Page 53 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

“Sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay. She’s happy.”

Grandma didn’t remember any of us now, but that hadn’t stopped us from visiting her often. A lot of my things were actually hers. I’d kept them here as a tribute to her beautiful taste.

The loft was divided in half by the front door. On the left was my bedroom area. On the right was my kitchen and living room.

The pitch of the roof was at the tallest by the door so you could walk in comfortably, but in other areas, the walls tapered at the edges to only about five feet.

My kitchen was my favorite part, even though it was small. But with bright-white cabinets and a large window over the sink, it felt bigger than it actually was. The butcher-block counters were Grandma’s request. She’d loved to bake her own bread and had insisted on wooden counters rather than granite because she swore it made the bread taste better. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but her dinner rolls were legendary.

On the other end of the room, situated outside the single bathroom, was my bed. It was covered in Grandma’s favorite white quilt, one she’d bought from a church bazaar. It was simple and understated, much like Grandma herself. But it was stunning too, with intricate white flowers stitched on the soft white cotton.

The entire place was full of muted colors and warm woods. The floors were a chocolate brown that matched the wooden beams in the ceiling.

The only thing I didn’t like about it was how warm it got in the summer. Without an air conditioner, it was miserable in the afternoon and evenings until the night air cooled my room down.

I should have opened the kitchen window, but now that I was settled into Jackson’s side, I didn’t want to get up.

Neither of us spoke as he finished his inspection of my place. When his eyes stopped roaming, he focused on the opposite wall and sat there, just breathing in and out.

Was this awkward? Or was this normal? I didn’t know how to act after a midnight confession and three amazing kisses. I hadn’t invited him inside for a specific reason, more just because I hadn’t wanted to see him go.

So if he was waiting for me to make the next move, we were going to be here forever. I’d used up all my courage on the stairs.

“Willa . . .” Jackson trailed off and sighed.

My body strung tight at the warning in his tone. Was he about to give me a long apology about how he was sorry he’d kissed me? Maybe he needed someone with more experience, and now that he knew that woman wasn’t me, was he going to bolt?

I braced, waiting for him to continue as he shifted in his seat to look at me.

“I know I’ve been coming on strong,” he said. “But that was before I knew about everything else.”

Definitely not going to like this. “Okay,” I drawled.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of shit from a man. I’m a mess. If you want me to stop so you can find someone better, just say the word. I’ll walk away.”

Better? I snorted a laugh.

There wasn’t better than Jackson Page. In my book—literally in my diaries—he was as good as it got. I didn’t know a lot about Jackson’s history, but it was likely he’d come from rough beginnings.

None of that mattered to me. What did matter was that he seemed down on himself. It left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he liked people to believe.

“Don’t walk away,” I told him. “And you’re not a mess.”

He scoffed. “I kissed you when I was drunk and high, then forgot. That’s the definition of a fucking mess. You deserve better than that.”

“Better is up for interpretation.” I settled into the couch, scooting closer to his side to tell him a story. “My mom dated this rich guy when she was younger. Obviously, that was before she met my dad. She grew up in Kalispell and he was her high school boyfriend. His family had a lot of money.”

Jackson relaxed a bit, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as I continued.

“They dated for a couple of years in college, but Mom says neither of them were really into it at that point. They’d grown apart, so she broke up with him. A few weeks later, she met my dad. One look at him and she knew she’d made the right choice.”

I’d been a preteen when Mom had told me about how she and Dad had met, but it was a tale I never forgot. Mom and Dad were a classic example of love at first sight.

They were the reason that, as a younger me, I’d never felt my crush on Jackson was ridiculous or silly or pathetic.

“So Mom came home on spring break not long after she met Dad and ran into her ex. I guess he wasn’t so happy he’d been r