Mine Would Be You (58)

Everything from earlier feels lighter. Talking to him is easy. I don’t doubt myself. He never makes me feel stupid, and he flirts shamelessly with me after. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted. Everything I didn’t know I needed.

“If you ever need time, or want to think about something, I’ll never stand in your way. I promise.” I nod, feeling appreciated, wanted. More importantly, believing him when he says that. He leans back into his pillows. “Now do you want me to go so you can get work done?”

I bite my lip. “No, will you stay on the phone? Please. If you want to talk to me that is.”

His blue eyes light me up. “I always want to talk to you.”

I want Jackson. And it’s time to stop standing in my own way.

I don’t want the brightest light I’ve ever known to walk away because I was too scared to let him in.





The man brought marigolds.

Jackson Ross bought a bouquet of marigolds to bring to my parents, or more specifically, my mom.

I’m terrified. After the article was finished, I took the weekend and reminded myself what Marissa and I have talked about. About giving life and love a chance. About trusting people when they seem genuine, and Jackson is the most genuine person I’ve ever met.

Earlier this week, he called again and asked what my parents liked to drink. Talked me through my nerves again like it was nothing.

Deep down, I know I will never ever meet someone as good and as bright as Jackson.

My heart hasn’t stopped beating the whole car ride, and I swear Jackson can hear it because he keeps sending me warm looks as he drives. He leans on the center console, just close enough that the familiar scent of him fills my senses. His presence alone calms me, allowing me to push my anxieties down and live in the moment.

“Also, my mom may go in and out of Spanish, so if you need anything translated, please let me know, and my dad might try to come off intimidating and scary, but he’s really not, and you really, really didn’t have to get flowers or alcohol and—”

“Nina. Breathe.” He meets my eyes in the mirror. “It’s going to be fine. Promise.” He reaches out and squeezes my thigh gently, three times in a row until I exhale.

We’ve just turned on to my familiar street in Brooklyn, and my fingers play with the hem of my jean shorts as he parks. Jackson smiles, not an ounce of nerves surrounding him as he takes the marigolds from my hands and hops out of the car. Almost immediately, he’s at my door, holding it open.

“Come on, pretty lady, let’s go,” he says casually, the ghost of a dimple appearing. My cheeks heat immediately, and I step out, landing smoothly next to him.

His blue eyes make a quick coast down my body before flicking back up to my eyes, sending soft flickers of heat over the surface of my skin.

We walk side by side up to my childhood home, and before I can even reach for the door, it swings open. My mom stands there with a bright grin. She looks stunning, as always. Her black hair is immaculate as it falls down her shoulders over her flowy top and light blue jeans, and she looks flawless despite the simple outfit.

Her eyes widen when Jackson holds out the marigolds with a smile. My mom takes them, her hazel eyes flicking to mine, and I hold her look, silently begging her not to say anything, at least not yet.

“Hi, I’m Jackson. It’s a joy to finally meet you, Mrs. Scott.” Jackson holds out his hand, but that gesture is useless because my mom pulls him in for a big hug.

“Oh I know who you are. Please call me Elena. Come in, come in.” She pulls away and steps back so we can enter.

“Hi, Mamá, nice to see you, too,” I mutter with a raised eyebrow.

“¡Cállete, mija!” She whacks me gently on my butt as I walk inside behind them.

Instantly the aroma of food fills my senses, and I just know my mom’s made her signature tamales, and I smell my dad’s barbeque ribs as well. They pulled out the big guns for this I see, and it makes me smile.

Jackson leans down, eyes flickering quickly over my lips. “You never smile that easily for me,” he whispers, and I side eye him, appreciating the fact that he’s trying to make me feel better.

“Shut up.” I bump his shoulder playfully.

My dad stands in the entryway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his brown skin softly illuminated by the lights. Doing his best to emit I’m a tough dad vibe, but honestly, it’s not working. The man looks intimidating, just like the college football player he was, but he’s a big teddy bear on the inside.

Jackson walks toward him right away, confidently, and sticks his hand out. “Mr. Scott, what a pleasure. Jackson Ross.”

My mom interlocks her elbow with mine as we watch. Dad’s eyes flicker from Jackson’s outstretched hand up to his face briefly before he shakes his hand and finally lets out a grin.

“Nice to meet you. We’re happy to have you.” My dad’s voice is slightly mumbled and quiet as he says it, but the grin on Jackson’s face when he turns around to look at me says it all. Blush fills my cheeks, and I cast my eyes downward, biting my lip to hide a big smile.

Mom leans into my ear, “Mi amor el es lindo. Ustedes hacen una linda pareja.” My love he is cute. You two make a nice couple.

“Mamá, para, no somos una pareja.” Mom, stop, we’re not a couple.