Page 11 of Forget Me Knot

“I feel like I might be missing something,” Jackson admits, running a hand through his hair. “I know this will sound a little crazy, but the other night… I felt like we had…” He pauses and gestures between the two of us. “I felt like we might have something between us, ya know?”

“We did?”

He nods, a shy, uncertain smile shows me a hint of his teeth. “I thought so. I hoped.”

I am absolutely flummoxed. This man has spoken more words in the last thirty seconds than he did for the two to three minutes he stood uncomfortably in my presence only days ago. He appears emotionally intelligent and pleasant even. And unlike Emory’s earlier assessment, hedoesseem into me.

He's holding himself differently, too. Somehow more proper and poised. I study his face, where the scruff that had been taunting me along his jawline is now smooth and defined. His hazel eyes are the same, though today they do seem a bit brighter somehow.

“Do you have a brother?” I blurt out because it’s the only thing that makes sense.

“A brother?”

“Yeah. Do you have a brother? Because I just don’t understand how we are going from this”—I wave a hand between him and me—“to what happened the other day.”

“The other day…” he echoes. “Right. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I have a brother.”

“You do!” My voice lifts with tenuous hope. He has a brother. Obviously a twin. My heart and ovaries want to throw a party, but I tell those girls to calm down and not to get ahead ofthemselves again. Patience is a virtue, and we all gotta wait to see what happens next.

His confidence returns, and he holds out his hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced yet, right? I’m sorry about that. I’m Jackson Jones.”

I accept his hand and feel the old ticker beating faster when he doesn’t release me, but instead, lets his thumb graze the back of my hand.

“Hi, Jackson.”

“Hi, Dinah Belle.” He uses his grip to inch closer. “I’m not sure what my… whathesaid to you, but I’d like the chance to revisit the discussion about you and me.”

“I’m listening,” I say like I’ll consider him, but the truth is, my resolve is a puddle, melted at my feet. I’m waving the proverbial white flag and would walk out of here right now if he asked. And I’m learning I have zero self-control.

“I know it’s a bit forward, but I want to get to know you better. Let me take you out?”

I tap my fingers along the counter top. “And where would we go, Jackson Jones?”

“I’ve got some ideas. Say yes. Give me a little of your time.”

This is definitely not the man I met a few days ago. I see now, the differences are as clear as night and day. Where his brother was abrupt and terse, Jackson is smooth and kind. And it's his instant likeability that makes him impossible to resist.

“Yes.”

Jackson takes a deep breath, and then, just as a small group of teens walk into the shop, he leaps from his chair, circles the room, and shouts with his fists in the air, “She said yes!”

The teens cheer, and I just know my cheeks match my hair right now.

“You, Dinah Belle”—Jackson returns, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles like a good Southern gentleman—“have made me a very happy man.”

5

TOO SWEET

HOZIER

JACK

Dinah.

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