APRIL

It's getting close to Halloween, which means there's a chill in the air as Harriet and I walk down the sidewalk towards Jackson's apartment building. We're heading to his house to get ready for the very first basketball practice today - he found a small community league that's been trying to get off the ground for months, but they didn't have a head coach. Jackson fixed that problem for them, so now he and Harriet both have standing basketball appointments on Saturday mornings.

"I'm too sleepy, Mama," Harriet says, rubbing her eyes with the hand that isn't holding mine. "The sun didn't even barely come up."

"I know," I say, looking at the white-gray sky. "It's early."

"Why is it so early?" she asks, trudging along.

"Because Daddy wants to do your hair," I say, giving her fingers a squeeze.

"He hurts me," she grumbles, pouting her lips out. "Can you do it?"

"He wants to do it special," I say. "With the beads. You know it never looks good when I do it with the beads."

"They fall out," she says.

"Right, and he'll make sure they don't," I say. "Maybe we can even turn on a movie."

"Coraline," she says, gasping with excitement as she turns to look up at me.

"Sure," I say, "your favorite creepy movie in the world."

"It is not creepy!" she says. "'Cause remember, I'm gonna be Coraline for Halloween, too."

The holiday is this upcoming Friday, and we have plans to trick-or-treat after school. For Harriet's costume, we've compiled a yellow raincoat, yellow galoshes, striped tights, a blue wig, and little glasses that I glued oversized buttons onto. Along with her candy bag, she's also going to hold onto a black stuffed cat that she's had for ages. Hattie is absolutely beside herself with excitement.

"I remember," I say. "Do you remember what we're supposed to be planning, that's two days after Halloween?"

She scrunches up her eyebrows and makes an 'I'm deep in thought' expression. Then, she says, "No."

I pretend to be exasperated when I sigh and say, "Your daddy's birthday, silly."

"Oh, yeah!" she says. "Well, I did plan that. All in my head."

"Really?" I say. "What did you come up with?"

"We should put on a surprise party!" she says, hopping up and down.

I look at her with a questioning expression. "You really think he'd like something like that?" I ask.

"Yes! I think he would love it!" she says, swinging my arm. "Can we do it?"

I think on it for a second, wondering how Jackson would react. Between the two of us, I'm the one who enjoys surprises more - at least, I did, before Matthew proposed to me in the way he did. Jackson isn't crazy about being caught off guard, but I wonder if he'd hold a different opinion if it was something that Harriet thought up herself. I think, in this case, he'd find it endearing and special.

"Sure," I say, "I don't see why not. Who would we invite?"

"Everyone!" she says. "Gamma Cat, Papa Richard, Miss Miranda, Mister Ben, every one of Daddy's doctor friends from our old house."

"I don't know if everyone from Seattle is gonna want to make the trip out here, babe," I say. "It's a long way. But I'm sure Gamma Cat and Papa Richard would make it happen. He is their son, after all."

"Well, he's not Papa Richard's son," Harriet says smartly. "And that means we should invite Daddy's actual real dad, too."

I shoot her an incredulous look and say, "Robert?"

"Yeah!" she says.

"Has Daddy talked to you about him?"

"A little bit," she says, shrugging. "Can he come, too? It would not be nice to leave him out."

I chew on the inside of my cheek and ponder her question. We're too close to Jackson's apartment for me to come up with a good answer, though, so I say. "It's a good idea. Let me think about it for a while."

"Don't ask Daddy!" Harriet says, tugging on my hand and pulling me back from the door. "It has to be a surprise."

"Right," I say, wondering how in the world she just read my mind. I was going to pass the Robert idea by Jackson while she was preoccupied or asleep and ask him to practice his surprised face in response. Now, that plan is out the window.

Before I can say anything else, Jackson appears beside the doorman and welcomes us. "Hey!" he says. He gives me a hug, then picks Harriet up to rest her body on his hip. "You guys are early."

"Mommy walks fast," Hattie says, laying her head on Jackson's shoulder.

"Both of you with your short little legs," Jackson says. "I don't know how you got so fast."

"Hey," Hattie and I say at the same time.

He laughs and says, "I'm kidding. Come on up. Peep, I got you a practice outfit to try on for today."

"Is it pink?" Harriet asks.

"I told you I'd get pink, did I not?" he says, smiling as he hits the button for the elevator. "You know your daddy always comes through."

"Pink!" she squeals, kicking her legs.

We ride the elevator to the tenth floor and Jackson lets Harriet down once the doors come open into his penthouse. "It's right there on the bench," he says.

She runs ahead and holds up a pair of pink basketball shorts made with high-quality, sheeny fabric, a little practice jersey, and a pair of pink and white Air Jordans.

"Oh my god, J," I say. This time, it's my nickname for him that sneaks out - it just happens. I'm not sure if he notices. "You went crazy."

"A little bit," he says. Then, he nods towards our daughter. "Go try 'em on, Peep. You need help?"

"I can do it by myself!" she says, then starts to change her clothes right there. The basketball getup fits her perfectly, and so do the shoes - but she needs help tying them. As Jackson is kneeling in front of her, he looks at me and says, "Would you mind grabbing the hair beads? They're in the bathroom off my room."

"Sure," I say. "Be right back."

I leave Jackson and Harriet to talk about how amazing and pink her new outfit is, then venture through Jackson's opulent apartment. It's much more stark than my house is - that's always been his style - but I can tell there are some areas that he's made homey for Harriet. Her room, for example, has blush pink walls with big, white polka dots that match her fluffy bedspread. The giant dollhouse in the corner with toys spewing out of it definitely makes this place look more like a home instead of a showroom.

Jackson's room is clean, but it doesn't have much personality. It's strange, because he's got so much heart to him, and there are so many ways he could convey that in his bedroom and his house in general. But, instead, he opts for clean lines and modernity, which is something I'm not sure he'll ever lean away from.

This bedroom isn't as impersonal as his room was when I moved into his apartment, at least. His bed looks more comfortable and, if I'm not mistaken, he's even left a book out on his nightstand.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I can't resist looking to see what book he's reading. Much to my surprise, it's not just any book - it's a copy of the bible, and there's a piece of mail marking his place.

I look over my shoulder to make sure I'm still alone, and I'm comforted by the fact that I can hear Jackson and Harriet chatting downstairs. What I'm doing is innocent - I just want to know what section he's in. If he were up here, I'm sure he'd just tell me. I'm not looking into anything he wouldn't want to share. So, I don't feel too bad when I pick up the book and open it to the page that he has marked.

When I open it, I notice a verse that's been highlighted. It's clearly one that's resonated with him and, once I read it, I understand why.

"Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

It's 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, and it's a verse I know very well. I'm sure it's a verse that many people know well, even those who have never read the bible or gone to church. It's one that, since I've gotten so used to it, I've glossed over for many years. But the fact that Jackson highlighted it… it's making me look at the verse, and him, in a new light.

I don't want to keep standing here with this bible open, though, so I open the nightstand drawer and covertly slip it in. As I do, though, I notice two velvet boxes - two velvet boxes that could only house a specific thing. Rings. And I can't resist snooping just a little bit more.

I pick up the smaller box and know, without even opening it, that it's mine. Or, rather, it was mine. I open the lid carefully and it creaks, exposing the rock of a ring Jackson gave me when we got home to Seattle after being officially married in Lake Tahoe. It looks even bigger now than it did then, maybe because I haven't seen it in a while, but just as beautiful.

I slip it on my finger and it still fits like a glove. And it feels right, sitting there. The weight is nice and the way it looks is even nicer, and I can't help but remember the giddiness of when he gave it to me - the giddiness that came from both of us. It was the first audaciously expensive thing I'd ever worn, and that was like an aphrodisiac for him. We had wild sex that night - I don't think we slept at all - and he kissed the ring more times than I could count. I told him, that night, that I officially belonged to him and the ring proved it, and he said the same thing about his wedding band and how it was proof that his heart was forever in my hands.

We were stupid, we made a lot of bad decisions, but we didn't care. We were so in love. We were borderline obsessed with one another for a while, and it's overwhelming to look back on, but I still wouldn't change it. He made me feel more beautiful than I'd ever felt in my life, and I hope I did the same for him.

Just thinking about all that we got up to – in bed and otherwise – during those days is making my heart flutter, so it practically bursts out of my chest when I hear my name.

"Hey, did you find the beads?" Jackson asks from the doorway of his bedroom.

I flip around, shocked and caught, with my left hand on my heart. Because of that position, he sees the ring right away.

"Oh," he says, taking a cautious step towards me.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I say, slipping it off and fumbling to put it back in the velvet box. "I shouldn't have opened the drawer, but I…" I close my mouth and shake my head. I don't want to make excuses. So, I just say, "I shouldn't have been snooping."

"I don't have anything to hide," he says, then looks at the little box. "I mean, it was yours once. It technically still is. I just…I didn't know what to do when you gave it back to me. Didn't feel right to sell either of them."

"I know," I say, gently setting both boxes back in the drawer and shutting it. "I don't think I could have done that, either."

I meet his eyes and he meets mine, and we hold that eye contact for a long beat. Then, he gives me a little smile - one that I have a hard time decoding - and says, "Let me show you where the beads are. I gotta get started on Peep's hair so we're not late."

"Right," I say, blinking and shaking my head to clear it. "Of course."

…

When we get to the YMCA, the place where Harriet's community team meets, she's attached to my hip just like she'd been for cheerleading practice. She's got one of her hands tangled in mine and she's using the other to gently play with the pink beads in her hair, the beads that Jackson expertly placed - without hurting her (too much).

"Peep Peep," Jackson says, glancing over his shoulder as he walks a few paces ahead of us. "You ready to show these girls your skills?"

"I don't know, Daddy," Harriet says, dragging her feet. "Maybe I'll just watch this time."

Jackson stops and gives her a look, then easily picks her up. "You feeling nervous?"

Harriet nods and folds her hands on Jackson's shoulders, then rests her cheek on top of them.

"No, don't be nervous," Jackson says.

"Mommy says that it's okay to feel nervous, and that I should feel my feelings," Harriet says pointedly, perking up a little as she loves to prove Jackson wrong – something we both, seemingly, have in common. Whether it's a good or a bad trait is up for debate, and probably depends on the day.

"Well, of course," Jackson says, looking at me over Harriet's head. I give him a small smile and he rolls his eyes, just enough to notice. "Is it okay that I'm feeling that feeling, too?" he asks.

"You're nervous?" Harriet says, lifting her wispy eyebrows at her dad.

"Oh, yeah," he says. "I've never coached before. This is all new to me, too. So, we're learning together."

"Coach Daddy," she says, with a big grin.

"Coach Daddy, exactly," he says. "This season's gonna be great. Me and you, out there on the court. Showing them all how it's done. What do you say? Should we go?"

Harriet thinks for a moment, then her face breaks out in a wider smile than before. "Yeah," she says, then Jackson nods and carts her away, both of them throwing a wave over their shoulders in my direction.

Since basketball is Jackson's thing, I make sure to give him the space that he needs to coach Harriet's team. I'm sure the last thing he wants is me hovering, helicopter parenting and making sure that Harriet is alright or wiping other people's children's noses. So, I stay in the bleachers and admire the team from afar.

It doesn't take long to realize that I can't stop smiling. In the last couple months, I've witnessed Jackson being a great father more often than I was able to before – I've never had a front row seat like this, since our lives are so intertwined now. But I've never seen him parent (or coach, I suppose) other people's children. As he tries to wrangle all of the little players, anyone could see that he's a girl dad through and through.

"Who here knows how to dribble?" he asks, after handing all of the girls a basketball the size that they can handle.

Harriet raises her hand and so do a few other girls. A blonde raises her hand and doesn't wait to be called on, though – instead, she says, "Mr. Coach, my ponytail came out."

Jackson opens his mouth like he's going to try to move on, but soon thinks better of it and crosses the circle to fix the blonde's hair. As he holds the hair tie between his teeth and winds her hair into a neat, high pony, I can practically hear all of the other moms' hearts beating double time.

Just the thought makes my chest puff out, but it gets worse as I look around and see all of their eyes on him. He's not exactly mine – not in a romantic sense, I mean, not yet – but he is my daughter's father. They saw us come in together, did they not? It had to have been obvious enough. Still, though, it doesn't seem to matter. These women are staring.

I don't have anything to claim in regards to Jackson. We're not married and we're not dating, either. But he still feels so much "mine" that it's impossible not to feel territorial.

I'm sure that, if I told him how I was feeling, he would laugh and think it was adorable. I don't plan on telling him or making it known to the desperate mothers here, but it's still a feeling that I can't ignore.

I try to let it dissipate as I watch Harriet bounce the ball down the court, towards the basket. Almost as if she knows I need a distraction, she shouts, "Look, Mommy!"

I wave and she beams at me, then continues her plight. As she does her best to dribble, Jackson looks up and gives me a mirror image smile of the one Harriet just flashed.

I can sense that all of the surrounding women see it. I sit a little taller, straighten my shoulders, and, while someone bolder than me might blow him a kiss, I settle for a really big wave. Now, they know for sure. And I'm very satisfied with that.

…

On the way out, Harriet talks a mile a minute. It only took a bit for her to warm up on the court, and Jackson being her coach only helped matters. As she walks between both Jackson and me, she's got one of our hands in each of hers, looking up at us like just can't believe we're all here in the same place at the same time.

It's because I'm looking down at my daughter that I don't notice the hubbub until we're right on top of it. I don't need to ask what's wrong, only a second later does a wobbly voice break through the others to say, "The granola bar had peanuts in it! I didn't know – I didn't know! I just started work yesterday, I meant to check my bag, I told her just to grab something out of it… oh, my god, it's all my fault, I should've known…"

I push past the bodies in front of me and see a little girl on the ground, lying on her back with a red face. It's a look that every person with debilitating allergies knows well and dreads.

"Move," I say, to those in my path. I don't register letting go of Harriet's hand or taking my own EpiPen out of my bag, but I must do both, because before I know it, I'm on my knees in front of a stranger's child, jabbing a needle deep into her thigh. "Call 911," I say.

"I did!" the same voice from before says. "Is she okay?"

"She will be," I say. I check the pulse on her wrist and it's fast, but that's to be expected after a dose of adrenaline like the one I gave her. When I hover with my ear over her nose and mouth, I can hear that she's breathing, and she makes that fact more obvious in the next second by opening her eyes and gasping loudly.

"You're alright," I tell her, easing her back down. "Relax. Take some deep breaths with me. The ambulance will be here soon."

"I called her mom," the woman, who I'm assuming is the little girl's nanny, says.

"Your mommy's coming," I say, stroking her hair and speaking softly. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Ashtyn," she says. "I couldn't breathe. I fell down."

"Can you breathe now?" I ask.

"More," she says. "But my throat's still big."

"The people in the ambulance will fix that," I say, then I recognize the all-too-familiar wailing in the distance. "Hear that? Hear the sirens? They're almost here."

Then, just as I had done, a tall, slender woman pushes through the throng of people and falls to her knees in front of Ashtyn. "Ash," she says, gathering her daughter into her arms and onto her lap. "Are you okay?" She looks at me. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine," I say. "The ambulance is probably right outside."

"I beat them here," she says breathlessly, rocking her daughter. She closes her eyes for a second and presses her lips to Ashtyn's forehead, then looks right at me. "Are you a doctor?" she asks.

I take a moment, a beat of silence, before I answer her question. Just before the paramedics rush through the double doors, I say, "Yes, I am."

…

"That was really, really, really, really, really scary," Harriet says from the back seat. "That was way too scary."

"But everyone ended up fine," I say, looking at her in the rearview mirror. "No one got hurt."

"Ashtyn did get hurt, though," she says, furrowing her brow.

"But Mommy saved her," Jackson says, cutting in.

"If Mommy wasn't there, would Ashytn die?" Harriet asks.

"Something bad might have happened, yeah," Jackson says, "but we don't have to worry about that. Because Mommy was there." He looks at me for a long moment, and his eyes are full of emotion. "That was amazing, April," he says quietly, just for me and not Harriet. "Truly."

"Thanks," I say. "You would've done it, too."

"But I didn't," he says, "and you did."

"I guess," I say. "Someone had to stay back with Hattie, though."

He snorts and rolls his eyes playfully. "Would you just accept the compliment?" he says, shaking his head. "I swear."

"Okay, okay," I say, laughing a little. "It was awesome. I was awesome."

"You saved that kid's life."

"I saved that kid's life," I say, feeling more and more proud of myself with each passing minute.

"Hell yeah, you did," Jackson says. He's quiet for a moment, then he follows up with, "You know, there's a trauma opportunity open for you at the Foundation," he says. "I made sure of it. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you. And, well, now…" He shrugs. "This feels like the right time."

I don't answer right away, so he keeps talking.

"I've always known what a great trauma surgeon you are, but damn, April, back there proved you haven't lost a thing. You didn't hesitate for a second. Everyone else did. I did. But you didn't. So…" He takes a deep breath. "When you're ready, if you're ready… it's there."

I nod, taking it all in. "Okay," I say. It's too much to make a decision right now, but I'll let the information sit. "I'll think about it."

…

We head to Picco for pizza. As soon as we walk through the door, Harriet practically breaks the sound barrier by shouting, "Mack!"

I see a little brunette stand up on the seat of a booth, and recognize Harriet's new friend from cheerleading. Her mom, Aviva, is sitting across from her and flagging us down with an excited wave.

"Come on, Mommy, let's go see her!" Hattie says, then races ahead.

Jackson and I catch up to where Harriet stands at their booth, hugging Maclaine. "Hey!" Aviva says, getting up halfway to give me a hug. "It's been a minute. It's good to see you."

"We're gonna eat pizza," Harriet says.

"This is mine and Mom's favorite pizza place ever," Maclaine says. "Is it your favorite, too?"

Harriet says yes, even though this is our first time here. I don't bother saying anything, I just smile and shrug my shoulders. Then, I say, "Jackson, this is my friend, Aviva and her daughter, Maclaine. We met at cheerleading… I think I told you about them." He nods and smiles pleasantly, then I continue with, "Aviva, this is Jackson."

"That's my daddy!" Harriet says, pointing back at her father so Maclaine is sure of who she's talking about.

I see Aviva's face light up with recognition. "Oh," she says. "Oh."

"What?" Jackson says.

"Nothing," I say quickly.

"No, no, nothing," Aviva says, with a small smile. During the past couple cheerleading practices and over the phone, I've told her pretty much all of mine and Jackson's history – which, to say the least, is quite long. She catches my eye and mutters, "I will definitely be texting you."

"Uh-huh," I say, trying to keep the smirk off my face.

"We'll let you go," Aviva says. "Have a nice dinner. Their cheese pizza here is the best."

"No, don't go!" Maclaine protests.

"Yes," Aviva says. "Harriet is going to go eat dinner with her mom and dad. They need some family time, just like we got."

The girls give each other a big hug and we say our goodbyes, then head over to a booth on the opposite wall. "That was my best friend, Mack," Harriet says, after ordering herself a pink lemonade. "Wasn't she nice, Daddy?"

"Seemed like it," Jackson says. "I'm glad you're making friends, Peep. That's really nice for you."

"Yeah," Harriet says.

"You, too," Jackson says, looking at me. I shrug, playing off the attention, then take a sip of the beer in front of me. He must see the small switch in my face, because he offers his glass as soon as I push mine away. "You'll like this better," he says.

I take a sip, and instantly I know that he's right. I meet his eyes and we exchange as much without having to speak at all.

"Let's trade," he says. "Just give me one last sip."

He drinks a little, sets the glass down on my coaster, then takes the one that I ordered. I can feel Harriet's eyes on us for a long moment before she says, "Mack's mom is Mommy's new friend. But Daddy, you're her best friend for actually real."

"Oh, you think so?" Jackson says. "I don't know. Mommy needs some girlfriends. She's been stuck with me for a long time."

"She likes it!" Harriet says, then leans over the table to look right in my eyes. "Right, Mommy? You like Daddy being your bestest best friend."

I glance at Jackson, who's already looking at me. He's got a cute little smile on his face, one that I only see when Harriet is around – and I guess when I'm around, too.

Of course, I love being his best friend. Of course, I love that he's mine. Because, from the night before our boards, or even before, hasn't he always been just that – mine?

It sure seems like it. I know for a fact that I've always been his, and I don't think that will ever stop.

"I do like that," I say, interlacing mine and Jackson's fingers atop the table. "How could I not?"

…

The three of us go back to my place and Jackson hangs around to put Harriet to bed with me. She goes down without a fight, even though it's early, so the two of us are left with less on our plate than we expected.

"You wanna stay for a little bit?" I ask, once we're back downstairs. "I have wine. It's cheap, but…" I shrug and laugh. "I don't know. I like it."

"Sure," he says. "That sounds good."

I pour us each a glass and bring the bottle to the living room, where Jackson is already sitting and waiting for me on the couch. He doesn't let me fumble my way through trying to set all three things down at once – instead, he stands up, places one hand on the small of my back, and takes both his glass and the bottle in the other.

"Thanks," I say, getting cozy on the cushion beside him.

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sipping our wine, and I go through the day in my head. It feels like forever ago that Harriet was getting ready for basketball and I was snooping through his bedroom to find both his bible and our wedding rings. That, for some reason, feels like a lifetime ago.

The bible verse comes back to me now, though, the one I know so well. I decide to come clean – he already knows I found the rings, after all. He has to know that they weren't all I saw.

"Upstairs," I say, gently breaking the silence. "At your place. I saw your bible."

His eyebrows come up immediately. Clearly, that's not how he expected this conversation to start. "Oh," he says. "Um, yeah. I've been reading it, you know, here and there."

I'm quiet for another moment, then I say softly, "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

A smile grows on his lips, and his eyes soften at the words. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, exactly."

"I like that verse, too," I say.

"It's a good one."

We don't talk again for a few more minutes. There are so many thoughts whirling through my mind that it's hard to put them all in a single-file line so they can make their way out. Finally, though, I just decide to try. "Your timing with Christianity really couldn't have been worse," I say, keeping my tone light.

He snorts, breaking a bigger smile this time as he shakes his head. "I know, right," he says. "We spent all that time trying and failing to get on the same page about it…"

"And after the divorce, that's when you get all godly," I say, rolling my eyes playfully. "Typical."

"No, no," he says. "It wasn't after the divorce. Well, I mean, it was post-divorce. But it wasn't because of the divorce. It happened on that day you almost died, after the car crash with Matthew. It was then. I prayed, it worked, and… I don't know. It got me thinking." He widens his eyes. "I did so much damn thinking."

"Out in the woods, taking pictures of trees…" I say, ribbing him.

He laughs. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he says. "Nature guy over here."

"The same guy who wouldn't walk into the barn in Ohio wearing anything but galoshes," I say.

"Hey," he says, chuckling. "In my defense, those were Italian loafers, and I cared about stuff like that back then."

"I know," I say, still giggling.

"I'd go in the barn right now," he says. "Barefoot. With all the animals. I'd sleep in there."

I roll my eyes again and laugh louder. "Okay, sure," I say. "You're so dumb."

He laughs, too, then finishes his glass of wine. Leaning forward to pour himself another one, he changes the subject and says, "You know, you really were amazing today with that little girl. You saved her life, no doubt."

"Thanks," I say. "It was just instinct."

"It wasn't 'just' anything," he says. "Imagine if you hadn't been there."

"I was, though," I say. "Weren't we just talking about God? They say he works in mysterious ways, you know."

"Fair point," he says. He takes a moment to think, then says, "Like I said. There's a trauma spot open at the Foundation, whenever and if ever you're ready for it."

I heard him earlier, when he mentioned that, but it's only just sinking in now. I haven't worked in trauma for quite a while but, clearly, it's still in me. I didn't even need to think about what I was doing earlier today. It's not like administering an EpiPen takes a medical degree, but no one else stepped in. I did. I still have my trauma surgeon reflexes.

"I don't know why I'm putting off going back," I say. "To surgery, I mean." I pause for a moment, then continue with, "I guess I'm anxious. I'm worried I won't be as good as I was. Or, I was worried about that… I don't know if I still am. Maybe. I don't know."

"You don't have to make a decision today," Jackson says, "Or anytime soon. Just know that, after seeing you in your element today, I know you'd flourish at the Foundation. It needs you." I lift my eyes from my lap to meet his gaze. His gaze softens and he says, "I need you."

I feel myself blush, so I look away. Somehow, he always knows just what to say. And, in situations like this, he knows how to melt me. I don't even think he does it on purpose half the time.

"Jackson," I say quietly.

"What?" he says. "I do. And I miss you… at work, and…" He takes a breath. "In life."

"We see each other all the time," I say, speaking gently.

He takes a moment and makes heavy eye contact with me. Then, he says, "You know what I mean."

"I do," I whisper, and my eyes dart to his lips, then up, then back down again.

"I know what you said, about… taking things slow," Jackson says, swallowing hard. "But what if we just kissed for a while?"

My heart hammers in my throat and my pulse is pumping hard throughout my entire body. My skin is hot and I can practically feel how he'd touch me – cradling my jaw with one hand, slipping the other under my shirt and, eventually, under my bra to stroke me skin-on-skin. He always knew exactly how to work his hands, exactly how to touch me.

Now, my pulse is concentrated between my thighs, thumping strong and sure. But, while my body might be more sure than it's ever been, my mind still isn't. Yes, he's mine and I'm his, but there's so much more to our relationship than knowing that.

So, even though my body is screaming for me to kiss him, and to let him kiss me until we're both breathless and senseless, I have to be smarter than that.

My mind is foggy, though, so all I can muster is a shaky exhale and a weak, "I don't know."