Page 106 of Hidden & Held

“You made all this?” I grin at the spread.

“That and … maybe other things that are currently filling up my fridge.”

A laugh slips out as he sets down Mrs. Reynolds’s Second Chance Cinnamon Rolls as the opening scenes of Emma begin. Conversation around us gradually fades as everyone settles onto their blankets.

Glancing back at the setup, I lean closer to Jackson. “You really thought this through.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches Mr. Knightley appear on screen.

“I spent a long time thinking about dates I never got to take you on.”

The words settle between us. No grand apology or expectations. Without overanalyzing my actions, I let my hand drift across the blanket until my fingers brush his.

He stills, then turns his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine, as though giving me every opportunity to change my mind. I don’t.

Halfway through the movie and the food, the on-screen orchestra swells and several couples wander toward the open stretch of lawn.

Jackson stands, brushing grass from his jeans before holding out a hand toward me. “I know this one.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “This song? You absolutely do not.”

“Show choir, sophomore year.” He wiggles his fingers. “We placed.”

I snort. “I refuse to believe that’s true.”

“I have medals.”

“I’m going to need proof of this.”

“You can audit my trophy collection sometime. Linda Mercer kept every certificate and shiny object we accumulated over the years. “

He leaves his hand out, an open invitation. Around us, people begin swaying beneath strings of café lights while Emma continues playing behind them.

“This is absolutely ending up in The Pine Needle,” I murmur, glancing around the crowd.

“Probably. But hey, we already made the front page.” He winks.

“The whole town is going to see us.”

“I know.”

Two simple words said with no hesitation. No looking around to see who might be watching. Something inside my chest loosens as I slip my hand into his.

He helps me carefully to my feet, adjusting for my walking boot before settling one hand lightly at my waist. Not pulling me closer, letting me decide.

I close the distance myself.

We fall into an easy box step. His body presses closer, and I feel every inch of the space disappear between us, annoyingly enough, he wasn’t lying about show choir.

“I’m almost disappointed.”

“Why?”

“I really wanted to watch you embarrass yourself with your dance moves.”

“Oh, I can still make that happen.”

The orchestra slows and the scene transforms, out of the ballroom. Our movements slow as Jackson pulls me in closer. Resting my head on his chest, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as we sway gently to music we don’t hear.