Chapter 3

3

HARPER

E verything is perfect. The medicine isn’t making me sick anymore. October has rolled in, signaling the start of one of my favorite seasons. Work is going great. I haven’t had a seizure in a month. Naturally, that means everything is going to go to complete and utter shit as soon as possible. The law of the universe. If everything is going well for Harper, crank up the dial and let the shit fall.

The evidence of the prompt life going to shit is standing only a few feet in front of me. Sometimes on lunch during the week I like to head downtown with Honey, walk the streets, get a sweet treat, then return back home. I always look forward to our little midday walks. It breaks up the monotony of my life.

But today, I loathe every single choice I have ever made in my life.

Because why the hell is Jackson still in town?

Was no one going to tell me?

Jackson’s so tall, so beautiful, so everything that my gaze can’t help but land on him. The sun basically makes his rich brown skin glow, his teeth even shine pearly white as he laughs. My mood is instantly ruined. I pause in the middle of the sidewalk, looking for somewhere to hide until he’s finished speaking to Mr. Randolph, the owner of the French bakery. Honey presses against my side, grounding me. The gazebo that splits the small two-lane downtown area beckons me, an extraordinarily perfect place to hide.

“Let’s go, girl,” I tell Honey, immediately laughing at the inadvertent Shania Twain reference. Such an amazing song.

The weathered white gazebo has a few swinging benches inside, so I haphazardly toss myself down on one. Honey stays at my feet, patiently attuned to me, still in work mode. Taking a deep breath, I push my feet so that the swing moves just enough to avoid contact with Honey. Birds sit atop the gazebo, chirping away under the soft yellow October sun. Such a beautiful day, a shame I have to hide from the jerk-off invading my hometown.

I just barely resist the urge to pull out my phone to text Colby with demands of why I wasn’t told Jackson was still in town. It’s none of my business. I don’t care at all about the guy. I don’t even know him. We’ve had a handful of interactions that amount to absolutely nothing.

But I’m still nosy and don’t understand why I was left out of the loop.

“Fancy finding you here,” a disembodied voice says to my left. I jump ten feet in the air, heart racing, before turning my annoyed gaze on Jackson.

“I live here. Why are you here?”

Jackson’s lips twitch with restrained laughter. “I live here now too.”

“Pardon me?”

Jackson points over his shoulder towards the townhomes at the end of Main Street. “I’m renting one of the townhomes for a while. I thought I’d see what Eli and Trevor loved so much about the place.”

“It’s not the place.” I roll my eyes deeply. “It’s their sugar daddies.”

“Sugar daddy?” Jackson repeats teasingly as he tucks his giant hands into his pockets.

“Obviously.”

“Maybe they’re in love.”

I summon every ounce of my annoyance and aim it at him in the form of a glare. “I never said it wasn’t love. It’s not mutually exclusive. There can be two truths.” I tick off each one on my fingers as I keep pushing the swing. “One, they can be sugar babies. Two, they can be in love.”

“You’re a little cynical.”

“If you were me, you’d be too,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?” Jackson asks, clearly having missed what I said. Thankfully.

“Are you staying long?”

Jackson nods solemnly. “A little while.”

I stand from the swing, brushing off my jeans like I’m ridding myself of evil energy. “I wish you many great returns, blessings, whatever people say, yada yada.”

As I’m walking away, Jackson calls out, “You feel like getting a drink?”

Turning slowly, I stare blankly at him. “What?”

“A drink? Do you want to get one with me?”

I look down at Honey, who is already blinking up at me, probably having felt the shift in my mood. “It’s noon on a weekday.”

Jackson laughs, loudly, a little uncomfortably, and rubs at his head. “Not now. Later.”

This has to be an elaborate joke. I glance behind me, looking to see if someone else is standing by us, but there’s no one else. We’re alone. It’s just us. Me and Jackson.

“I don’t drink,” I admit quietly, feeling that odd feeling of failure that I hate so much.

“Oh,” Jackson says, sounding crestfallen. My fingers twitch restlessly at my side. Am I being an asshole? Andy always says sometimes I’m an asshole and I don’t realize it. I’m just blunt, tease too much, and don’t understand a lot of social cues.

“You can buy me a cupcake at Bee’s though. I have a little bit of time before I have to get back to work.”

Jackson’s grin is painfully blinding. His gorgeous brown eyes even crinkle at the corners. Maybe this is an elaborate joke, but I’m older now, and I can withstand anything. Also, I’m pretty sure Colby or Beau will kill him if he fucks around with me, so what’s the harm?

Jackson holds his hand out in an after you gesture that has my nose wrinkling in irritation. We leave the gazebo, heading down towards Bee’s Cupcakes, a short two-block walk along Main Street. My long hair blows in the breeze, and I tuck it behind my ears so it doesn’t obscure my view of Jackson out of the corner of my eye.

Friendship isn’t something I really have much experience with. There’s Andy, but sometimes I think she’s my friend out of obligation. We’re just barely cousins, but we’re also the only ones in our large family around our age, the babies. So we’d formed a sort of commiserating friendship from early on.

Trusting people isn’t something that comes easy to me. Not after my epilepsy and my teenage years. There is a long list of things to not like about me, so I just try to make it easier on people by not making them feel like they have to be my friend.

Jackson opens the door to Bee’s, elbow pressed to the door, long legs tucked in front of it. The sweet smell of baked goods floats in the air when I duck inside. Bee’s has been an escape for me for as long as I can remember. In our teenage years Andy and I would come downtown after school, hide out in Bee’s with our books to study before Andy wandered back to campus down the street for cheer practice. It was like a safe zone for me, where nothing bad could happen. The smell of vanilla settled all my nerves.

Trisha grins over the counter at the sight of me.

“Harper! It has been approximately”—she pretends to look down at her watch, then back up at me with a sly smile—“two days since you’ve been in the store. That’s a world record.”

A warm flush creeps across my cheeks and down my neck. So, I have a bit of a thing for sweets. Life is really short and I have to grab joy where I can.

“You don’t have to tattle on me,” I tease her.

Trisha grabs a lilac Bee’s-branded box with a flourish and a smile. “What’ll it be today?”

The selection of confections rotates every few days, but there are always a few staples. Double chocolate is usually my go-to favorite because it’s too decadent to not love. But pumpkin spice is finally in stock and that’s hard to pass up.

“One of each,” Jackson says from beside me, bringing my shocked gaze to him. He hands a startled Trisha his black credit card. “A latte too, please, ma’am.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, tone sharper than I intended.

Jackson turns his gaze to me. He shrugs, resting his forearm against the counter. “You wanted a cupcake.”

“Singular,” I point out through gritted teeth.

A small laugh escapes him, and he sucks on his bottom lip. “Now you’ll be good for a few days. Which one are you going to eat now?” Jackson gazes down at the cupcake display as Trisha continues to package up twelve various flavors of cupcakes. There’s no way I’ll eat them all in time before they go bad. A true tragedy.

“Here you go, love.” Trisha hands the latte and full box of cupcakes to Jackson with a starry-eyed look. Her eyes dart from me to Jackson, and I shake my head so she doesn’t get any ideas. Getting besotted with Jackson just screams complications for everyone.

“Let’s eat one now,” Jackson declares, sending a panty-melting smile to Trisha as he ushers me towards the door. That is not going to help with the don’t get besotted thing for Trisha.

Swept under the current of his direction, I actually listen, and head out the door. I blink slowly, and reach down to pat at Honey’s head to assure my heart is still beating. Maybe this is some fever dream. Or I died. That’s always possible.

There’s a little alley beside Bee’s full of metal tables, chairs, and fairy lights strung along the brick walls that glow bright at night. Since it’s still daytime, they’re not on, but the potted plants give the little alley a cozy effect. I plod over to the tables, hand still firmly on Honey’s head. We take a seat, Jackson folding his big body into the chair across from me, and he lifts the lid off the confectionary box with a childish grin.

He glances up at me, eyes sparkling. “Which one do you want?”

Instead of answering, I reach forward and grab my favorite. Double chocolate. Cupcakes are always messy, but I do my best. Silence settles over us as we eat in the warm glow of early fall. Jackson heartily digs into the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake flavor. Not my favorite, so he can have it. I only eat half before I’m full. A serious sugar rush is impending. Placing the half-eaten cupcake back in the box, I lick errant frosting off my fingers.

Jackson makes a noise deep in his throat, dragging my attention back to him. He’s already devoured the cupcake and his attention is focused solely on me. Maybe there’s frosting on my face?

I hastily wipe my mouth with my thumb. “Is there frosting?”

Jackson shakes his head firmly. “No, no frosting. It’s good to see your allergies aren’t acting up today.”

I blink in surprise. “Allergies?”

A smirk tilts Jackson’s lips up, just in the right corner. “Your bullshit allergies? It seemed serious the other day. Do you have to carry an EpiPen?”

Slinking down in the chair, embarrassment floods through me. I honestly didn’t think I’d see him again so soon. Thought maybe he’d forget by the next time I saw him.

“Okay, I lied. I don’t have allergies.” I gently pat Honey’s head. “Honey is my canine parole officer. If I bite someone again, they’re going to send me away for life.”

Jackson tilts his head again, eyes tracking over my face. Self-consciously, I want to reach up and cover the scar across my temple. It’s still gnarled years later and usually the first thing people look at. It goes like this: scar, long red hair, freckles, and then Honey. In high school they called me Chucky, which is why I wear my hair long now. I’m going for twink lumberjack, instead of a serial killer doll.

“How many people have you bitten?” Jackson asks conversationally.

“Too many to count.”

“You seem reformed.”

I point at Honey. “As I said, canine parole officer. If I bite one more person… life behind bars. Look at me. I can’t be behind bars.”

Jackson’s lip twitches again. “No, no. A face like yours doesn’t belong in jail.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that mean?”

“You’re too pretty,” Jackson mumbles around a mouthful of cupcake.

Something warm and unnamable unfurls in my stomach. No one has ever called me pretty. Most days, when I look into the mirror, that’s not a word I’d used to describe myself. I decide to totally ignore the word, assuming he meant it to be kind.

“Why are you still here?” I ask bluntly.

Jackson doesn’t seem shaken by my tone. His eyes slowly flick over my face, then land back on my eyes. He holds my gaze for so long that I start to squirm in my seat, unmoored by his ability to give such undivided attention.

“I told you that already.”

I huff and roll my eyes, barely containing my irritation. “Don’t you have a job? You can just… what? Up and decide to relocate to Florida? Which, by the way, no one willingly relocates here unless they’re escaping state income tax or they’re fine with exorbitant home insurance costs.”

Jackson laughs again, open and free. It infuriates me that I like the sound of his laugh. I hate him. Nobody should look like that and have such an amazing laugh. Was God handing out hotness, personality, and nice laughs at the same time when he made Jackson? Must be nice. God took one look at me and said make him Chucky and give him a brain disorder and also make his biological parents not want him .

“God, the way you view life is refreshing.”

I sniff delicately. “I just say it like it is.”

“You sure fucking do,” Jackson says gruffly. He leans back in the metal chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. The muscles in his biceps pop, and my eyes get stuck on his blemish-free skin for just a second too long. I have this brief, stupid thought of him holding me, wondering what those muscles would feel like around my thin frame.

Idiot.

I shake myself from stupid thoughts and stand abruptly.

“Thank you for the cupcake,” I say, a small tremor in my voice.

Jackson’s brows furrow again, but he stays sitting. His stare is calculating and I hate the weight of it on me. The man’s eyes should be illegal, especially when he looks at me like that. Some type of way that I can’t understand, that I’m not able to parse. Without another word, I turn from the table and head back towards home. Unfortunately, it’s gotten a little warmer since I started my walk, so I’ll have to call a rideshare to take me back home.

I can’t risk getting overheated, then seizing on the side of the road. My mother would actually have a conniption and force me to move back home where she can hover over me indefinitely so I don’t have the chance to embarrass her.

Just as I’m pulling out my phone, Honey walks in front of me to stop me. I pause, and glance up to find Jackson standing in front of us, blocking our way. The box of cupcakes is held in the tight grip of his large hands. I trace my gaze from the tips of his fingers, up his arm, across the hard dip of his collarbone under his tight V-neck, over his neck, then finally let my gaze meet his own.

“I bought these for you,” Jackson says, voice pitched low.

A shiver tries to roll through my body, but I don’t let it. I’m made of steel. No man will affect me unless I let them. “Okay.”

“Where are you going?”

My fingers twitch against my phone. “Home.”

Jackson’s mouth twitches at the corner. “Were you walking?”

We stare at each other for a few tense seconds. The options are to lie or to tell him about the rideshare. Both options suck ass.

“I was going to fly home in my spaceship.”

Jackson takes a slow breath. His grip on the box tightens enough that it looks borderline painful. I wonder what I need to do to snap his patience. Pushing Jackson’s buttons is more fun than I’ve had in months. Maybe years.

“Can I give you a ride?” Jackson asks, voice clearly controlled.

I lean to the side to look around him, noting the absence of his own spaceship. “In what?”

“My car.” Jackson abruptly turns around and heads in the opposite direction. I look down at Honey, exchanging a curious look with her. Well, there’s nothing to lose, I guess. Plus this way I don’t risk losing the cupcakes.

Of course, the man drives a Mercedes. Chrome wheels, matte exterior, and an interior with leather so supple that my brain short-circuits a little at the idea of having a seizure in his car. I don’t think the man would take kindly to a piss stain on his leather seats. Oh well, his decision. He holds the door open for me as I climb into the passenger seat. Jackson patiently waits until I’m buckled in to gently close the door. Then the door behind me opens, and Jackson holds the door open for Honey to jump in.

Honey climbs onto the seat without a care in the world, tongue dangling out of her mouth. I watch in the rearview mirror as Jackson lays the box of cupcakes on the floor, then gently closes the door without paying Honey any attention. Most people would’ve tried to pet her by now but Jackson just blatantly ignores her.

Either he did research, or he knows that service dogs should be ignored unless they bring attention to themselves. I hope no one has told him about me. The idea of him finding me useless rankles me, turning my insides rotten at the thought. I squint at him when he climbs into the driver’s seat. His forearms tighten as his hands grip the wheel, pulling us out of the spot in front of his townhome.

He’s driving me ten minutes home, only to have to turn back around. What a waste of gas.

“You didn’t need to drive me,” I complain.

“I know. I wanted to. Plus, I rarely get the chance to have two beautiful things in my vehicle.”

“Stop,” I say softly, unable to stand it anymore. “Don’t do that.”

Jackson looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Do what?”

“Call me pretty or beautiful. I don’t like it.”

Jackson nods tightly. “Alright. What do you do for work?”

“I’m a data analyst,” I say, waiting for his confusion.

But he’s not remotely confused. His eyes light up as he navigates us out of downtown onto the small county road that leads toward the Callahan and Smith properties. He lifts one finger in the direction of my house.

“I’m going the right way?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you when to turn.”

Jackson nods in agreement. “So, data analyst. What company do you work for?”

“One of the largest marketing firms in the country. I analyze data for their campaigns and make forecasting recommendations. It’s fun, and I get to work remotely despite headquarters being in Manhattan.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

No one has ever asked me that before. Usually, they ask me how much money I make because that’s what people care about. I’m lucky that I make bank and like my job, seemingly a rare thing to find these days.

“I love it. Numbers make sense to me. People don’t.”

“Valid.”

I roll my eyes. “As if you have trouble understanding people. What do you do for a living?”

Jackson’s face closes off, his mood shifting in a way that oddly makes me feel a sense of sadness. “I play around with stocks here and there.”

I blink slowly. “You make a living by dabbling in the stock exchange?”

“Yes,” Jackson says slowly, his voice going up a little at the end as if he means the word like a question.

“Amazing.” I run my hand over the console between us. “You must do well. Nice car.”

Jackson just hums and returns his attention to the road. The rest of the way to my house is full of stilted silence. He turns when I direct him to, finally turning into my driveway with a small furrow between his brows again. The man is always thinking, but his thoughts are rarely said out loud. He has a better filter than me. Kudos to him.

I start to jump out of the vehicle the moment it stops in front of my house, but Jackson stops me with a hand held out in the universal sign for pause . Without a word, he climbs out his side, then repeats the entire process from when we all got into the vehicle. Honey jumps out first and waits patiently for me when Jackson opens my door.

“What’s your angle here?” I ask him, confused about everything that’s happened in the last hour.

Jackson’s grip on the door tightens. I bite back a laugh because I seemingly have that effect on him. At least he takes my sarcastic biting remarks mostly in stride.

“Maybe I want to be friends with you.”

I snort. He’s got jokes. “Try again.”

Jackson has the gall to look befuddled by my statement. “You don’t think we could be friends?”

“I rank sports players on their level of hotness,” I remind him.

A smirk inches its way across his plush lips. He stays quiet, gaze still fixed on me, until I squirm against the soft leather of the passenger seat.

“Maybe I find that intriguing.”

My eyes almost get stuck deep in my brain. “Sure.”

Jackson swings the door all the way open and helps me out of the car with a firm hand on my elbow. Once my feet are safely back on the gravel, his grip disappears, his hand dangling awkwardly at his side. A few times his fingers flex before mindlessly tapping against his dark jeans. My eyes lift back to his, only to find him already staring at me. My body hates me, so a flush fills my cheeks, warming me under the midday sun.

He holds his hand out to me, waiting for me to take it. I take his hand in my grip. It’s warm, so rough against my own, and he grips mine tight for a few stilted moments before firmly shaking it.

“This is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Jackson says seriously.

I can’t help but laugh. Usually I make people laugh, not the other way around. My laughter makes the corners of his eyes crinkle as a grin breaks over his face.

“You’re a weirdo,” I say around my laughter.

“Maybe so.”

Jackson dips back into the car and returns with the box of cupcakes. I gingerly accept the box into my arms, watching as his broad back disappears back into his car. The taillights slowly inch down the road. I get tired of waiting and return inside, when I peek through the window it’s to find Jackson now speeding down the gravel road like he only sped up once realizing I was safely back inside the house. I grunt in annoyance before glancing back down at Honey.

“Well, Honey. That was weird, right?”

Honey shakes her body out in reply. My house feels startlingly empty once I’m inside, despite the noise of Honey’s nails against the hardwood floors. I hurriedly take her out of her service vest so she can relax, because she deserves it. Placing the cupcakes on the counter, I open the box, taking another peek inside. All my favorite flavors. I close the box firmly shut, and push it into the center of the island. Too much sugar doesn’t agree with me, so I’ll have to be careful over the next few days.

But just the idea that the entire box was bought solely for me, just for my enjoyment, is almost more pleasing than the sweet taste of the confections themselves.