Page 126 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“They say love is like falling,” he says. “But I don’t think that was the case for me. Loving you is as easy as breathing. It’s the way you smile and how your eyes brighten when you’re excited, which is often. It’s how comfortable it feels to be in your arms after a long day, and how, no matter what, your strength of spirit never wavers. You’re as big as this place. As expansive. You’re in my lungs, Ashley Alcott, and loving you was never a question. It was simply a matter of fact.”

I hastily swipe my cheek as Jackson grabs my hand in his, bringing us closer together. His next words are nearly a whisper.

“As long as these mountains stand, I will love you. That I promise, sunshine.”

I pull in my own shaky breath as Jackson smiles at me in that way he does, all humble and sincere. I never stood a chance against that smile.

“Jack,” I say, my voice barely cooperating. “I used to pretend I was a bird. A seagull, to be precise. I imagined my wings taking me wherever I wanted to go. I never knew, exactly, where that was. I just knew there wassomethingout there. I was sure of it. When I finally listened to that voice, I foundyou.”

I wipe my cheek again, although it’s a losing battle. Jackson’s grip is tight in mine, and it grounds me. It makes it easy to go on.

“What I found was a man with a heart of gold. Someone good and kind, with the cutest scowl.” I huff a laugh as Jackson attempts one now, rather unsuccessfully. “I found someone hard-working and protective. Someone stubborn about doing what’s right. I found the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

Jackson shakes his head, but his eyes are wet, glimmering like the river beside us.

“I found the place I’d been searching for,” I tell him honestly. “I foundwhoI’d been searching for. There’s not a day I don’t love you, Jackson Darling. Not an hour, not a second. It’s in every beat of my heart, in the iron that runs through my veins. You’re a part of me, cowboy, and, as surely as the sun sets day after day, I will keep on loving you.”

I can feel Jackson’s inhale in my own chest, feel the way he aches with it. Because I ache, too. The best sort of pain.

It’s a blur again after that. Snickerdoodle comes down the aisle with our rings, a sight that has our wedding guests laughing. Smooth metal is slid onto my finger, and another ring is added to Jackson’s current collection. There’s steady blue eyes and words spoken—soft and solemnI dos. There’s the whoop of a particularly rowdy Darling brother as the officiant pronounces us husband and husband.

And then there’s Jackson’s lips on mine, tasting of home.

Our family and friends clap as we walk down the aisle, hand in hand. Virginia lets out a piercing whistle. My cheeks hurt with how hard I’m smiling.

It’s early evening when our celebration moves inside the dining room at the back of the ranch house. Lights are strung along the beams in the ceiling, more hanging from the awning over the back porch. For once, I didn’t cook dinner, but everyoneenjoys the sandwiches Marigold’s friend Louise provided and the glasses of Darling Whiskey being poured.

Jackson and I take a moment for ourselves out on the deck, the air a little cooler now, our jackets on a chair inside. Music plays from within the dining room, and I catch sight of Marigold and Hank dancing with one another, Hank’s head resting on Marigold’s taller shoulder.

“Should we take the horses out this weekend?” Jackson asks. “We could pack some lunch. Stay out all afternoon.”

My lips twitch, my arms wrapping around his back as his hands settle on my hips. “Jackson Darling, are you asking me on a date?”

He grumbles something I can’t quite hear before saying, “And if I am? I’m allowed to take my husband out on dates, you know.”

This man.

“Yeah, Jack. That sounds perfect. Maybe your mom could pack us a picnic.”

Jackson stills for a second before tucking his face against my neck, his teeth nipping. I bark a laugh, the sting and subsequent soothing of his lips making me eager to get home to our bed. Or, heck, even the couch would do.

“I’ll pack our own damn food,” Jackson rumbles, sounding put-out.

I smooth my hands up his back, hugging him to me. “Sweet, sweet man,” I murmur.

He shakes his head, beard bristling my skin. “I don’t know why you keep calling me sweet. You’re the only goddamn person who thinks that.”

I huff a laugh, pulling back enough to see Jackson’s face. “Because youare. You, Jack, are sweet like whiskey.”

His brow creases. “Meaning what? I come with an abrasive kick?”

A smile curves my lips, and I bring my mouth close to his ear. “Meaningyou put up a rough front. But under all that bite is a sweetness that lingers on my tongue.”

Jackson sucks in a breath as I tug his earlobe between my teeth, his eyes darting down to my mouth as soon as I lean back. “For the record,” he says hoarsely, “I think you’re full of it.”

“I can be full ofyoulater if you want.”

He groans, tucking his face against my neck again. “Fuck, sunshine. How long do we needa stick around our own reception?”

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