rub my scalp. “Are you okay?”

She rubs her head too, but her smile is intact. “I’m fine. With that hard head of yours, though, I’m surprised I don’t have a concussion.” Is she calling me stubborn or simply remarking on the hardness of my skull? No idea.

The kettle whistles, and I climb to my feet and turn off the flame. I spill boiling water into the cups before realizing there are no teabags. Fortunately, Jackie’s playing with a full deck and plops one in each mug.

I’m unmoored in a way I’ve never felt before.

We sit across from each other. I lean forward to blow on my tea, and she leans back, her smile fading. Her eyes assess me. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

How is it I know exactly what she means by that? “No. I don’t know.”

“Why won’t you trust me with the truth?”

Staring at the steam that rolls off the surface of my drink, I let go a sigh. “Because I’m afraid you’ll never speak to me again once you learn what the truth is.”

“Instead, you let me believe terrible untruths so I’d never speak to you again? Was that your plan?”

“Yeah.”

“A little lame.”