Page 168 of The Coach

“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.

Becausewhat if?—

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

Butpretend? 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 thanwalkthat 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 werereallyplaying 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, likeHocus PocusorPractical 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 thinkingLittle 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 hashimin 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 meansjust as muchto him. His thumb brushes along my jaw.

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