Page 17 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

Unbelievable.

“Why?” I whispered to myself.

Why was he here now? Had he remembered our night under the stars? Was he drunk again?

I reached for the door, wanting answers, but before I touched the knob, I snatched my fingers away.

Don’t open the door, Willa. Don’t do it.

I’d spent the last two weeks kicking myself in the rear for my ridiculous crush on Jackson Page. I’d berated myself constantly for being so incredibly naïve. And I’d done everything in my power to block him out.

But the problem was, I’d spent too many years dreaming about him. Nine, to be exact. Thinking about Jackson, looking for him in town, had become ingrained into my routine.

Today, I’d finally made progress. I’d signed up for an online dating profile. I’d driven by the bar and hadn’t let myself look for his truck. I’d even boxed up all of my old diaries, the ones filled with Jackson’s name, and taken them to my parents’ basement for storage.

I was moving on from Jackson Page.

Or so I’d thought, until he showed up at my door.

Why was he here? Why now? The curiosity was killing me. I reached for the knob again, jerking my hand back again just before my fingertips could brush the metal.

Gah! Why?

I had to know. Because maybe if I got some answers, I could stop being mad at Jackson for forgetting me. I could stop being mad at myself for letting this crush of mine go on for . . . far too long. This time I let my hand touch the knob.

I would get my answers, then it would be enough.

A rush of unfamiliar confidence surged as I twisted the knob open and yanked back the door. In my haste, I nearly hit myself in the nose.

Jackson was on the first step down, but when he heard me, he came back up to the landing. A hopeful, infuriatingly beautiful grin spread over his face.

“Why are you here?” I stepped right into his space, holding my chin high and narrowing my gaze.

He blinked and the grin disappeared. “Uh . . . to ask you out.”

“That’s it? There’s nothing else you want to maybe discuss?” I strung the words out, giving him plenty of opportunity to fess up if he did remember our kiss.

“Uh, yeah.” He gave me a sideways look. “That’s it.”

“You’re sure?” I studied his face, searching for a flicker of recognition, but came away with nothing.

“Pretty sure.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is everything okay?”

“Super,” I muttered, leaning in closer. His eyes were clear, and there was no alcohol on his breath.

He really was here just to ask me out.

And it made me angry.

I was angry that he’d forgotten about the kiss.

I was angry at the part of me that wanted to say yes and do a victory dance.

I was angry that my feelings for him were so impossibly hard to let go.

“No.” My entire body was vibrating with nerves and adrenaline. “I, um . . . no.”

He leaned back, stunned. “No?”