Page 31 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

I whipped off the covers and tiptoed across the cool maple floors toward the door. The curtain over the window was pulled back just enough on one side to peek through a crack.

And sure enough, there he was.

Jackson Page in all his glory.

He was fixing one of my mom’s flowerpots he must have knocked over. Once he’d pushed it up against the wall and swept away the spilled soil, he stood and pulled a note from his pocket. He came right to the door and I shied back. With barely a sliver to see him through, I watched as he tried to shove a piece of paper into the slit between the deadbolt and the doorframe.

Why was he here?

I should have just let him leave his note and go, but I was curious. How long had I hoped for his attention? Too many hours to count. Now I had it and I wanted to know why.

Curiosity had turned me into a glutton for punishment.

Quickly, I righted my pajamas so the seams weren’t crooked. My camisole was black, not as see-through as he’d seen the other night. My hot-pink pajama pants had little black bows on the cotton and were cuter than the yellow ones I’d been wearing during his last visit.

Just as I tugged my camisole up higher on my breasts, Jackson managed to get his note wedged by the lock and turned to leave.

I stepped over to the knob, undid the deadbolt and opened the door.

Jackson spun back around, his eyes taking in my bare feet and pajamas. “Hey. Sorry to wake you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, chilled from the night air. It was August but nights in Montana were still cool. Not to mention that being around Jackson gave me goose bumps.

“What are you doing here?”

He bent and picked up the note that had fallen when I’d opened the door. He held it out. “I swear I’m not stalking you. But I didn’t think this could wait.”

I took it from his hand and started to unfold it, but he stopped me. “Don’t read it. Not while I’m here.”

“Okay.” I folded it back up, shoved it in my pants pocket and recrossed my arms.

I didn’t say anything else, but I didn’t go inside either. I just stood there as we stared at one another.

He’d chased me into the parking lot last night and told me that something between us felt special. Then he’d checked out that woman right in front of me. I’d had to sit witness as he’d drooled over her cleavage and raked his eyes over her ass as she’d strutted to the door.

Had he gone home with her after I’d left? Did he even realize how much he’d hurt me? He treated me like second place. I was just a consolation prize. A nobody.

I was right there—sitting right there in front of him—and he picked someone else. Again. The pain I’d felt at the diner came back in full force.

I really needed that wish I’d made earlier tonight to come true.

“Good night.” I gripped the door to close it, but before it moved an inch, he said the one word guaranteed to stop me and make me weak in the knees.

“Willa.”

My name, said in his deep rumble, had never sounded so good.

“What?” I whispered.

“Dinner. Tomorrow at the bar.”

Was that a question or an order? I shook my head, closing the door another inch. “Good night, Jackson. Just . . . good night.”

“Wait.” With one stride, he stepped close. Too close. My breath hitched as the heat waves from his chest radiated my way. My goose bumps grew their own goose bumps and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t get you out of my head.” Jackson lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles down my arm, all the way from my shoulder to my elbow.