Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(31)

Jasper eyes me speculatively. He really hasn’t said much to me. I don’t know if I scared him off with my comment about how hell would be a jolly good time with him there—talk about cringe—or if he just doesn’t want me to come with him.

Maybe forcing my way into his bed was too far.

Maybe he’s figuring out that I never really got over him.

It’s hard to tell when he doesn’t talk. But I’m used to that. He’s always been quiet, and I’ve always just done what I wanted. Talked to him. At him? Practiced my choreography when I ran out of things to say.

And he’s always just watched. And listened.

So I guess the way he’s staring at me right now isn’t new either, but it has the hair on my arms standing on end all the same.

I toss the bag in the back seat, my body rumbling along with the loud truck. The dually is massive, runs loud, and has the power to pull the flat bed that is now loaded with huge round bales of hay.

My palms slap against my thighs as I stare out the windshield at the posts flanking the end of the driveway, the ones joined by an archway that has a wrought iron Wishing Well Ranch sign hanging from it. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.” I’m ready for some fresh scenery. I feel like I’ve been walking on eggshells all week here in Chestnut Springs.

Jasper doesn’t put the truck in drive. “You sure?”

“That we should go?” My nose scrunches as I glance over at him, so intent on me.

“No. That you should come with me.”

Heat flares on my cheeks like I’m a goddamn teenager. I almost giggle at the turn my thoughts take. I’d pay good money to come with Jasper Gervais.

“Yes. Stop asking, Gervais. You’re stuck with me.”

I chance a glance over at Jasper’s handsome face. His stubble a little longer than usual, his hair still damp and combed back. His jaw still just as stupidly square as it’s always been.

He quirks a dark brow at me. “Always.”

I huff out a small breath and drop his gaze again, trying to figure out what’s changed between us in these last several days. Did it all start that night at dinner when he met Sterling for the first time? Or was it when he charged into that room in the church, looking like a fucking superhero in a perfectly tailored suit? Was it when we sat on the roof?

All I know is that something is different.

“I can’t help but point out that you going on this road trip with me seems an awful lot like you running away from your life.”

“My mom said she’d get away, and honestly, nothing has ever sounded more appealing.” Jasper is just the cherry on top—but I don’t voice that thought. Even I have boundaries when it comes to bleeding all over the place about this unrequited crush.

He gives me a droll look, one that says, You’re full of shit, before I add, “Oh yeah? And what is it that you’re doing, Jasper?”

His Adam’s apple bobs just above the neckline of his soft brown fleece as he swallows. “Helping my family.”

I guess we both have a story that we’re sticking to.

“You gonna try to tell me you don’t retreat or isolate yourself when bad shit happens? It’s like you forget I’ve known you for almost two decades.”

A muscle in Jasper’s jaw flexes with a subtle shake of his head. He reaches forward and shifts the truck into drive. “It’s impossible to forget how long I’ve known you, Sunny,” is all he says as we pull away through the gate.

And I spend an absurd amount of time turning that sentence over in my head, wondering just what the hell he means. Impossible to forget.

“Do you think about me?” I blurt, watching him still the minute those words leap from my lips. “When we go weeks or months without talking or seeing each other . . . do you think about me?”

“Why?” His voice is cool and even, giving nothing away.

I twist at my ring nervously and sigh. “I don’t know. Here. With you.” I gesture between us. “I keep forgetting about everything else in my life. Everyone else. But when we’re apart I constantly come back to y—you know what? Never mind. Just ignore me.”

The silence that stretches between us is thick, alive and sparking with the heat and reality of my almost-confession.

A heat that suffuses my entire body when he finally responds with, “Every fucking day, Sunny.”





“Want to play I Spy?” I ask after what has got to be at least an hour of silence.

I can see Jasper retreating into himself. His shoulders curl, his knuckles turn white. I swear I can see into his brain.

And what’s in there is a man who is spinning.

It makes me want to crawl into his lap and shake him, to bring him back from whatever ledge he’s toeing.

The only way I know how to do that is to entertain and engage him. Make him laugh. He has the best laugh, all deep and soft, a little breathy like he’s trying to tamp it down and hide it away.

When Jasper laughs, he looks bashful. His eyes drop and his straight teeth flash. I guess after watching him so closely for so long, I’ve catalogued his every reaction. The little tics.

It’s pathetic if I think too hard about it.

“I Spy?” His brow lifts and he glances my way.

I reach forward and turn down the Nirvana album that has been the soundtrack to the first stretch of our trip. “Yes. It’s a game where—”