I at least have the wherewithal to hold the door open for Jackson.

  I plaster on a smile and glance beyond him to my reflection in the mirrored glass, toning it down so it looks less anxiety-stricken and closer to normal. “Should we stop and grab coffees for the trip?” I point to the café next to my building. “They have the best pastries.”

  “Sure, that’s a great idea.” An amused smile plays on his luscious lips.

  Between my soaring body temperature and the inappropriate tingles below the waist, and how difficult I’m finding it not to stare, this morning is going to present a challenge in personal restraint.

  “Do you have any suggestions, London?” Jackson asks when we approach the cashier and the case full of pastries.

  “The chocolate croissants are to die for and the cinnamon buns are the best in the universe. They also have a cinnamon latte that is heaven in your mouth,” I tell him.

  “Is that what you’re having, then?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He turns to the young woman standing behind the counter. “I have it on good authority that the cinnamon latte and the cinnamon buns are to die for. Would that be accurate?”

  She blinks a few times and reaches up to touch her hairnet. “They are to die for. We usually run out of both by ten in the morning.”

  “Well then, it’s fortunate for us that we’re early risers. We’ll take two of each.” He holds up a pair of fingers, smiling widely.

  I try to pay, but Jackson insists on getting it. Once we have our order, we leave the shop and step back out onto the street. The lazy Saturday morning traffic buzzes around us, dogs walking their owners passing by, their tongues lolling as they trot happily along.

  Once we’re both standing on the sidewalk, my hand shoots out. “Let me take one of those for you!” He’s holding both of the coffees and the bag of pastries.

  He graces me with another amused smile. “That’s okay. I have it. I’m just over here.” He inclines his head to a sleek gray Tesla. Which, of course, makes sense since he’s all about being green.

  “I didn’t know you could rent Teslas.” Obviously I’m poking fun.

  Jackson arches a brow. “You can’t.”

  “Doesn’t it take a year to get one of these?” At least that’s the impression I had.

  “For most people, yes.”

  “But not for you.” It’s more statement than anything. It’s really starting to set in how big a deal it is that Jackson has taken Spark House under his wing. And that he’s allocating so much time to our event. It’s a good reminder to keep things professional.

  “No. Not for me.” His smile is wry as he sets the coffees and paper bag on the roof, opens the door, and extends a hand.

  I don’t want to be rude and not take the offer of assistance, but I remember exactly how it felt to shake his hand and the lasting impact on my body. And this time I’ll be trapped in a car with him for at least thirty minutes. Trapped is probably the wrong word. It’s not as though I’m not going to enjoy being in the car with him. The problem is how much I enjoy his proximity.

  I suck in a quick breath and slip my fingers into his palm.

  Nope.

  I did not imagine my previous reaction. Just like last time, my entire body breaks out in a wave of goose bumps. It starts at my arm, travels all the way down to my toes, and sends a skittery feeling along my scalp. I fight a shudder and lose the battle. My fingers flex around Jackson’s, and I swallow past the lump that’s suddenly clogging my throat.

  It makes me think of those romance books my gran used to read. Sometimes I’d scoop one up and flip to the sections with the dog-eared pages. Those seemed to be Gran’s favorite and also the steamiest sections.

  I’d always been fascinated by the descriptions. The way these women reacted to the hero—the butterflies, the tingles. It had never happened to me. Until now. And here I am, about to be locked inside a space that feels claustrophobically small, especially with all the things currently happening in my head and my body.

  Just stay cool, London. I force a smile and drag my gaze away from our clasped hands. Up to the open V of his collared shirt, along the closely shaven expanse of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs, and when I reach his mouth, his tongue peeks out and skims his bottom lip. It feels like a thousand years have passed by the time my eyes finally lock on his. What I see reflected back at me makes all the blood that’s currently residing in my face redirect itself toward the center of my body, and every muscle south of my navel clenches in tandem. I’ve never had someone look at me the way Jackson is right now.

  It makes this that much more confusing, because he looks like he wants to pounce on me. I don’t understand what’s happening.

  “In you go.” His voice is a gentle hand sweeping down my spine.

  I cannot be imagining that there’s something between us. I climb into the passenger side and can’t decide if I want to cry with despair or relief when he releases my hand.

  One of the coffees appears in front of my face. I’m very careful to take it from him without making contact with any of his fingers. “Thank you,” I squeak.

  “Always my pleasure, London.” His smile is wry, and I don’t think I’m imagining the amused glint in his eye.

  He rounds the hood and drops into the driver’s seat. Without his coffee or the bag.

  “Jackson?” My voice is still higher than it should be, but at least it’s down from a helium-level squeal.

  “Yes?” He touches his finger to the ignition and the engine purrs to life, as his gaze shifts my way.

  I point to the roof. “Your coffee.”

  His eyes flare. “Shit.”

  I’m stunned motionless for a moment because I’ve never heard him swear before. He’s always incredibly proper and composed, but right now he’s not, and it makes me feel the teensiest bit better. And still very discombobulated about this whole thing.

  He reaches for the door handle, but I’m quicker. “I’ve got it.” I grab his coffee and the bag from the roof, gulping in fresh air—well, as fresh as it can be for a downtown street—and drop back into the passenger seat. I take one last haul of non-Jackson-scented air before I pull my door closed again, locking me inside with his charisma and the delectable smell of his cologne.

  “Here you go.” His fingers brush mine as I transfer the coffee to his waiting hand, sending a small shiver through me.

  I crack the window and clutch my own coffee with both hands. “This is a really nice car.” Awesome, London. Way to keep the conversation rolling with stupid observations.

  “Thanks. It gets me from A to B and is as gentle on the environment as a car can be, so I like it too.” He gives me another sidelong glance.

  “Harley and I have a hybrid. And we share a car. Mostly because it’s more economical than both of us owning one, and we live together so it makes sense.” If I can just keep talking about nothing, I’ll be able to survive today without adding another item to the list of humiliating things I say to Jackson.

  “That’s smart and responsible.”

  “And better financially.” I take a sip of my coffee and let my eyes slide his way. Thankfully his focus is on the road and not me. I should have picked something I could guzzle, since my mouth is dry, but buying a plastic bottle of water in Jackson’s presence seemed similar to taking God’s name in vain in front of a nun.

  I’m currently too nervous to even consider putting more than coffee into my stomach. I dive into work-talk mode and spend the entire drive reviewing the plan for the upcoming event, going over the items up for auction. “Oh! If you have a little time when you drop me off at Spark House, we can visit the room where the silent auction will be held since you didn’t get to see the space last time.” I remind myself not to say anything about the way he bolted.

  “That would be a good idea.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s been driving with his hands at ten and two the entire time apart from when he takes a sip of coffee. “I don’t have another engagement until this evening.”

  “Oh? What kind of engagement?” I blurt without thinking, like I have a right to know his personal schedule. I have the strangest uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.

  “I’m looking at a couple of properties in Denver before I head back to New York.”

  “That’s exciting. I thought maybe you had a date or something. I probably should have asked that before. If you were in a relationship. I guess I just sort of assumed you weren’t. And you know what they say about assumptions making an ass out of me.” I bite the end of my tongue. There I go again. “I’m so sorry. I should stop.”

  He smiles. “I haven’t been on a date in quite some time.”

  I dab at the edge of my coffee cup with a napkin, soaking up the drip of tan liquid. My blouse is pale, and I don’t want to risk a stain. “How long is quite some time?” I cringe. “Sorry. Again. I don’t know why I asked that.”

  “It’s been several months. Since before that camping trip I went on.”

  “I’m the last person you asked out?”

  “You are.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s … I’m sorry I said no.” Did he say no to me because he’s not attracted to me anymore? Maybe he’s not interested now that he knows me better. Why did I not consider that before now? Well, I might as well ask. I don’t have much to lose. My dignity was left behind long ago. “When you said you didn’t think it was a good idea for us to go on a date because it could complicate things, was that just you letting me down easy?” I consider unbuckling my seat belt and throwing the door open, but that would leave Harley on her own to deal with Avery.

  “That wasn’t my intention at all, London. I realized after you joined the Teamology initiative and with the event that you’re hosting for me, that I’d put us in a difficult position. That’s all.”

  I entertain shoving the entire cinnamon roll I still haven’t touched into my mouth to stop myself from asking what other positions he’d like to put us in. Instead, I say the next thing that I think.

  “Why aren’t you in a relationship? I mean, you’re successful and you”—I gesture to him—“look like this.” I can’t read his expression, but it seems as though he’s fighting a smile.

  He shrugs. “Relationships are successful for people who want them to be.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want a relationship?”

  “I’ve been burned before, and that’s made it a challenge for me to invest in a relationship.” He cringes. “That sounds transactional. What I mean is that I’m not sure it’s fair to my prospective partner if I’m not all in and they are.”

  I nod, settling into my seat, intrigued by the turn in this conversation. I can’t decide if this is a warning to change the topic or an invitation to ask more questions. But if I can keep him talking, it means I won’t stick my foot in my mouth. “That was why I ended my last relationship. I realized he was far more invested. He’d started talking about moving in together and asking how I felt about a family and kids, and I realized that we were in two very different headspaces.”

  “So you ended it before he could get in any deeper?”

  And before he got locked into a life that would never make him happy, but I keep that to myself. I don’t want to end up alone, but I also don’t want to settle. “I did. I felt horrible.”

  “How long were you two together?”

  “Um … maybe a little less than a year?” We’d been approaching the one-year anniversary, and I knew I had to end it before that milestone.

  “What was your longest relationship?” Jackson reaches for his coffee, gaze shifting briefly to my hands clasped in my lap before returning to the road.

  “I had a boyfriend in college for almost two years, but he went to med school out of state and I stayed here. Harley was just starting college, and I was finishing up, and I didn’t want to leave her. What about you? What’s your longest relationship?”

  He taps on the steering wheel. “I had a girlfriend in college. And a friend with benefits thing over the years.”

  “Were either of them serious?”

  “I proposed once.” His smile holds strain.

  “What happened?” These are the pieces of Jackson I want to know. The parts of him that he gives me little glimpses of. Layers of humanity and humility under the refined businessman who seems unstoppable and unflappable most of the time.

  “She said no.”

  “Well, clearly she’s an idiot. What the hell is wrong with her?” I slap a palm over my mouth. “I’m sorry, that was so rude.”

  Jackson barks out a laugh. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but she was right to say no. Especially since we weren’t even dating at the time.”

  “What?” I don’t even understand how that would happen.

  His expression shifts to chagrin. “Well, in my defense, my parents had only passed six months earlier, and I’d been asking for all the wrong reasons. Marrying someone for stability is not the same as marrying someone for love. She saved us a world of grief.”

  “Oh, that must have been so hard.”

  “It was more embarrassing than anything.” He glances at me. “Why do I always find myself baring my soul to you, London?”

  “We’re just talking about life, and it seems we’ve both had curveballs thrown at us. Like recognizes like sometimes, I think.”

  “Hmm, I suppose that’s true. You’re very easy to talk to.”

  “So are you, when you’re not busy being intimidating and all business.” Or decimating my ego with rejection.

  He chuckles again. “I’m sure you would be unsurprised to hear that you’re not the first person to say that about me.”

  The car GPS dings, signaling that we need to turn off the winding country road and down a long, equally winding driveway.

  “Holy wow, this is unbelievable,” I murmur when the sprawling mansion comes into view. It’s rustic, yet elegant, with thick wood beams, smooth stone, and floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a stunning view of the front yard. Cobblestone paths snake through the gardens, all in full, lush bloom. Archways covered in flowering vines and a water feature make it feel like a magical wonderland. I half expect to see a deer drinking at a babbling brook or Snow White and Cinderella to sashay past us, singing to the birds and cooing to the mice.

  Set back away from the road with the mountains as the backdrop, it has an elegant, yet cottagelike feel, but on a much larger scale. Peaked roofs and floor-to-ceiling windows highlight the warm glow coming from the interior. It’s an interesting mix of modern and classic styles. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  “An entire village could live here. It actually probably takes that many people to maintain this place. Do you know why they’re having an estate sale? It didn’t say in the advertisement. I hope it’s not because they have to.” I reach for my coffee, even though it’s basically empty. If I don’t have something to keep my hands busy, I’ll start biting at my nails. I have star strips in my purse, but I didn’t think pulling them out while we’re in the car seemed like a good idea.

  “They’re renovating a wing, and they’re aware that not everything can be kept for all eternity.”

  “Oh well, that’s a good reason to get rid of things. And also true. Sometimes you have to part with treasures. We’ve renovated a few of the bedrooms in Spark House over the years. They each have a different theme partly because they all came from different estates. It’s a bit eclectic, but that’s what gives it personality.”

  “That’s smart.”

  “We thought so. Moving them was a challenge, but Avery’s fiancé and all of her friends were great about helping out, and young enough that a case of beer and some pizza was more than enough payment.”

  “You’ve worked hard to get where you are, haven’t you?”

  I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “Spark House is Avery’s baby. She loves organizing events and coming up with ideas on how to make them really stand apart from anyone else’s. And I love my sisters, and I didn’t want to lose the connection we have, so I stepped up to the plate when my grandmother retired.”

  “Is this what you always wanted to do?” He parks the car.

  “Go to estate sales?” I unfasten my seat belt and grab my purse from the floor.

  He grins. “Run Spark House.”

  “I figured eventually I would take my place in the family business, but I thought I wouldn’t have to do it until later. After I’d had a bit of time to pursue my own passions. Or at least I thought I’d have the time to do both. Spark House keeps growing, and there’s only the three of us to run things.”

  “You have other staff, though?”

  “We do, but the management side of things is just me and my sisters, and it’s not entirely natural for me. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it. It’s just that there isn’t a whole lot of time left over for me to do other things.”

  “What about all the centerpieces? Do you enjoy making those, or is that a chore?”

  “Oh, I love making those.” We both open our doors.

  Somehow, he manages to make it around the front of the car and is at my side, offering me a hand before I even have one foot on the ground. I brace myself for the jolt, and this time, I manage not to make any weird noises. I’m still covered in goose bumps, but that’s preferable to any of the possible alternatives.

  Jackson’s fingertips rest at the small of my back as we make our way up the front steps. I feel those tiny points of connection like a current running through my body. Combined with my excitement over the estate sale, and I feel a lot like I’ve consumed an entire pot of coffee and snorted a pound of sugar.

  “I need to warn you about something, Jackson,” I blurt when we reach the massive front doors. They must be twelve feet high, a stunning pattern carved into the black stained wood.

  “I’m listening.”

  I tip my head up and find him staring down at me intently. His cinnamon-y breath breaks across my cheek. He’s so close, I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I really love estate sales.”

  He grins, and if my lady parts could, they would sigh. “I already knew that.”