Page 18 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

“No. I don’t want to go out with you. Not now. After . . .” I waved my hands in a big circle. “After everything.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Everything?”

“Everything.” With a short nod, I spun around, retreating back inside and kicking the door closed with my foot. My chest was heaving and the blood was rushing in my ears, but I still heard the soft knuckle tap on the window behind me.

“No,” I groaned. Hadn’t I made myself clear? Couldn’t we just be done with this?

Couldn’t I just be done with him?

Curiosity, that wretch, made me turn around and open the door again.

Jackson had this sheepish look on his face and—blargh—it was adorable. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at me from under his lashes.

“What am I missing here, Willa?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “A lot.”

“Care to explain?”

Explain? To explain meant giving Jackson too much insight into my past.

I’d been born and raised in Lark Cove, Montana. It was small and charming. Sheltered. My mom was a valued member of the community. My dad was a beloved teacher at the school.

Students loved his energy and feared his authority alike. Boys in high school had found it safer to stay in the friend zone, and since I’d had a massive crush on Jackson anyway, I hadn’t minded one bit. I’d gone to prom with my cousin because all of the other boys in my class had already been paired up.

When I left town for college, I will admit my crush on Jackson faded—though only slightly. There were plenty of cute boys in the dorms and a few stole my attention. But then the unthinkable happened to my best friend Leighton at a party where we’d both been drinking. After that, well . . . things changed.

Boys became inconsequential. Partying was out of the question. We learned that the college experience so many bragged about wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

The two of us moved off-campus and threw ourselves into our studies. I also got a part-time job at a preschool to ease the financial burden on my parents. So the years when most young women were experiencing their firsts, I was busy studying, working and supporting my best friend as she learned to stand tall again.

I didn’t regret my college years. After what happened to Leighton, I made the conscious choice to only date men I knew and trusted. I went on a total of four dates in college, and though each of the guys had been a gentleman, none of them had been worthy of a first.

None of them made my pulse race. None of them made my breath hitch. None of them were Jackson.

It came as no surprise that after moving home, the crush I’d had on Jackson roared back to life. I fell back into the habits of my youth, daydreaming about him and no one else—not that there was a plethora of single men my age in Lark Cove. I let myself get caught up in the fantasy that he’d get all my firsts.

I knew it was rare for someone my age to be so inexperienced. Maybe my crush on Jackson had been an excuse. Maybe I’d convinced myself it was safer to love him from afar than risk an actual relationship with anyone else.

Or maybe it was real.

It felt real.

But at the moment, my feelings weren’t to be trusted. And I cert

ainly couldn’t explain them, especially to Jackson.

“Willa?” Jackson prompted. When I didn’t answer, he looked at his feet.

I stayed still, expecting him to leave, but he just stood there. Was he waiting me out? Did he think I’d cave and spill my guts?

He’d soon learn that I was an expert at staying quiet. I’d learned long ago that people always felt the need to fill silences with conversation. If you didn’t speak up, eventually they would.

So I didn’t utter a word.

Jackson began shifting his weight from one foot to the other, while I didn’t move a muscle. I was a statue—on the outside.

On the inside, I was a twisted mess of anger and frustration and shame.