Page 13 of Curvy Girl and the Grumpy Cowboy

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of activity. The final auction bids exceed all my expectations—I find Jackson's name on the winning bid sheets for all three of the items he mentioned, plus two more. Mayor Henderson makes a speech about community support. The band plays their final set while volunteers tally the donations.

Through it all, I do my best to follow Jackson as he moves through the room. He speaks with his brothers, helps Vincent gather up a sleepy Lucy, and shakes hands with the mayor again. Occasionally our eyes meet across the crowded space, and each time, that same electric current runs through me.

Finally, as the last guests begin to leave, Melissa approaches with the final tally.

"Twenty-three thousand, four hundred and fifty-two dollars," she announces, her eyes wide. "Sarah, we did it! We blew past the goal!"

I feel tears prick my eyes as I hug her. "Thank you. For everything."

"Don't thank me," she says, pulling back with a knowing smile. "Almost a third of it came from one very determined cowboy."

I glance over to where Jackson stands talking with Cole near the door, his jacket now slung over one shoulder, tie loosened. As ifsensing my gaze, he looks up, and even from across the room, I can feel the weight of his attention.

"Go," Melissa nudges me. "We can handle the cleanup."

I hesitate. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. We have plenty of volunteers." She gives me a gentle push. "Go get your man." She adds and I shake my head with a smile.

As I cross the room toward him, I'm struck by how right this feels—walking toward Jackson Covington at the end of a long night, both of us a little tired and a little rumpled around the edges. This is the real stuff, not the polished beginning of the evening with fancy clothes and careful words.

Cole sees me coming and makes himself scarce with a mumbled excuse.

"Ready for that coffee?" Jackson asks when I reach him.

I nod. "Let me just grab my purse."

"I'll pull the truck around front."

Outside, the night wraps around us like a familiar blanket. Stars fill the sky above Cedar Falls, more brilliant than anything I saw in Seattle. Jackson's truck idles at the curb, the same reliable vehicle he's had for years.

"Where to?" he asks as I slide into the passenger seat.

"Madeline’s diner's the only place open this late," I say. "But I have coffee at my place. And it's probably better coffee."

He glances at me, clearly weighing my invitation. "Your place it is."

We drive in comfortable silence through the sleeping town. I roll down my window, letting the cool night air play with wisps ofhair that have escaped my updo. The scent of pine and grass fills the cab.

"Thank you," I say as we turn onto the road leading to the Miller property. "For your generosity tonight. It means a lot to the center."

"It means a lot to you," he corrects gently. "That's enough for me."

I study his profile in the dim light from the dashboard. The strong line of his jaw, the slight crook in his nose from when he broke it in high school, the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples.

To my surprise, Jackson clears his throat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"I, uh—I dated someone too. About three years after you left."

This catches me off guard. In all Cole's updates over the years, he never mentioned Jackson seeing anyone seriously.

"She was a horse trainer from Bozeman," he continues, his voice low. "Smart. Independent. Everyone thought she was perfect for me."

"What happened?" I ask, trying to ignore the unexpected jealousy curling in my stomach.

Jackson's hands flex on the steering wheel. "Six months in, she wanted to meet my family. I brought her to Sunday dinner." He shakes his head slightly. "Vincent made your cornbread recipe."

"The jalapeño one?"

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