Page 186 of The Coach

I swallow hard. “I never even told you that I wanted a dark room. How did you know?”

“Ivy.” His voice is low, serious now. He steps closer, cupping my face. “I love you. And I want to build something real with you. I want this to be home—for both of us. For all of us. And what photographerdoesn’twant their own dark room?”

I exhale shakily, my fingers curling into his shirt. “What are you saying?"

“I’m saying…” without another word, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. “Ivy, I’ve never believed in love at first sight until I saw you. But I knew from the moment I saw you I’d like to build something real with you. Not just…well yeah the sex was great.Isgreat. I mean that weekend though. I knew I wanted more than just that.”

My heart stutters.

“Jackson,” I say slowly, still in some disbelief. “Why do you have those?”

He flips them in his palm, his gaze locking onto mine. “Because I bought it.”

The room tilts.

I stare at him. “You—what?When?”

“Well I haven’t closed, they have to do the inspections, but I put a lump sum of cash down.” He steps closer, pressing the keys into my hand. “It’s ours, Ivy.”

I open and close my mouth, absolutely speechless.

“This is just…a lot,” I whisper. “A lot to process.”

Jackson’s expression softens. “I know. You don’t have to answer anything right now. Just think about it.”

“You want to live in Riverbend? Like for real?”

“If you’re here? I could live anywhere. But seriously…you kind of sold me on this town. It’s charming.”

“Damn, Coach.”

“But, Ivy.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Just think about it, okay? I don’t want to put some crazy pressure on you. We’re not exactly anormalcouple. I’m ten years older. It’s a lot to be a coach’s wife. The hours, they wouldn’t change. I mean, maybe if I wasn’t coaching professionally…” He clears his throat. “But we can’t get too ahead of ourselves. Think about it.”

I nod, tapping my nose, trying to process everything he just said. The house. Moving here. Him choosing to be with me—choosing us—for real.

But my brain is foggy, scrambled by the way he’s looking at me, the heat in his gaze like he’s already made up his mind about what he wants.

Me.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Jackson murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “C’mon.”

He takes my hand, guiding me further into the dimly lit basement. The darkroom.

“This could be perfect,” I murmur, my fingers trailing over the counter.

Jackson leans against the doorframe, watching me like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “Yeah?” His voice is low, husky. “You like it?”

I nod, tracing the space. “Mmhmm.”

Behind me, I feel him step closer. Much closer. His body radiates heat, and the second his hands settle on my hips, a shiver rolls through me.

“You know what else we could use this space for?” His breath ghosts over the shell of my ear, sending a hot thrill through my belly.

My lips part. “What?”

His fingers tighten on my waist. “Like I said, you could develop photos in here.” His hands glide lower, teasing. “Or…” His voice dips. “I could spread you out on this counter and make you come so hard you forget your own damn name.”

Oh.

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