Mine Would Be You (73)

A sad smile tugs at my lips. “Veah, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain to me. And he’s not mad at you, I can promise that.”

And I can. Because he’s not mad at Veah. He’s not really mad at anyone anymore. He’s just processing.

“Well, I just wanted to say thank you. He talks about you all the time, not just to me. To Dad, to Mom, to Mateo. We all wanna meet you soon. Hopefully, under better circumstances.”

My chest swells with emotion as the breeze wraps around me again, and I pull my sweatshirt closer as I approach his building, my bag gently hitting my back with every step. “I’d love to, Veah. But seriously, just enjoy your time with him. You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do.” I can hear her smile over the phone. “You’re awesome, like really awesome.”

A small laugh escapes my lips as I look both ways before ignoring the red hand and crossing the street. “No, that’s all you. I’m practically obsessed, and I haven’t even met you.”

Her laugh comes across the speaker, causing my lips to pull into a grin. “Ditto. All right, well, I’m sure you’re on the way to my brother’s—”

I interrupt. “Are you stalking me?”

She laughs again. “Just my intuition, you know? Anyway, I’ll let you go. Thank you again.”

“Stop thanking me, but you’re welcome. I’ll talk to you later,” I say as I open the door to his building. The doorman smiles at me as the call ends. He greets me before buzzing Jackson’s room and letting me through to the elevators.

The ride is quick up to his floor. I walk down the familiar hallway, remembering the very first time I walked down this hallway, except in the opposite direction, towards the elevator. To think that I expected to never see him again.

It’s weird to think that he’s leaving. And I don’t know when he’ll be back.

My knuckles barely graze the door before it opens for me. I raise a brow. “Were you staring out the peephole or something?”

Jackson smiles. “Yeah, I’m actually expecting someone. Did anyone come in with you by chance?” He looks around playfully over my head before his eyes flicker back to mine.

“Oh, you are? No problem, I’ll head out and send them up.”

I begin to turn around until I feel his hand wrap around mine, and he pulls me back quickly. His blue eyes flash with amusement as he pulls me into the apartment and shuts the door, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

“I don’t think whoever you’re expecting would appreciate this,” I mumble, looking up at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut it.”

I narrow my eyes. “Make me.”

Jackson doesn’t bother responding, he just leans down and presses his lips against mine. Instantly, I feel the tension in his shoulders lessen and warmth unfurls all over my skin and deep in my chest. It’s beautiful and strange to think that I have that effect on him. Feeling the strain and the stress and the emotions almost evaporate at a simple touch, even for a second, is beautiful.

He pulls back, but not even an inch. I still feel the ghost of his lips against mine as they curl into a soft smile. “Hi,” I mutter softly as his hold tightens briefly before lessening completely. He grabs the bag off my shoulder and slings it over his own as we walk into the open kitchen. And I don’t think I’ll ever get over how stunning his apartment is.

Full-sized windows line the walls of the open concept area. The living room and kitchen are flooded with pink and orange light from the setting sun. The black couch and black accents of the décor contrast with grays and whites of the counter tops and the walls that are decorated with sporadic artwork and pictures of his family. There are candles on the coffee table and on the island countertop. A few books have strayed from the bookshelves that are next to the TV mounted on the wall and are spread on the countertop and dining table.

The September issue of Poze sits front and center on the coffee table.

Simple black barstools contrast the white counters, and Jackson sets my bag down on one of them. There are marigolds in a vase on the counter, and the rest of the kitchen is simple: all white counters with stainless steel appliances and warm overhead lighting. But the little accents like the kitchen magnets and a collection of shot glasses on the wall make it feel as warm as the rest of the apartment.

In here, the picture of the sun setting over the city skyline is just as beautiful as it is in his bedroom. I turn from admiring the room like I always do. The quiet sound of a Billy Joel record plays from a speaker, and I take a seat at the island.

“So, what’re we doing tonight?” he asks, leaning across from me, his lightly tanned forearms resting on the cool surface.

“Anything you want. I just wanted to spend time with you before you left.” I smile up at him, grabbing for the glass that I assume is his water and taking a sip. He raises an amused brow but doesn’t say anything.

“Takeout and movies okay? Not up for much else.” His words are quiet, and the tension slowly starts to rebuild in his shoulders as he stretches. I pad around the counter, kicking my shoes off and leaving them under the chair, until I’m next to him.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Want me to make cupcakes?” I rock my shoulders to the beat of the song in a playful manner, hoping to tug a smile from his lips at the mention of one of his favorite desserts. And I succeed.