Page 87 of Courageous Hearts

I peek over at Jameson, a smile lighting my face once more. “Yeah,” I say. “It was pretty great.”

His smirk matches my own.

Jameson and I head to the bedroom as soon as we’re mostly wrung out, and the second the door closes behind us, we start stripping out of our soaked clothes. Mine’s a little easier to manage, seeing as I can simply drop the skirt. It takes Jameson a good half minute to wrangle his jeans off.

I’m laughing again by the time I flop onto the bed in dry, comfy pajamas, and Jameson’s crooked smile is out when he joins me. He tugs me into his arms without a word, our legs tangling, and I run my finger over that dimple in his right cheek, pressing lightly against the tiny divot.

Without a word, Jameson leans forward, his lips catching mine. It feels like a spark. Like we’re still caught in that thunderstorm.

“Jamie,” I breathe out, lips tingling when we separate long minutes later. “We can’t…”

“I know,” he answers, pulling back an inch. “We’re not quiet.”

I huff a laugh.

“I didn’t expect to, Bo,” he adds. “Just let me hold you.”

I nod, and Jameson shifts, rolling his body on top of mine and trapping me under all that weight. I let out a sigh, sinking against the mattress, and Jameson tucks his face into my hair. Surrounded in warmth, with Jameson’s heart beating against my own, I dream.

Jameson is sleeping like the dead when I wake up. I’m not surprised. He said he barely slept a wink the night before, having caught a plane ride early in the morning.

I leave him to rest and slide quietly out of bed, bringing my clothes to the bathroom to change. Sara is nowhere to be seen when I enter the living area, so I step outside, turning my face up to the late morning sun. Last night’s storm is long gone, and only blue sky remains, as if it never happened at all.

Stepping past Sara’s mostly barren garden, I head down the planks of Nash’s dock, my bare feet slapping the wood softly. The massive pond glitters blue and white under the cloudless sky, the water gentle and still. It reminds me of sitting at Lake Michigan with Jameson. Of that first night that felt like a real date between us. Of feeling safe in his arms, even then. Of knowing I’d found something unusual. Something precious and rare.

“Bo?” a deep voice calls.

Smiling, I turn around, not in the least bit surprised to find Nash Dupree making his way down the dock toward me.

“Heya, Nash.”

He returns my smile, the expression tempering the gruffness of Nash’s exterior. With his big beard, somewhat bulky frame, and resting scowl, it’d be easy to assume the man was a bit of a curmudgeon. But that’s simply not the case. He’s immensely kind. And when I sat on this very dock six years ago after attending my first Pride Parade, terrified about what was going to happen now that my dad knew my secret, Nash was there.

He made me feel safe, too.

“How’s it goin’?” he asks, stepping up beside me and tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Really good,” I answer, not having to exaggerate one bit. I look over my shoulder at Nash’s cabin. “Is Doctor Hanson here?”

Nash nods. “Jake’s inside gettin’ the last of our bags packed.” At my inquisitive glance, Nash explains, “Campin’ before it gets too cold.”

“Ah,” I answer. “Well, have fun with that.”

“We always do,” he replies in his low rumble, smirking slightly.

I huff a laugh. I don’t even want to know.

“Y’know, you promised me a story the last time you were here,” Nash says, winging up a brow.

It takes me a moment to remember what he’s talking about. It was two years ago, that Christmas just after I’d started working at Gertie’s. I’d finally found my people and was truly feeling settled in my skin for maybe the first time ever. I think Nash could sense it was something noteworthy from my tone, and I said I’d tell him about it sometime.

“I thought it was a comin’-of-age story,” I admit, quirking a smile. “Turns out, it’s a romance.”

Nash’s brows pop up. “That so?”

“Yeah,” I answer, Jameson’s dimpled smirk entering my mind’s eye.

Nash’s expression turns knowing. “Don’t suppose that’s them?” he asks, notching his chin toward Sara’s.

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