We began doing all types of activities together as a way of learning more about each other and ourselves. His life was spent caring for his father, and mine was spent being perfect for my mother, so for the first time ever, we took the time to learn who we were as individuals—together.
We went to movies we would’ve never seen before and loved them. We went hiking, which I hated. We tried to build furniture just to say we could do it. (He could. I couldn’t.) Some of my favorite times, though, were sitting in the back of The Silent Bookshop beside one another, flipping through different novels together. It was so easy to be quiet with him. The silence felt a little like home.
My other favorite moments were spent on his couch doing nothing but talking about anything and everything. Those were the times when I felt as if I learned the most about the man across from me. Those were the small moments I adored.
“I didn’t learn to swim until I was seventeen years old. I’ve only ever had one pet, and it was a cat named Mouse. My two front teeth got knocked out when I fell face first during the Founder’s Day parade one year. I can understand Spanish but can’t speak a word of it, and I think cardinals are my favorite bird,” I told him, giving him random facts.
He melted into the couch cushion a bit. “I was named after Jackson Pollock. My middle name is Paul because that was Jackson’s real first name. I almost fell in love once when I was nineteen with a girl passing through town. I think I chose her because I knew she wouldn’t stay. I hate peas but think they work fine in beef stroganoff. I’m obsessed with Game of Thrones, and I secretly judge anyone who isn’t.”
“Confession: I’ve never seen Game of Thrones.”
His eyes darted over to me before quickly looking away. “Oh, well, that’s okay.”
I laughed. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Secretly judging me.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not.”
“You totally are! I see it in your eyes.”
“No, I mean, I get it—it’s not your fault you’re shockingly uncool.”
I snickered and shoved him. “Screw you.”
“Nah, I don’t screw people who don’t fuck with Jon Snow.”
My cheeks heated at his comment, and I hoped he couldn’t see the redness of my face in the partially darkened room.
“I bet you’re the type of person who’s never seen Breaking Bad or The Walking Dead either.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Sons of Anarchy?”
“Um, never heard of it.”
His eyes bugged out. “Geez, Grace! What exactly do you do with your time?”
I smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know, live life?”
He grimaced. “I bet you crochet for fun.”
I blushed.
He narrowed his eyes. “You do crochet, don’t you?”
I bit my thumb.
I freaking loved to crochet.
“Oh my gosh, you’re an old woman,” he groaned, slapping his hand against his face. “Well, hell, if we are going to keep crossing paths, you’ll have to sit through a few episodes of Game of Thrones. I’m going to un-old you.”
I kept laughing. “Well, if we’re watching Game of Thrones, I’m crocheting as I do it.”
“You can’t crochet while watching. You need to be one-hundred-percent focused on the show, otherwise it’s just a waste of time. You won’t know what’s…Grace?”
“Yes?”
He glanced down, and I saw that somehow, at some point, my hand had found its way to his. I’d laced my fingers with his fingers. I’d moved in close enough to touch him, and I hadn’t even noticed.
I quickly pulled my hand away and took a deep breath.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be,” he replied. His hand slowly inched closer to me, and his pinky finger brushed against mine. “You miss this, yeah? The small moments?”
I closed my eyes at the touch. “Yes.”
His hand slowly slid on top of mine, our fingers intertwining. “And this?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth. “Holding hands?”
Take a small breath…
“Yes.”
He moved his body closer to me then took his other hand and placed it on the nape of my neck. His fingers slowly began to massage my skin, making me tilt my head to the side. “And you miss this?”
Yes…
Oh, yes, I missed that.
Our thighs brushed, our breaths sawing in and out in sync.
Yes…yes…yes…
“I miss this,” I confessed, placing my hands on his chest. “I miss being touched…miss being held without the hooking up and all.”
“Let me do this,” he said softly, placing his forehead against mine. His gentle breaths caressed my lips as I kept my eyes closed. “Let me hold you.”
He lifted me into his arms and placed me on his lap. My legs wrapped around him, and he held me close. I was so close that my head fell against his chest. We were so close that each time I took an inhale, I could listen to his heartbeats.
One breath, one beat.
Two breaths, two beats…
“Jackson,” I whispered as his fingers played with my hair. “Can I ask you to do something crazy?”
“Say the words.”
“Can you carry me to your bedroom and lie down with me and just…hold me for a little while?”
Without another word, he placed his hands beneath my legs and lifted me into the air. We moved to his bedroom and he gently lay me down then climbed right beside me. As he pulled me closer, I curved into his body. His warmth covered me whole, and I took in his scents. He felt like my favorite blanket, and I wanted to stay wrapped in him as long as I could.
There were no sounds around us, only his inhalations and my exhalations. He nuzzled his lips against my neck, and for the first time in a long time, I felt as if I were exactly where I was meant to be.
“Jackson?” I whispered, moving my body even closer to him. We were from two different puzzles, yet still, we seemed to fit perfectly together.
“Yes?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I like the way your heart beats.”
32
Jackson
“Hey,” Grace said, standing on my front porch on Tuesday afternoon, beaming ear to ear with a sly look. “Want to do something crazy today?”
*
“Okay, wait, wait, wait!” Grace cringed in Alex’s tattoo parlor as he was seconds from putting the needle against her left shoulder blade.
“We’ve been waiting for the past thirty minutes.” I laughed. “It’s now or never.”
“Will you hold my hand?” she asked.
I took hers in mine. “Always and always.”
She stared at me for a moment as if she’d seen a ghost, her lips parting as if she was going to speak, but she didn’t say a word. She tilted her head Alex’s way and nodded once. “Okay. I’m ready.”
That was a lie.
The moment the needle touched her skin, she screamed bloody murder and nearly hopped up as she squeezed my hand ridiculously tight.
“Think happy thoughts, princess,” I told her.
She inhaled sharply and nodded. “Eggs in cake, puppies, dresses, tacos.”
“Pizza, waffles, parks…”
“Bookshops, Christmas, Hallow—holy fudgeknuckles!” she barked, squeezing my hand tighter.
“You okay?” Alex asked. “Are you sure you want seven of these hearts with wings? We can do fewer of them.”
“No,” she said sternly. “I can do this. I just…” She took a breath, and I took her other hand into mine. “I can do this.”
“Okay, and while we’re doing this, can we discuss the fact that instead of cussing, you just said holy fudgeknuckles?” I asked.
She laughed. “I’ve been staying with my sister too long. I’m starting to express things like her.”
“Are you two close?”
“She’s one of the only things that gives me faith in humanity. Judy is a saint, a truly good person.”
“I’m glad you have her.”
“Yeah, me too. Ouch!” She jumped slightly.
“Focus on me, princess,” I told her. “Talk to me. Ask me questions—anything to keep your mind off the needle.”
“I can ask you questions?”
“Anything.”
She bit her bottom lip then nodded toward my wrist and the band around it. “What does that mean? Powerful moments?”
I grimaced a bit. “Just diving right in, aren’t you?”
“You don’t have to tell me. I just always notice you snapping it against your wrist.”