Page 86 of Sweet Like Whiskey

I let my fingers drift up under the hem of his pant leg. “Would you stay the night, Ash? Y’know, to protect that virtue of yours.”

He huffs a cheeky laugh. “So nice of you to offer. But I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

I swallow as Ash leans closer, his grin causing my gaze to lower to his lips. “I’m not that virtuous,” he whispers before dropping his leg. Empty plate and bottle in hand, Ash heads toward my house.

And I wonder why it is I was so quick to replace the word “house” with “home” in my mind.

Chapter 21

Ash

“I should’ve known,” Jackson says, managing to sound both soft and surly at the same time. It’s a true talent.

“Known what?” I ask, stepping around a child in my path. The caramel apple in their hand is nearly as big as their face.

“That you were planning on bringing me here,” he answers, meeting my gaze as the two of us amble slowly past the booths and entertainment at the Darling Autumnfest. He’s not wearing a hat tonight, and it looks as if he actually attempted to tame his hair.Attemptedbeing the key word, seeing as the strands are stubbornly refusing to stay put.

Reminds me of their owner.

“You look nice,” I tell him, realizing I failed to do so when I picked him up. “I like the ring. Is it new?”

I’ve never seen him wear one before, but Jackson simply grunts, twirling the metal on his finger. “It was a gift,” he says a little gruffly. “From Colt.”

It takes me a moment to parse through his meaning, but then I smile. “Did your brother help you get ready for our date?”

Jackson’s face immediately settles into a scowl. “Not help.Hinder.”

I laugh at his put-out expression. “And the leather bracelet?” I ask. It’s nice, but again, not something I’ve seen on Jackson before. He’s far too practical to wear jewelry around the ranch.

He sighs, long and low. “My niece.”

I bite my lip, wondering how many of Jackson’s family members showed up to primp him before our first official date. It’s sweet that they care. And it says a lot about Jackson that he didn’t want to hurt their feelings by refusing their…help.

“Well, Colton and Wendy did good,” I tell him. “But, for the record…you’d look nice whether covered in jewelry or wearing absolutely nothing at all.”

The look he sends me is sharp, a warning perhaps because of our location. But I only grin, not above ruffling Jackson’s feathers given the chance.

“What should we do first?” I ask, slowing to look at a booth full of fall-scented candles. When Jackson doesn’t answer, I find him staring in the opposite direction. “Hungry?”

He doesn’t respond, simply walks over to the vendor selling sugar-covered donuts. Curious, I follow.

“One,” he says briskly, pulling his wallet from his pocket. I watch him exchange goods before shoving his wallet away. When he walks off wordlessly, a single apple cider donut in his hand, I start to get concerned.

“Jackson?” I ask, hastening to keep up.

He doesn’t slow. He weaves through the crowd, past families and children, around pet dogs and one leashed goat. Once he clears the rows of booths, he heads toward the trees nearby.

“Jack,” I call, jogging after him.

Jackson stops in front of a big pine and, without any preamble whatsoever, chucks the donut at the tree. It hits the trunk, crumbling apart on impact, sugar and dough blasting outwards in an impressive display.

I turn to look at Jackson. “What wasthat?”

His chest rises and falls, jaw set. “Otto,” he says simply.

Oh. “That donut has to do with Otto?”

---