Accidents Don’t Feel Like Accidents

The community center meeting room buzzed with chatter and folding chairs scraping the floor. Posters about the neighborhood garden lined the walls, and volunteers squeezed in with clipboards and half finished coffee cups.

Brielle slipped into a seat near the front.

Jaxon took the one right beside her.

Of course he did.

She shot him a look. “There are twenty empty seats.”

He shrugged. “And yet here I am.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the coordinator started speaking, forcing her to face forward even though she could feel Jaxon watching her out of the corner of his eye.

The presentation dragged on.

Half vegetables, half budget talk, zero entertainment.

Her knee bounced.

Without thinking, Jaxon placed his hand on her leg to stop it.

Time stopped.

Her heartbeat kicked into a sprint.

His hand was warm. Too warm.

And his thumb God had the nerve to rest lightly, right above her knee.

She didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Then he realized what he’d done.

He slowly pulled his hand back, but not before his fingers grazed the inside of her knee. A soft, accidental brush that wasn’t accidental at all.

She swallowed hard and faced forward.

He exhaled like he felt it too.

The meeting continued, but Brielle heard exactly none of it.

After an hour, people stood to grab sign up sheets. Jaxon leaned in, his voice low and warm near her ear.

“You were bouncing your leg like you were ready to sprint out of here.”

She whispered back, “Maybe I was.”

He smirked. “I’d chase you.”

Her breath caught.

“That was not an invitation,” she said quietly.

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice dipped. “Still true.”

Before she could respond, the coordinator called her name.

“Brielle Hartley? You’re leading the new layout team with… oh, perfect. Jaxon Reed.”

Perfect?

PERFECT?

Her head snapped toward Jaxon.

He was suppressing a grin so smug it should’ve been illegal.

“You planned this,” she accused under her breath.

He lifted his hands. “I didn’t. But I’m not mad about it.”

She groaned. “This is my punishment.”

“For what?” he asked softly. “Coming back?”

His tone wasn’t teasing anymore, and it hit her harder than she expected.

“We’ll be meeting twice a week,” the coordinator added.

Twice a week.

Alone.

With Jaxon.

Fantastic.

They walked out together into the clearing sky. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened. She hugged her folders to her chest, wishing her pulse would calm down.

“So,” Jaxon said, “Tuesday and Friday?”

She nodded. “Works.”

“Your place or mine?”

She tripped literally tripped on the sidewalk.

“I meant for planning,” he clarified quickly, though the smirk said he definitely knew what he was doing.

She regained her balance, flustered. “My place is a mess.”

“Mine’s clean,” he offered. Then added, “Usually.”

“Then yours.”

“Good.” His voice dropped. “I like when you’re in my space.”

Her cheeks warmed. She hated how easily he got to her.

They reached the fork in the sidewalk where their paths split. Brielle slowed, unsure what to do with how suddenly quiet the air felt.

Jaxon shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at her like he was memorizing the moment.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

His voice softened.

“That rain back there that conversation that wasn’t nothing.”

Her breath hitched.

“I know,” she whispered.

His eyes flicked to her mouth just once, just long enough to steal her balance again.

“See you Tuesday, Brie.”

She managed, “Yeah. See you.”

He turned and walked away, hands still in his pockets, shoulders relaxed like she hadn’t just tilted his entire world.

She watched until he reached the corner.

A smile pulled at her lips.

She hated him.

She absolutely did.

But she wasn’t fooling anyone not even herself.

Whatever this thing between them was

It was growing roots.