Page 17 of Second Chance Vacation

Her laughter stops as she tracks my words. Within seconds, my arms are wrapped around her waist, throwing her three feet as her body crashes into the water. For a moment, I find myself consumed by the memories we are managing to recreate, but I can’t convince myself to care. I watch as her head bobs through the water, her shifting instantly to placing her hands on my shoulders, trying with all her effort to push me down below water to no avail.

“You’re no fun.” A huff escapes her lips as I can hear her pout even if she isn’t visible. With that, my knees give against my judgment, allowing her to push me below the water even though it is crystal clear that it is manufactured. She could never get me underwater when my guard was up as a kid, and she can’t now—a fact I am pretty sure we are both aware of.

I rise to the surface as I see Savannah’s gaze stuck on Gen and me, grinning from ear to ear.

“Shut up.” I laugh, shaking my head free of water as I walk from Gen’s side toward the edge of the pool to pull myself up. My white polo is now stuck to my body like a second skin. The moment the air hits my body, I feel it prick despite the warm weather. The muggy air quickly brings my body back to temperature.

“I didn’t say anything.” She matches my chuckle with even more enthusiasm before shifting her attention to Gen once again.

“So I was thinking we could just hang here today, then we’ll head into town tomorrow morning,” Savannah asserts clearly that this trip is at her whim.

Lucky for her, I am pretty sure no one else wants the task.

“That’s fine.” Gen’s shortness in her voice from the moment I’d seen her again is back on like a veil.

Well, that levity was nice while it lasted.

SEVEN

GEN

My eyes crack open as I watch the sun barely break over the horizon.

I went to bed late, but the jet lag of travel really messed up my mental clock. It is typically nearly impossible to get me out of bed on a non-school day, so for me to be willingly awake at—I check the clock on my bedside table—6:32 AM, is quite frankly a stroke of a miracle. Despite being only a bit past midnight back home, the lack of consistency makes my brain haywire.

I roll away from the window with a groan to notice the other side of the king mattress is strikingly empty. It has definitely been slept in but is irrefutably empty. Jackson’s scent assaults my senses, the notes of bergamot and cedar fogging my memory. I slept like a rock, but the blankets are way more ruffled than my own sleep would cause, the sheets still warm to the touch.He must have just gotten up.

I wrap the plush blanket around my body—my brain is groggy as I creep down the stairwell, keeping my steps light in the hope of not waking anyone up. The house is dark. Savannah has never been an early riser either, but I can see the faintest outline of a silhouette sitting out on the back patio. As I walk across the open floor plan, the floor creeks below my feet. Despite the modern renovations, the house is clearly as old as the other houses in the area.

I stand in the French doors as Jackson’s face comes into my view, the steam of a mug billowing against his chin. Being near him again reemerges some intense emotions, none more nerve-racking than the anxiety I feel around him. The unknowing feeling he creates in me leaves me feeling helpless.

The lack of caffeine flowing through my veins dulls that feeling, leaving me with a surprising sense of calm. I stood there for longer than I would like to admit. My eyes feel impossible to break away from the sight in front of me. Jackson is typically a rather composed person, but as I watch his ruffled brown strands catch in the wind, and his hands reach up to rub his ocean-blue eyes and scratch his stubble, I am reminded that beneath the exterior he portrays to the world, he really is just a man below it all.

“There’s coffee on in there—or are you just going to stand there and stare at me creepily from a dark room?” His facial expression doesn’t change as he speaks, but his gaze drifts to me out of the corner of his eye, reassuring me that it is indeed a joke, or at least I am assuming it is a joke.

I say nothing in response, whether because I am enjoying the rare sense of peace I am experiencing or because I am too tired—I’m not totally sure. After walking back into the kitchen, I grab my mug and two croissants from the box on the counter. I still have no idea who supplies the house with groceries, as I have yet to see Savannah leave without us. With the sun barely visible in the sky, I don’t really care. Food is food.

Settling into my seat next to Jackson, I watch the sun begin to creep higher across the horizon, painting the sky in breathtaking hues of pink, orange, and purple. I have witnessed quite a few sunsets in my lifetime but very few sunrises. While equally beautiful, dawn holds a level of tranquility that you don’t find in the evening.

I kind of like it.

“What are you doing up so early?” I murmur, the rasp in my voice painting me in the sleep I’d been enjoying mere minutes ago. I press the mug to my lips, tasting notes of chocolate and citrus as I take the sip of coffee I so desperately need.

“You snore.” Jackson is oddly choppy this morning; I would take it personally if I didn’t know that is just how he is. Our lack of admiration for the morning hours is one of the things we’ve always agreed on.

“No, I don’t.” The scoff flows off my lips without a second thought.

“You do.”

His gaze meets mine before he takes a sip of his own coffee. I know I snore. I’ve been told numerous times. Savannah has even thrown a pillow at my head once or twice. I have also been told, or convinced myself, that it is more of a cute little hum, a chirp if you will. “But no, that’s not why I’m up. Just jetlagged, I guess.”

“Me too.” I yawn, the words barely getting out.

My vision shifts back to the beautifully painted canvas in front of me. Neither of us is known for our early morning personalities, so it is no surprise that neither of us is much for many words. Despite that, I feel content. I feel a level of calm I haven’t felt in a long time, and whether I can attribute that to the sunrise or Jackson, I don’t want to think about.

I mean, definitely the sunrise, not Jackson.Jackson brings me absolutely no solace.

“I grabbed you a croissant—peace offering?”

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