Page 97 of Second Chance Vacation

“But, you owe me.” Her pout is even more exaggerated now.

“For what?”

“For sleeping with my brother…”

My head jerks to look directly at her, where I find her stifling a laugh.

“That was almost a decade ago…”

“People don’t forget!” Hannah laughs, turning into the gas station rest stop. “It won’t be for long, I promise. I need to find a place, but I couldn’t exactly stay in New York.”

Her ominous explanation of her urgency causes a wave of suspicion, but I don’t pry into her words. We get back on the road quickly, pushing through the four-hour drive with ease. The moment we pull into the driveway of the Parks’ vacation home, I am instantly aghast.

“This place is beautiful…” I sit there slack-jawed, looking up at the coastal architecture. The roof pitches drastically, causing one side of the house’s roof to entirely hit the ground, giving an asymmetrical look. Despite the neighboring houses being modest at best, the house in front of me displays gorgeous, expansive views that, if you squint through the tint of the windows lining the front of the building, you can see straight through to the windows at the back, showing the waves of the cresting ocean beyond the property.

“Hey, beautiful.” Jackson grins from ear to ear as he meets us at the car, grabbing my bag from my hand. Hannah holds hers out to him, only for him to look at it with a blank stare and then walk away.

“You used to be way nicer to me!” Hannah yells, her voice following Jackson as he doesn’t look back at her.

Once settled into the house, Jackson asks that I put on the dress I wore that night in France, a calming yet startling reminder of how far we’ve come. When I got dressed that day, I was so convinced that my attraction and feelings for Jackson were just that, attraction and feelings, not love.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

I slide the emerald green satin down my frame, weirdly nervous, without a single clue why. Nervous shouldn’t even be on the table. This is a family trip, for crying out loud, but something in me has my stomach in turmoil. Popping a TUMS, I move downstairs, where I find everyone setting up the table outside for dinner.

Okay, so nothing to be nervous about. Got it. Remember it. Sear that in your brain, Gen.

“You look incredible.” Jackson presses his lips to my neck, just below my ear. I shiver at the contact as I feel a roll hit the side of my arm.

“Hey!”

I toss the roll back at Hannah, who is standing over the island, picking at a roll of her own.

“Quit the PDA. It’s nasty.”

“Well—your inability to admit you want to sleep with Liam is nasty.”

Hannah squeals, throwing another roll in my direction. “Don’t speak those disgusting thoughts of yours into existence. I would rather take a hot poker to the eye.”

“That can be arranged…” Liam’s voice carries as he enters the kitchen, grabbing Hannah’s roll from in front of her and shoving the entire thing in his mouth.

Hannah rolls her eyes as she stomps her foot on Liam’s as he walks by. Somehow, he doesn’t even react, just makes his way out onto the patio without a single word in Hannah’s direction.

Each grabbing a dish from the counter, Jackson, Hannah, and I walk out to the patio, where we find everyone gathered around a beautiful summer tablescape. Centered on the table is a big bowl of lemons, surrounded by an array of greenery. Chargers are in each place setting, where crisp white plates lay, awaiting to be sullied by the delicious dishes we’ve brought out.

As we find our seats, I sit between Jackson and Mr. Park, or uh—sorry, Stephen is what I’m supposed to call him. That will never not be weird.

Jackson’s hand falls to my thigh, grounding me instantly in the uncomfortable new environment. Within minutes, we’re all laughing as we eat the food, drink copious amounts of wine and margaritas, and overall have a lovely evening. I can’t remember what had me so nervous before.

“Let's take a walk…” Jackson whispers in my ear as he places his linen napkin from his lap on the table. I follow him, unsure of where we’re going.

We find our way onto the beach, and I try my best not to tense up. Jackson knows my fears, and despite the fact that I am still filled with anxiety at proximity, Jackson, whether aware or not, places himself between me and the waterline.

His fingers entangle with mine, and I realize on contact that he’s shaking. Every so often, he squeezes my hand, wipes the sweat from his palm onto his shorts, then grabs my hand again. I rest my head against his shoulder in an attempt to quell whatever has him so riled up, but he is stiff as a board.

“Is everything okay?”

Jackson nods, a smile on his face, but I can’t help but look through his outward confidence down to the anxious boy beneath.

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