Page 43 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

I jerked forward, making the table bounce again and winced as it bit into my rib cage once more.

“Willa!” Mom frowned. “Stop doing that.”

“Sorry. This chair is, um . . . uncomfortable.”

Behind me, Jackson chuckled. “I’ve got somewhere else you could sit.”

I ignored him and shoved the menu back in its place. “I’ll just have a Bud Light.”

“You got it,” he said, then finally backed away from my chair.

As soon as he was clear, I slumped in my seat, savoring the ability to breathe again. Both of my parents were inspecting me.

Mom had a goofy grin on her face. Dad’s glasses had slid down his nose and his eyes were alternating between me and Jackson.

I gave them both a small smile, tucked my hands underneath my thighs and looked around the room, pretending like that hadn’t been the most uncomfortable, yet exhilarating drink order I’d ever placed in my life.

I loved the Lark Cove Bar, and not just because of its staff. The building itself was full of character and rustic charm.

The high ceilings had exposed iron beams, and the battered floors were littered with peanut shells. None of the stools or chairs matched. The walls were paneled with warm wood and filled with a variety of signs and pictures that Hazel’s parents had collected over the years.

She’d added her own special touches when she’d moved back to Montana to run the bar. After she’d retired, Thea and Jackson had put up some things of their own as well. There wasn’t much free space left these days and I’m sure there were those who’d call it cluttered. I liked to think of it as a collection.

They’d each left their mark.

The bar itself was long and ran in an L shape across both of the back walls. Tall cocktail tables were in the center of the room, and a few booths lined the front windows. The black vinyl benches had been patched with electrical tape in a few spots.

It wasn’t fancy or trendy, but it was perfect for Lark Cove.

“Here you go.” Jackson came back quickly, setting down our drinks on square napkins along with a paper boat of peanuts. “Do you guys want dinner?”

“Yes, please. We need pizza.” Mom turned in her chair to place our regular order. The entire time, Dad watched Jackson with a careful eye.

Probably because as soon as Jackson’s hands had delivered the drinks, they’d gone right back to my chair.

I looked over my shoulder, up at Jackson. He flashed me a wink before focusing back on Mom as she rattled off our order.

Jackson’s stance was intimate and claiming. He was leaning down, just a bit, into my space. His long legs were planted wide behind my seat, so if I wanted to stand, he’d have to move first.

It was no wonder Dad was suspicious. He hadn’t missed the wink or the significance of Jackson’s stance.

As Mom finished ordering, a new wave of nerves fluttered in my belly. I wanted Jackson to leave my chair, but I knew as soon as he left, I was in for some questioning.

Mom’s detailed order of our three pizzas, all of which had their own special combination of five or six toppings, ended too soon.

“I’ll get those going. Be back.” Jackson rubbed a knuckle down the back of my arm before walking off.

One simple touch and my face was flaming again. Tingles worked their way down my elbow and to my fingertips. When I lifted my beer to my lips, my hand was shaking and a few drops sloshed over the rim.

Meanwhile, Dad sat across from me in silence, studying my every move.

Don’t bring it up. Please don’t bring it up.

“I think he likes you, sweetie.” Mom’s face was so full of hope it made me love her even more. She so desperately wanted me to date, but there just weren’t many single men my age in Lark Cove.

“Maybe.” I sipped my beer, hoping that would be the end of it. I should have known better.

“You should ask him out.” She nudged my elbow with her own. “He’s cute.”