Page 152 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

My heart skipped. “You did?”

She nodded. “Seventeen-year-old Willa is doing a victory dance right now.”

“Do you still have your diary?”

“Yeah. They’re in a box at my parents’ place. Why?”

“Research.” I took her hand and kissed her knuckle, right above her ring. “Need to see what other dreams seventeen-year-old Willa had for her life.”

I’d start with those, ticking them off one at a time, until all her dreams had come true.

Two and a half years later . . .

“What is this?” I asked Jackson, standing in front of a painting on the mantel above our fireplace.

“A present from Thea. I asked her to make it for me and she dropped it off this morning.”

“But it’s my birthday.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Why are you getting presents?”

Jackson chuckled and wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back into his chest. “Don’t worry. You get presents too.”

“That better be plural,” I mumbled.

He kissed my neck. “When have you ever gotten the shaft on your birthday?”

I smiled and reached behind me, palming the growing bulge behind his zipper. “I get the shaft every year on my birthday.”

He laughed again, his voice booming in the living room. “This is true.”

“Speaking of . . .” I turned around and went right for his belt. But before I could get it undone, he grabbed my wrists.

“We don’t have time.”

“Come on,” I begged. “Real quick.”

He shook his head, grinning before he kissed me. “We’ve done ‘real quick’ three times already. If we go again, we’re going to be late.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. My hormones were out of control, but we had to get going. “Fine.”

I was five months pregnant and wanted sex all the time. And if I wasn’t having sex with Jackson, I was in search of food. My appetite was twice what it normally was. I could eat as much as Ryder, which was saying something.

At twelve, he’d had an appetite. At almost fifteen, it was nearly impossible to keep the fridge stocked. Jackson and I joked that the money I made from working as Logan’s assistant in the winters all went directly to groceries.

“Ryder is staying with Hazel tonight,” Jackson reminded me. “So as soon as we get home, I’m all yours. But we can’t be late to your own birthday party.”

“Okay.” I huffed. “Let’s go.”

“I need to grab your presents, plural, then we can go.”

I waved him off, then turned back to the painting.

It was beautiful, of course, because Thea was a gifted artist.

She’d painted me from behind, standing in front of the lake. My hair was down and a few pieces were blowing in the wind. You couldn’t see my face, which I was glad for.

It was weird enough seeing it from the back.

“Ready.” Jackson came from down the hall, carrying one gift bag and a wrapped box.