Page 6

Chapter Six

JACKSON

I lean back in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the window as Ivy drives us down a quiet, tree-lined road. The town unfolds around us like something out of a postcard—charming storefronts, kids riding bikes on the sidewalk, an old couple walking hand in hand near a coffee shop. Train horns sound in the distance. I’ve never been in a small town quite like it.

I glance over at Ivy as she talks animatedly, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing as she points out various places. Her hair’s pulled up in a loose ponytail, and the sunlight catches on a stray strand that’s escaped. She’s glowing, her passion for this town obvious, and I can’t stop staring at her.

“That’s the park where I go running,” she says, nodding toward a small, well-kept green space. “My best friend Lauren drags me out there way too early on Saturday mornings.”

“Running? Or walking with coffee in hand?” I tease, smirking.

She shoots me a mock glare. “Hey, I can run. I just...don’t love it. I actually prefer walking. Going on hikes.”

“Where do you walk? This isn’t exactly the Rocky Mountains.”

“It might be mostly flat, but we have nature in the midwest!”

“Your attitude is honestly contagious.”

She laughs. “Wanna drive by it? It’s kind of out in the cornfields. There’s a forest preserve.”

“We could drive by. We could also just, you know, go for an actual walk. It’s a nice day. And I changed into my casual shorts in the hotel.”

“It’s a special place. But I’ll take you there, what the hay.”

I laugh to myself. Ivy is the kind of girl who says what the hay, and gets excited about a walk in the middle of Iowan cornfields. And I really do love it.

Twenty minutes later, after pulling past a few miles of cornfields, the terrain changes slightly to small rolling hills—as hilly as Iowa gets—and we pull into a parking lot with just a few other cars parked.

The pine-scented air hits me the second we step out of the car, crisp and clean in a way I’d almost forgotten existed. It’s quiet here—not the oppressive kind of quiet, but the peaceful kind, the kind that makes you feel like the world slowed down just enough for you to catch your breath.

“This is Whispering Pines,” Ivy says, leading the way toward a dirt trail that cuts through the trees. To her credit, it’s not the Rocky Mountains, but there are some rolling hills. She looks over her shoulder at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s my favorite spot in town. Or…outside of town, I guess.”

I glance around, taking in the towering pines, the golden wildflowers dotting the edges of the trail, and the sunlight filtering through the trees like something out of a painting. “It’s got its charms,” I admit, following her down the path.

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I should’ve guessed that’d be your way of saying you like it.”

We walk in easy silence for a while, the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the occasional birdcall filling the space. Every so often, she points something out—a wildflower she loves, a tree she used to climb as a kid, a tiny wooden sign someone carved years ago with the words take nothing but memories .

Eventually, the trail curves, and the trees open up to reveal a small clearing with a wooden bench sitting right in the middle. Ivy stops, her expression softening as she looks at it.

“That bench,” she says quietly, “is dedicated to the couple who used to own this land. They farmed here for over fifty years before they donated it to the town.”

I step closer, reading the small brass plaque on the back of the bench. In honor of Evelyn and George Carter. Fifty-seven years of love, laughter, and a life well lived together. They even died the same year—just a few years ago—which is engraved into the plaque as well.

The words in the dedication hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I just stare at them, surprisingly feeling something catch in my chest that I didn’t know was there before this weekend.

“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” Ivy says, sitting down on the bench and brushing her hand over the plaque. “The story goes, George used to bring Evelyn out here every Sunday after church to sit under this tree and watch the sunset. It was their thing.”

I sit beside her, the bench creaking slightly under my weight. “Fifty-seven years,” I say, shaking my head. I’m not usually the sentimental type, but something it hits me harder than it seems like it should. This guy—guy and girl—believed in that old fashioned, dedicate stuff to your soul mate kind of love. And quite frankly, that’s a type of love I’d given up on long ago. “Not something you see a lot any more. It’s honestly really endearing. Admirable.”

“It is,” she says softly. “I mean, I’ve always thought so. My mom used to bring me here when I was little, and she’d tell me their story. She said this place was proof that real love exists, even if it’s rare. I sometimes think that this kind of love doesn’t even exist anymore. That a certain kind of love is a relic of a bygone era.”

I glance at her, watching the way her fingers trace the edge of the plaque, her expression far away. “Do you believe that?” I ask. “That real love exists? Or do you really think it’s a relic?”

She shrugs, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t know. I’d like to believe it does. But I also think my mom’s right—most people don’t stay in Riverbend long enough to find out.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She smiles faintly, tilting her head to look at me. “She says Riverbend is a good place to be from . But most people? They move somewhere else. They leave. But I don’t know—to me? I feel mostly happy here. Sure, maybe I miss out on some glamorous parts of city living. The food, I guess? The dating scene. But I’ve always felt that I don’t need to chase happiness. That it’s right here. My grandmother used to say, ‘wherever you go, there you are.’ And I just feel like that’s the truth for me in so many ways.”

“Damn.”

The words settle between us, and I feel a pang of something I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s that this woman ten years younger than me somehow seems like one of the wisest people I’ve ever met.

I look back at the plaque, imagining George and Evelyn sitting here, their lives intertwined in ways most people only dream about. The dedication and the love it must have taken to be together for that length of time.

For a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever have something like that. If I even want it. But then Ivy shifts beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, and the thought slips away, replaced by something simpler, something raw.

“This place suits you,” I say, breaking the silence.

She raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug, leaning back on the bench. “It’s honest. Uncomplicated. Beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, laughing softly. “Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

“Maybe,” I say, grinning. “But it’s also true.”

The smile on her face is real, and for a second, I forget about the train I’m supposed to catch later, the life waiting for me outside of Riverbend. For now, it’s just her, this place, and the quiet magic of Whispering Pines.

We sit there for a while, the warm almost-summer breeze rustling through the pines, the faint sound of birdsong filling the quiet. Ivy’s eyes are on the plaque again. I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable just sitting with someone, but with her, everything feels... right. Easy.

I shift closer, sliding my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me without hesitation. The warmth of her body against mine sends a spark of something deeper through me, and I glance down at her, catching the soft curve of her lips, the way her hair catches the sunlight.

“So,” I tilt my head down toward hers. “You ever made out in this park?”

She looks up at me, her lips twitching into a smile. “No,” she says, her voice soft. “I haven’t.”

“Really?” I tease, letting my fingers trail lightly over her shoulder. “What a wasted opportunity.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon in broad daylight.”

“Good thing I don’t care,” I say, leaning in and capturing her lips with mine.

She melts into me instantly, her lips soft and warm, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding down to her thigh, feeling the heat of her skin through her leggings. Her breath hitches against my mouth, and I take that as encouragement, pressing my fingers into the curve of her leg, pulling her closer.

When I finally pull back, she’s breathless, her cheeks flushed, her eyes a little hazy. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

I grin, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “You’ve got no idea.”

I stand, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Come on,” I say, lacing my fingers through hers. “Let’s keep walking.”

She follows, her steps a little unsteady as we head back toward the trail. There’s practically no one around, just the two of us and the faint sound of the wind whispering through the trees.

As we walk, I glance over at her, smirking. “So...have you done anything else in this park part from making out? And aside, from, uh, walking?”

Her cheeks flush deeper, and she laughs, shaking her head. “Uh yes ,” she says, her voice laced with innuendo. “Of course.”

“Oh?”

“Not only have I walked, I’ve also run . Jogged. Sometimes, when no one is looking? I swear, I’ll even skip. That’s a little wild, I know. I’m a weirdo.”

The way she says it, biting her lip, shy but filled with an edge of curiosity, makes something inside me stir and smile.

“Skip? You’re can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Is that what you were thinking of? Skipping?”

“That’s rebellious, I’m not gonna lie.”

I scan the trail ahead, spotting a large, flat rock bathed in sunlight but hidden just enough by the trees to give us some privacy.

“Come on,” I say, tugging her off the path.

She hesitates for a moment, glancing around. “Jackson, what are you?—”

I cut her off with a kiss, pressing her back against a tree as my hands slide down to her hips. She gasps softly, her hands gripping my arms, and I whisper against her lips, “You trust me?”

She nods, her breath catching. “Yes.”

“Good,” I say, pulling her toward the rock. She follows, her steps quickening as if she knows exactly where this is going.

When we reach the rock, I turn her to face away from me, my hands sliding around her waist and pulling her back against me. “You’re gorgeous, Ivy.” My lips brush her ear as my hands roam lower, teasing the waistband of her leggings.

Her breath comes faster, and she presses back against me, her voice a shaky whisper. “Jackson...please.”

“What do you want, Ivy?” I ask, my voice low and rough. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” she says, her voice trembling as she clumsily runs her palm over me in my shorts. “I was hoping you’d do this here.”

I groan softly, sliding her leggings down over her hips, exposing the soft curve of her ass. She leans forward, bracing her hands on the rock, and the sight of her—completely open and vulnerable—makes me lose any shred of restraint I had left.

I slide my hand between her thighs, finding her slick and ready, and she moans softly, her body trembling beneath my touch. “You’re perfect,” I grit out, positioning myself behind her. “I love how ready you always are for me.”

She gasps as I press into her, the tight heat of her body wrapping around me. Her hands grip the rock, her back arching as I move deeper, and the sound she makes is pure heaven.

“Jackson,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “Oh, God—don’t stop.”

I grip her hips, pulling her back against me as I thrust into her, slow at first, then harder, faster, as her moans grow louder. Her body shudders beneath me, her cries echoing through the trees, and I can feel her tightening around me, her release building.

“Come for me, baby,” I growl, leaning over her, my lips brushing her neck. “I want to feel you.”

Her body tenses, her head tipping back as she cries out, her climax hitting her in waves. The way she tightens around me pushes me over the edge, and I groan her name, spilling into her as I lose myself completely.

We collapse together, her body still trembling, her breaths ragged. I press a soft kiss to her shoulder, my hands sliding around her waist to hold her close.

“That was so hot,” she breathes.

You’re telling me , I grin.

And if you told me twenty-four hours earlier that I would meet a girl last night who I’d be dead on obsessed with ? I would have said you were crazy.

Back in the car, Ivy’s got a lazy smile on her face. She looks so damn pretty. Not to mention, satisfied.

“So what else should I know about the Ivy personal tour?” I ask.

She taps her fingers on the wheel, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh, the best is yet to come. Just wait.”

We drive in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet of the car filling the space. I let my gaze wander back out the window, taking in the charm of the town. It’s not what I expected—not that I’d had any real expectations.

Brick-lined streets weave through downtown, flanked by old-fashioned lampposts and historic buildings with faded signage, like they belong to another era. A corner café with wide bay windows is filled with old folks sitting out on the patio. Across the street, a bookshop with a hand-painted sign and a deep green awning sits next to a barber shop that’s probably been there for fifty years.

A train whistle sounds faintly in the distance, blending with the stir of life around us.

Still, it feels… nice. Comfortable.

The residential streets are tree-lined and peaceful, houses with wraparound porches and well-loved front yards, the kind where kids leave their bikes sprawled on the grass.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “you ever date anyone around here?”

She laughs, glancing over at me. “What kind of question is that?”

“A curious one,” I reply, grinning. “Come on. A beautiful small-town girl like you? You’ve gotta have some stories.”

She groans, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But you asked for it.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

“There was one guy,” she starts, her tone dripping with mock disdain. “Kyle. We dated for, like, six months right after college. He worked at the hardware store, and my mom loved him.”

“Let me guess,” I say, smirking. “Your mom was convinced he was ‘husband material.’”

“Exactly,” she says, laughing. “But he was… weird. Like, really into conspiracy theories. Spent hours explaining how the moon landing was fake, and—oh my God—he was obsessed with Bigfoot.”

“Bigfoot?” I echo, laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.” She shakes her head. “He even had a whole YouTube channel dedicated to ‘proving’ Bigfoot is real. The final straw? He tried to drag me to a ‘sighting’ in the woods.”

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “That’s… incredible. Please tell me he at least wore, like, a Bigfoot hat or something.”

She grins. “Oh, he had a whole wardrobe —T-shirts, hats, even socks. Full-on Bigfoot merch.”

I gasp. “No.”

“Yes.” She leans in, eyes shining with amusement. “And don’t even get me started on the flat earth thing. That was where I had to cut ties.”

I clutch my chest dramatically. “You’re telling me Bigfoot wasn’t the dealbreaker, but flat earth was?”

“Listen,” she says, “I could tolerate the occasional Sasquatch documentary. But when he started drawing me diagrams on how airplanes actually worked? That’s when I knew it was time to run.”

I shake my head, still grinning. “Well, damn. Yeah, that’s a solid reason to run for the hills. Anything else I should know?”

She hesitates, her smile faltering slightly. “Well, with Kyle…let’s just say it didn’t end well. Let’s just say he didn’t take the breakup lightly.”

My grin fades, and I study her carefully. “Did he...?”

“He didn’t hurt me or anything,” she says quickly, sensing my concern. “But he got weird. Kept showing up at my work, calling me all the time, leaving notes on my car. It was a mess.”

My jaw tightens. “Is he still around?”

“I think he moved out of town,” she says, shrugging. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

I don’t say anything, but the thought of some asshole treating her like that makes my blood boil. I force myself to relax, offering her a small smile. “Well, for the record, he was an idiot.”

She laughs, the tension breaking. “Thanks. What about you? Any crazy exes I should know about?”

I smirk, leaning back in my seat. “Not really. I’ve been married to football most of my life. Relationships don’t exactly fit into that world. I do my best to steer clear of them.”

She makes a soft sound, like she’s considering my words. “Ever think about slowing down? Moving somewhere like this?”

“Like Riverbend, Iowa?” I tease.

“Why not?” she says, glancing at me with a playful smile. “It’s got its charms.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “It does. But my mom always said, ‘You can’t just like what you do—you have to love it.’ And I love coaching too much to give it up.”

She nods, her smile fading slightly. My words hang in the air, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. There’s a wistfulness in her tone that tugs at something inside me, but before I can say anything, she pulls into the grocery store parking lot.

“We need food,” she says, her tone lighter now. “If I’m playing tour guide, you’re helping me cook lunch.”

“Deal,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.

Inside the store, we banter as we fill the cart with ingredients, Ivy joking about how “city boys” don’t know their way around a kitchen. But just as we’re rounding the corner to the checkout, I catch sight of a guy standing near the frozen foods, his eyes locked on Ivy.

She freezes beside me, her smile fading. “Oh...great,” she mutters under her breath. “Perfect timing.”

“Who’s that?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“Kyle,” she says. “Bigfoot guy.”

He doesn’t approach, but his eyes follow us as we check out, and when we leave, I can’t help but glance back to make sure he’s not following.