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Chapter Thirty

IVY

The weekend can’t come soon enough.

We have it all planned out. The Fall Festival is Saturday afternoon, which is perfect. Jackson’s first time meeting my parents doesn’t have to be some awkward, stationary family dinner where everyone stares at him like an animal in a zoo. Instead, we’ll be out in the crisp autumn air, surrounded by hayrides, pumpkin patches, cider stands, and live music.

It feels safer this way.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Saturday morning arrives, and Jackson steps out of his sleek Uber XL—Jackson flew into Davenport this morning—in front of my parents' house, with his duffel bag. He looks ridiculously, effortlessly hot—jeans, a fitted Henley, a Stallions cap pulled low. His sharp gaze sweeps over the small-town setting, taking it all in.

And just like that, my nerves hit me like a freight train.

“Holy shit,” Carl mutters under his breath as Jackson walks up. “You’re Coach Jackson.”

Carl turns to me, eyes wide. “ This is the father?”

I offer a shrug, trying to hide my amusement at Carl’s response.

Carl goes on. “You said he worked in sports! Ivy, that might be the biggest undersell of the century. Damn!”

Jackson extends a hand, offering my stepdad a firm, confident handshake. “Nice to finally meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for being there for Ivy during this time.”

Carl narrows his eyes like he’s studying him. Then, in the most Carl move ever—he tests him.

Carl grins, slaps Jackson on the back, and immediately launches into football talk. “Alright, Coach. What the hell happened with the defense last week? You let New York’s quarterback run all over you like it was a damn track meet.”

Jackson smirks, completely unfazed. “We’re making some adjustments. You’ll see.”

Carl scoffs, shooting Jackson a look. “I better.”

Mom nudges me. “Well, at least he didn’t threaten to run him over with his truck. You know how he is—always giving people hell about the Stallions. But he loves that damn team. Swears he could run the defense better himself.”

I let out a nervous laugh as Carl and Jackson walk ahead, already deep in football talk. I love how they don’t even talk about the baby. Classic guy talk.

Mom squeezes my hand, giving me a knowing look. “He’s handsome,” she says, eyes twinkling. “Tall, too.”

I nod. “I know.”

She leans in, voice softer. “And, honey…he’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s going to happen between you two from here?”

My stomach sinks. “I don’t know.” I swallow. “Yet.”

That afternoon, we pull up to the cornfield where the festival takes place.

Kids run around with sticky caramel apples. Hayrides rattle past. A country band plays on a wooden stage. Vendors sell handcrafted goods and seasonal treats.

But none of that matters.

Because Jackson Knox is in Riverbend. And people notice.

“Oh my God,” a group of teenage boys whispers, gawking. “That’s him. That’s Coach Knox.”

A group of elderly women eyes him up like they’re assessing cattle at the county fair.

A random dad nudges his son. “Son, shake this man’s hand. He’s a legend.”

I stifle a laugh as Jackson humbly plays it off, shaking hands and smiling, but I can see the tension in his jaw. He hates this kind of attention.

“This is worse than I thought,” I whisper to Mom.

She smirks. “Welcome to small-town celebrity status, honey.”

And then, I see him.

Kyle.

Great.

Standing near the pumpkin patch, his arms crossed, watching.

Jackson notices immediately.

His jaw tightens. His stance shifts.

“There he is again,” Jackson mutters, voice low. “Ivy, I know you like to the best of people. But this is getting creepy.”

I nod, my stomach twisting. “I won’t argue with you.”

Kyle doesn’t approach. He just stands there, watching.

Jackson exhales sharply. “If he so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll handle it.”

I grab his hand, squeezing. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

But Jackson doesn’t look convinced.

“That dude is toeing the line. And if I have to knock him out, I will.”

“Jackson, no. You can’t. What would the press say?”

He turns to me, voice firm. “Ivy. If you think I give a damn what the press says when it comes to protecting you, you don’t know me at all.”

Chills run down my spine.

And for the rest of the day? He never lets me out of his sight.

Despite the small-town hysteria—and Kyle being weird as hell—there are moments that make me forget all of it. Moments that remind me why I’m falling for him.

At some point, Jackson gets roped into judging the town’s pie-baking contest, much to his surprise and my amusement. He takes the job dead serious, sampling each slice with the concentration of a man reviewing game film. After one particularly delicious bite, he nods approvingly. “This is a damn good pie, Miss June.”

Miss June, a tiny woman with silver hair and an apron that reads Kiss the Cook , gasps and clutches her chest like she’s about to faint. “Oh my Lord,” she breathes. “Coach Knox said my pie is good!”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as Jackson gives me a helpless look. He’s officially been adopted by Riverbend’s elderly fan club.

Even Carl seems to warm up to him—well, as much as Carl is capable of warming up to anyone. He challenges Jackson to the annual pumpkin toss, talking a big game about his “championship arm” from his high school days. Jackson, of course, wins easily, throwing his pumpkin twice as far. Carl grumbles, shaking his head as he dusts off his hands, but I catch the way his lips twitch, like he secretly approves.

As the afternoon fades into golden evening, Jackson pulls me aside. We stand at the edge of the festival, away from the crowd, where the field stretches out in front of us, painted in warm hues of orange and gold. He rests a protective hand on my belly, his fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of my dress.

“This is nice,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

I smile, leaning into him. “Yeah. It is.”

For a moment, it’s just us. The sound of laughter and music drifts in the background, the twinkling festival lights coming to life as the sun starts to set. Jackson’s thumb moves in slow circles over my stomach, and my chest tightens with something warm and unfamiliar.

It’s almost perfect.

Almost.

But as the festival begins winding down, reality slips back in. The lights flicker on, the band plays its final song, and Jackson steps away to talk to Carl for a minute.

And that’s when Kyle chooses to approach me.

His presence is unwelcome but impossible to ignore. He stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You think this guy’s sticking around, Ivy?” His voice is low, edged with something I can’t quite place.

My stomach twists. “Kyle, just go.”

His jaw clenches, and for a second, I think he might. But instead, he exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Just don’t come crying to me when this whole thing falls apart. He’s too good for you, Ivy, and you know it. I’m trying to warn you.”

A chill runs through me.

Because something about his voice doesn’t sound like an ex-boyfriend nursing old wounds.

Jackson doesn’t have to hear what Kyle said to know he doesn’t like it.

I see him before Kyle does—tall, broad, moving through the thinning crowd with an easy but smooth stride. His eyes are locked on us, his expression unreadable, but there’s an edge to the way his jaw tics, the way his fingers flex at his sides.

Kyle must sense the shift in the air, because he glances over his shoulder just as Jackson steps up beside me.

“You need something?” Jackson asks, voice low and steady.

Kyle straightens, squaring his shoulders. “Just talking to Ivy.”

Jackson doesn’t so much as blink. “Yeah? ‘Cause it sounded like you were warning her about something.”

Kyle lets out a slow exhale, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the tension. “Just looking out for an old friend.”

Jackson chuckles, but there’s nothing amused about it. “That right?” His voice drops slightly. “Well, let me make something real clear. Ivy doesn’t need to be looked after by you .”

Kyle tenses, his hands balling into fists. “You don’t even know her, man. You roll into town for a weekend and think you?—”

Jackson steps closer, cutting him off. “You’re right,” he says, his voice calm, measured. “I don’t know her as well as I want to. I can’t wait to get to know her more every day. But I know enough to see she doesn’t want you here.”

Kyle shifts his weight, glancing at me, as if expecting me to say something. But I don’t. I don’t need to.

Jackson takes another step, his voice dropping even lower. “And I know this, too—you show up uninvited again, make her uncomfortable? We’re gonna have a problem. A real big problem. Kyle.”

Kyle exhales sharply, his nostrils flaring. For a second, I wonder if he’s actually stupid enough to try something.

But then he scoffs, shakes his head, and mutters, “Jesus. Whatever.” He backs up a step, his eyes flicking to me one last time. “Good luck, Ivy.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the night.

I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Jackson stays tense beside me, his fists still clenched. He watches Kyle until he’s out of sight, then exhales through his nose, shaking his head.

“Asshole.”

I swallow hard. “Jackson. Thank you. You handled that well.”

His gaze snaps to mine, sharp and fierce. “You need to tell me if he bothers you again. If he so much as looks at you the wrong way—or even the right way, I want to know. That dude is not right in the head.”

There’s something possessive in his voice, something protective that makes heat roll through me.

I nod. “Okay.”

He runs a hand down his face, exhaling hard, like he’s trying to shake it off. Then, finally, he looks at me again, his features softening slightly. “You okay?”

I nod again. “Yeah.”

Jackson studies me for a second longer before wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get out of here.”

As the festival winds down and the air turns cooler, Jackson and I leave the fairgrounds, walking back to my place in comfortable silence. The night sky is clear, stars twinkling above us, and the scent of caramel apples and bonfire smoke lingers in the air.

When we reach my door, he hesitates, hands in his pockets. “You tired?”

I smirk. “You asking because you’re exhausted, or because you’re hoping I’m not?”

His lips twitch. “Both.” He leans in slightly. “Was kind of hoping we could keep hanging out.”

I arch a brow. “Hanging out?”

He grins. “Yeah. You know. On the couch. Watching a movie. Behaving. ”

I laugh. “You? Behaving?”

“Hey, I’m capable.” His grin turns a little cocky. “For, like, ten minutes.”

I shake my head but step inside, leaving the door open for him. “Fine. Pick a movie.”

Jackson toes off his shoes and heads for the couch while I change into some comfy clothes—leggings and one of his hoodies that he left behind in Riverbend last time. When I come back, he’s flipping through movies, looking annoyingly comfortable on my couch.

I plop down beside him. “So? What are we watching?”

He stretches an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers lightly grazing my shoulder. “Something that’s not gonna make me look like an asshole for falling asleep halfway through.”

I shake my head. “So, nothing with subtitles.”

He shoots me a look. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

He chuckles, finally selecting The Mummy —a classic action movie, low-stakes but entertaining. And with the most attractive cast ever assembled, apparently.

As the movie starts, I curl into his side, and he pulls me closer, his arm draped around me. His body is warm, solid, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is soothing.

For a while, we just sit there, watching in comfortable silence. His thumb strokes slow circles on my shoulder.

And then—his voice, quiet and thoughtful.

“I really liked today.”

I tilt my head up to look at him. “Yeah?”

His gaze is steady, warm. “Yeah.” He hesitates. “Your family’s great.”

A slow smile spreads across my face. “They liked you too, you know.”

Jackson smirks. “I mean, Carl literally threatened my life if I hurt you, so…”

“That’s how you know he cares.” I laugh. “I’m not even joking about that.”

He huffs out a laugh. Then, after a beat, he says, “Do you think your mom could tell?”

I blink. “Tell what?”

“That I’m kind of crazy about you.”

My breath catches.

I open my mouth—probably to deflect, probably to make some joke about how he has to be crazy to deal with me—but the words won’t come.

Because the way he’s looking at me?

It’s different.

It’s serious.

It’s real.

And for the first time tonight, it hits me.

This isn’t just some casual, let’s-figure-it-out thing anymore.

This is real.

Jackson Knox is in my life. In my town. In my home.

And he wants to be.

Instead of answering, I turn toward him, resting my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm.

His eyes darken.

And then, slowly, smoothly, he leans in.

His lips brush mine—soft at first, testing.

And then?

Then, I melt.

“Ivy. I already leave Monday and it’s killing me. It’s not enough time with you. I want you to know this is eating at me. But I have an idea for tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” My ears perk up.

“I want you to show me what it would be like…if I were to live in Riverbend. With you. Just play pretend. What would we do on your perfect Sunday?” He brushes his thumb against my jaw. “Hear me out. This is the only weekend I’ll have off until the end of the season. I have some ideas of what we could do to make it a perfect day. But I want to hear yours.”

Jackson's words settle deep in my chest, warm and dangerous.

Because what if ?—

No. I can’t let myself get carried away.

But pretend ? That, I can do.

I bite my lip, thinking. “Well, a perfect Sunday in Riverbend definitely starts with coffee. And maybe pancakes. There’s a little café down the street that makes these ridiculous apple cinnamon pancakes this time of year.”

His lips twitch. “Sold.”

I smile. “And then? A slow walk through town, stopping at the farmer’s market, because that’s what I do every Sunday morning if I have time.”

Jackson nods. “Okay.”

I shift slightly against him. “After that…I don’t know. Maybe we take a drive and go for a walk?”

“To the same place we…walked when I was here the first time? Whispering Pines?”

I grin, remembering how we did a lot more than walk that afternoon…

“Yeah, Whispering Pines. Glad you remember.”

“How could I forget?” His fingers trace lazy circles along my hip. “That’s where all the good fall colors are, right? And it’s supposed to be pretty warm tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Alright. Coffee. Pancakes. Farmer’s market. A scenic drive.” He tilts his head. “And then?”

I chew on my lip. “Well…after that, if we were really playing pretend? We’d probably come home and cook dinner together. Something cozy. Maybe homemade soup or pasta. And then I’d make you watch something classic and comforting, like Hocus Pocus or Practical Magic. ”

Jackson groans. “That’s where you lose me.”

I shove him lightly. “Hey!”

He chuckles, catching my hand. “I’ll sit through it. But only if you promise I get to pick the next one.”

I narrow my eyes. “Let me guess. Football documentary?”

“I was thinking Little Giants . Only one of the best nineties movies ever made. They just don’t make sports movies like they used to.”

I sigh dramatically. “Fine.”

Jackson grins, then leans in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I love it.”

“What?”

He brushes his nose against mine. “Your perfect Sunday.”

My chest tightens. Because it is perfect.

And the scariest part?

It’s perfect because it has him in it.

He holds my gaze for a beat longer, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Like maybe he’s thinking the same thing. Like maybe this means just as much to him. His thumb brushes along my jaw.

And then—just when my heart’s about to explode from how soft this moment is—his voice drops, rough and teasing against my ear.

“Just make sure you’re wearing something…with easy access on our walk.”