Page 61 of Middle Ground

“Oh,” I breathe, unable to hide the note of disappointmentin my tone. I curse myself for what little restraint I seem to possess.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” I swallow, and then words fall from my lips before I can stop them. “You looked a little like you were maybe going to kiss me.”

“Oh.” The silence stretches, threatening to consume me. “If I said that I was thinking about it, would you let me?”

My stomach bottoms out and my breathing shallows again. Would I let him?

Maybe it’s the proximity or the sweetness of the pie filling, or maybe my oven is malfunctioning and filling the room with toxic fumes, but?—

“Yes.”

He surges forward, taking my face in his hands. I expect roughness with his urgency, but he’s gentle. Almosttoogentle.

I close my eyes at the first brush of his lips. Then he’s tilting my face up, angling it just so, before his mouth claims mine. I can taste the strawberry on him still, and it has my tongue sweeping out across his lower lip.

He groans in surprise, but he lets me in. It’s a clash of teeth and tongue and lips, and I pull myself closer to him, wanting more. Wanting it all.

For a few minutes, I forget about where I am and who I’m with. I don’t let myself consider the ramifications of my actions, I just feel. And it feelswonderful. For the first time in what seems like forever, my brain goes quiet. It’s strange when something so loud finally shuts off.

Eventually, Jackson pulls away, andmy body comes crashing back into reality. His hands are still on my face, so I take a step back, letting them fall away.

My thoughts—all of them, every single one—roar inside my brain.Oh, God. What did I just do?

I clear my throat as I turn toward the oven, just in time for it to ding. The pie crust is, mercifully, ready. I take my time donning my oven mitts and pulling the tray from the oven, all so I can avoid looking at Jackson.

Maybe if I pretend the awkwardness isn’t there, it will go away.

When I look up, he is staring at me. Trying to understand the shift.Please, my eyes plead.Let me hide.

A coward in every sense of the word. But me and Jackson, we no longer toe a line—we’ve crossed it. And now I’m trying desperately to scramble back to the place we once were, for going any further into the unknown will surely end in disaster.

A kiss. With mybusiness partner, no less.

Shame threads through my veins like vines on a trellis. Mom had asked me to get along with Jackson, not dothis. Despite the teasing way she talked about Cherie’s hope for us and our partnership. And if anyone in town found out, they would questioneverything. My integrity.

The inn is more important—wouldalwaysbe more important—than a kiss. Even if that kiss sent a trail of blazing heat down my spine. Even if Jackson’s lips slotted against my own like two puzzle pieces, joined at last.

Even if, goddamn it, Ilikedit.

“The filling needs more sugar,” he says.

A beat of silence, then understanding. Out. He’s givingme an out. I grab hold of it with both hands, and I don’t look back.

“Considering you can’t tell your head from your ass when it comes to baking, I think you should let me handle it, Hotshot,” I reply. “Recipes have specific measurements for a reason.”

“If you say so.”

I dip a spoon into the filling and then let it settle on my tongue. It tastes off.

“What the hell?”

He smirks. “Can’t tell my head from my ass, huh?”

I glower at him, then frown at the bowl. “What happened?”

A distraction. Jackson Vaughan is nothing but a distraction, with his pretty words and his pretty face.