Chapter 68
Ellie's POV
"No, no. Let me say this." The older man's voice grew more serious. "This young man has done more for the Martinez family than most people know. More than he would ever tell you himself." His gaze returned to me. "Jackson helped my grandson last year. Medical crisis—very serious. He used his knowledge, his connections, never asked for anything in return. That kind of loyalty, that kind of heart..." He shook his head slowly. "It's rare."
I turned to look at Jackson, who was suddenly very interested in the construction equipment behind us. His jaw was tight, his shoulders hunched slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.
"I didn't know," I said quietly, something warm unfurling in my chest.
"Of course you didn't." Don Miguel's tone was gentle, understanding. "Because that's who he is. He helps, and then he moves on. No fanfare." He reached out, clasping Jackson's shoulder with surprising strength. "But we remember, muchacho. We remember."
Jackson met the older man's eyes, and something passed between them—gratitude, respect, affection. "Thank you, Don Miguel. For everything."
"No." Don Miguel squeezed his shoulder once more before releasing him. "Thank you. And now..." He turned back to me with a decisive nod. "I will have a staff sent to your father. Next week, yes? Give my assistant your information before you leave today—she'll arrange delivery."
"Don Miguel, this is too generous—"
"It is what it is." His tone brooked no argument. "Art should go to those who will appreciate it. Use it. Love it." His eyes twinkled again, that knowing look returning. "Besides, anyone who can keep up with Jackson on the dance floor deserves something special, no?"
The air between us seemed to thicken. Jackson shifted his weight beside me, and I could feel the heat radiating from him despite the foot of space between us.
Don Miguel was definitely enjoying this.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. "Really. My father is going to lose his mind."
"Good! That is exactly the reaction I hope for." He tapped his cane against the ground with satisfaction. "Now, I must go. The councilwoman wants to discuss the community center's interior design, and I suspect it will take considerable diplomacy." He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "But Jackson? Call your grandmother. She misses you."
Jackson's expression softened. "I will. This week, I promise."
"See that you do." Don Miguel nodded to us both. "Señorita Ellie, a true pleasure. Jackson, cuídate." Then, with a final meaningful look that said I see exactly what's happening here, he turned and walked away, his carved cane tapping a steady rhythm.
We stood in silence, watching him disappear around a stack of lumber. The construction site suddenly felt very quiet.
"So," I said finally. "You noticed my dad's hiking boots."
Jackson's ears were still red. "They were really nice boots."
"Uh-huh."
"I notice details. It's a thing."
"Apparently." I couldn't help smiling. "Thank you, by the way. For whatever you did for Don Miguel's grandson. That was... really kind."
Jackson shrugged, uncomfortable again. "It's just what you do. For family. For people you care about."
For people you care about.
We started walking again, following the path toward the parking lot. My mind kept replaying the scene—Don Miguel's knowing look, Jackson's awareness of my father's clothes, the easy way Jackson had said my dad's hiking hobby was "obvious."
Because he'd been paying attention. Because he'd noticed.
"Jackson?" I said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"When Don Miguel said that thing about me keeping up with you on the dance floor..."
Jackson's pace slowed slightly. "Yeah?"
"He was definitely implying something."
"Yeah." Jackson cleared his throat. "He was."
We walked a few more steps in loaded silence. Then Jackson added, voice carefully neutral, "For what it's worth, I didn't say anything to make him think—I mean, I never suggested that we were—"
"I know." And somehow, I did. "He just... saw what he wanted to see."
"Maybe." Jackson glanced at me, something uncertain in his dark eyes. "Or maybe he saw something we're trying really hard not to see."
My heart stopped, then started again, twice as fast.
"We should get going," he said, opening the passenger door for me.
I slid into the leather seat, my mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. As Jackson closed my door gently and walked around to the driver's side, something occurred to me.
"Wait—what about the driver who brought us here?" I asked as he settled into his seat.
Jackson started the engine, checking his mirrors. "I gave him the rest of the day off. The ceremony ran longer than expected, and he'd been waiting since early this morning." He pulled out of the parking space.
"Oh." That was... thoughtful. And typical Jackson, really—always thinking about other people.
I found myself watching his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the way afternoon light caught in his dark hair. The warmth from his arm still lingered on my shoulder, a phantom touch that made my heart skip.
Friends. We'd agreed to be friends.
But the way my name sounded when he said it? The fact that he'd noticed what my father wore two weeks ago? That felt like something more than friendship.
I cleared my throat, trying to ground myself in something practical. "So, what's the plan now? Do we head straight back to campus? The ceremony looked like it wrapped up."
Jackson pulled out of the parking space smoothly, his expression relaxed as he navigated toward the exit. "Actually, no. We're heading to a hotel first."
He said it so casually, like he was suggesting we stop for coffee.
My brain short-circuited.
"What?" The word came out higher than I intended.