Page 67 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

It had been two weeks since Jackson and I had had our first date and I was simply floating. Things between us were just so . . . easy. We fit seamlessly into each other’s lives like there’d been an empty space all along, just waiting for the other person to fill.

Jackson would come to the camp every morning with my favorite coffee. We’d chat in the kitchen with Hazel or take a stroll together outside until I had to get back to work. Then he’d go do his thing during the day while I worked.

After I left the camp, I’d go and sit with him at the bar. I’d become a regular, just like Wayne and Ronny. I’d stay until closing, then help him close down before driving him home.

On the nights Thea was at the bar and he was free, he’d come over to my place and let me cook him dinner. Afterward, we’d spend hours making out on the couch and fooling around.

He never let it go too far, but things were definitely progressing. He’d touched every inch of my skin, testing which spots drove me wild. And I was learning exactly what it felt like to touch a man.

I blushed just thinking about the sound of his deep, throaty groan as he’d come in my hand last night. It was the most intense moment we’d shared. My hand on him. His fingers in me.

“Oh, Willa.” Mom laughed. “I can practically see your thoughts. Just be safe as you play with his naked body.”

“Mom.” I choked on my bite of lettuce. “Seriously? Can we not talk about that, um . . . stuff at dinner?” Or in front of Dad?

He was sitting across from me, shaking his head. The expression on his face was pure torture, like Mom had just shoved bamboo shards up his fingernails.

“Come on, Betty,” he grumbled.

“Sorry.” Mom held up her hands, then looked to me. “I’m just happy for you, honey. From the sounds of it, you’re having the time of your life.”

I opened my mouth to say thanks, but the look on Dad’s face stopped me. He was about as green as the cucumber he was halving.

“What?” I asked him, then looked at Mom.

“What?” Her eyes widened. “Nothing!”

“You said, ‘From the sounds of it, you’re having the time of your life,’ and then Dad practically gagged. What do you mean, the sounds of it?”

She grimaced and the fork in my hand dropped to my plate, sending lettuce flying.

They could hear Jackson and me at night? Nooooo.

I stared at Mom, hoping she’d say it wasn’t true, but she just shook her head. “We leave our windows open at night. You do too. Sound carries across the backyard.”

My dinner was dangerously close to coming back up.

Up until two weeks ago, I hadn’t even known I had the ability to make some of the noises Jackson could conjure as he toyed with my body. The shy girl was a screamer. Who knew?

But those sounds were definitely not ones I wanted drifting into my parents’ bedroom at night.

I buried my face in my hands, wanting to crawl under the table and die.

I’d never been this embarrassed before. Never. Not when Jackson had forgotten about our first kiss. Not the time my junior year that I’d leaned in too close to a Bunsen burner in chemistry and accidentally singed off part of an eyebrow. Not even the time in seventh grade when I’d sneezed during the silent prayer time at church and accidentally farted loud enough for three pews to hear.

This was worse.

So. Much. Worse.

“Sorry,” I said into my hands.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Mom took one of my wrists, tugging my hand away from my face. “Now that it’s getting cooler, we’ll close our windows at night.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“So how did the last week of camp go?” Mom asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It was great,” I told them. “It’s always hard to say good-bye to the staff.”