NATASHA SWORE JACKSON was doing it on purpose. She’d felt his eyes on her the entire time they were in the car. Ugh! He drove her nuts. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
Everything seemed familiar and foreign all at once. In the car, it felt like sitting with a stranger and her best friend. Because when Jackson left, not only had she lost a boyfriend, she had lost one of the best people in her life. A guy who knew every part of her. Knew what she was thinking even before she verbalized it.
And just like that, she was back to hating him again. She held on to the emotion as she pushed into the store. It must get her through. The bell at the door jingled jauntily, announcing their arrival.
“You’re late,” Didi said from the counter.
“I picked up a hitchhiker along the way.” Natasha pointed her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Jackson, who ambled in after her like a jungle cat. The way he moved was enough to make anyone swoon.
“We haven’t formally met,” Jackson said in that deep as molasses voice of his. He reached out across the counter. “Jackson Mallory, the current bane of everyone’s existence.”
“Under these circumstances, it’s lukewarm to meet you,” Didi replied, taking his hand for a firm shake. “I’m Diana, but they all call me Didi. You, on the other hand, may refer to me as your worst nightmare if you so much as step out of line and hurt Tash.”
Immediately, he held up his hands and took a step back for good measure. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Didi pursed her lips against the patented panty-melting Jackson grin. “Caleb’s right, you’re a smooth operator. Normally, this is the time when I’d offer to paint you, but I haven’t made up my mind yet. You’re handsome enough.”
“Thanks?” Jackson glanced at Natasha for backup.
As if she would give him any. Instead she grabbed a basket from the counter. “Cardboard at the back?”
Didi nodded. “Paintbrushes are in aisle eight and paint supplies in nine. Holler if you’re looking for anything specific.”
“Thanks,” Natasha said as she made her way down the aisle of scrapbooking supplies.
“What do we need?” Jackson asked, walking a step behind her.
The aisles weren’t wide enough to fit two people shoulder to shoulder, which Natasha was secretly thankful for. Being in such close quarters was tough enough.
She paused at the brushes. Jackson grabbed the basket out of her hand.
“Hey!” She scowled at him.
He raised his free hand.
She wanted to roll her eyes again, but she was seriously pressed for time, and the stress of having him there was causing her muscles to knot. So she crossed her arms and pinned him with a pointed glare.
“What?”
“Permission to speak?” he asked.
She waved her hand for him to continue.
Jackson took a deep breath and said, “I’m not going anywhere. You know I’m not going anywhere.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a raised finger. Eyebrow arching, she shut her lips and waited.
“You’re already late,” he continued. “Won’t this go faster if you just let me help?”
Her first instinct was to refuse. She was capable enough to do everything herself. But as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Albert must already be expecting her over at the Winchester mansion. And the amount of cardboard she would need was more than she could carry all at once.
“Fine,” she huffed out, then grabbed a couple of brushes from the plastic containers that divided them into different sizes and caught Jackson performing a celebratory fist pump. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Where next, boss?”
Turning her back on him, she moved to the aisle where they kept the paint. According to her research, or what was left of her discombobulated brain, Gryffindor colors were scarlet and gold. She picked up two small cans for each.
“Red and gold?” Jackson asked. “Is there a theme to this secret project?”
“It’s not a secret,” she said as she moved to the back, where the cardboard was kept. “It’s a lemonade stand.”
A pause on Jackson’s part as they reached the cardboard. He rubbed his chin, studying the different sizes. Natasha began flipping through the stacks.
“What kind of charity is the Debutante Society working with now that you have to build a lemonade stand from scratch?”
The questions were getting on her nerves. She knew she shouldn’t have budged an inch. Jackson was taking a mile.
Not really focusing on what she was doing, Natasha shifted to her toes and reached for the topmost board on a large stack. She teetered and lost her balance. Arms flailing, she yelped as she fell backward. A strong pair of arms wrapped around her almost immediately, gathering her against a solid chest. Heart hammering, she looked up at Jackson. His head was bent toward hers. Their lips were so tantalizingly close.
“You okay?” he asked, concern on his face.
His warmth surrounded her like a blanket during a particularly chilly night. Her mind went blank for a second before her thoughts and emotions revved up again.
“L-let go,” she said, wriggling like a kitten trapped in yarn. He was too close. “Let me go.”
Jackson complied, stepping away. His arms remained close just in case … what? She lost her balance again? Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
By sheer force of will, she widened her stance and straightened her spine. Then she flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and said, “This isn’t for the Debs. I’m helping out a friend for Entrepreneurship Day.”
As if she hadn’t just been in his arms, Jackson blinked twice. “Entrepreneurship Day? Isn’t that in grade school?”
“It’s for Mrs. Winchester’s son, Albert. He wants to do a Harry Potter–themed lemonade stand.”
Actually, it was Natasha who’d convinced him to do the stand, but same difference. She realized her mistake of spilling too much, because Jackson’s eyes lit up at the mention of the two magic words.
“That explains the paint!” He became animated. “You have to let me help. Please. I’ve read all the books more than once and I still watch the movies at least once a year and”—he paused before delivering the death blow—“I know the Harry Potter calligraphy style.”
If this was a video game, Natasha’s character had just been KO’d by Jackson’s character and the word WINNER flashed at the center of the screen. No matter how hard she’d studied Harry Potter lore the night before, there was no beating the fact that Jackson knew the calligraphy. Of course he did.
“No,” she said.
“What?” All the humor in Jackson’s face left.
Natasha turned around and hurried to the front of the store. It was too much. Just being around him was too much. She didn’t even hear what Didi was saying as she ran outside. She got into her car and drove away.
* * *
Armed with art supplies she bought at an art store a town over, Natasha stood outside the front door of Winchester Place. Albert was right there the second she used the knocker, a look of anticipation on his boyish face.
“Hello, Albert,” Natasha greeted him with a smile.
“What took you so long?” he replied, a mix of worry and excitement in his tone.
Natasha didn’t lose her smile for a second. “I’m already here, that’s what matters. Let’s get started on that stand.”
Albert babbled on about how he wanted the stand. How the sign should look. He explained the meaning of scarlet and gold and how Gryffindor House stood for bravery, daring, nerve, and chivalry. And something called a sorting hat sorted Albert into Gryffindor.
“I have both colors right here,” Natasha said, indicating the bag with the cans of paint, and Albert whooped for joy.
Since the other store she’d gone to was out of gold paint, Natasha suggested they use yellow. It was the closest to gold she could find. Albert sulked about it for about ten minutes but eventually gave in to the fact that Natasha had tried her best.
They worked on the lawn. Based on plans she downloaded off the Internet, Natasha cut out the appropriate pieces that made up all three sides and the roof of the stand. They laid out each piece on the grass. Albert was in charge of painting the larger pieces, while Natasha focused on the lettering for the sign.
She tilted her head, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Her brow furrowed. Then she frowned.
Natasha was good at a lot of things, but lettering wasn’t one of them. The word LEMONADE was crooked. The O blended into the N. The T and the A ran together, so the sign read LEMONADE SAND.
In paint-splattered overalls Didi would be proud of, Albert approached. “That’s the sign?”
“Nope!” Natasha shoved the thick cardboard away and pulled out another piece. She had cut out several in anticipation of mistakes. “I’ll keep trying until I get this just right. How are the sides coming along?”
“Painting stripes is easy,” Albert said, sounding like someone older than his years. Like someone capable of doing anything.
Natasha glanced over to his side of the lawn, and indeed the red stripes along the sides and front of the stand were as straight as if they’d been drawn in using a ruler. He’d been about to start on the yellow when he came to check on the sign. Renewed determination filled her.
“Great job,” she said, a little jealous. “Keep going. When they dry, we can glue the sides and front together.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with the sign?” Albert eyed her skeptically.
“I’m fine.” Her smile wobbled, so she pressed her lips together. “More than fine. I’ll make this sign perfect for you.”
“You know you can’t draw letters to save your life, right?” someone said from behind her.
The second she recognized the voice, Natasha closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. The guy was relentless. She wasn’t even sure how he got there. Then she said, “What are you doing here?”
“Who’s he?” Albert said, pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of paint along the bridge of his nose.
“Hey,” Jackson said. “I’m—”
“Remember what your mother told you,” Natasha warned, finally looking over her shoulder at Jackson. Her heart did a familiar flutter at the sight of him. She squashed the feeling like a bug. “Don’t talk to strangers.”
“She’s right.” Jackson’s words came with a charming grin. “Talking to strangers is bad. For all you know I’m someone who has candy so I can kidnap you.”
“Do you have candy?” Albert asked matter-of-factly.
Jackson made a show of patting his pockets. “Not at the moment, no.”
Albert considered. “Are you going to kidnap me or Tash?”
“You, no. Tash, that’s a different story.”
“What’s that mean?” Albert looked to Natasha, whose face felt hotter than a sidewalk on a summer day.
“You see,” Jackson interjected before Natasha found the words to speak, “Tash and I are old, old friends. We met when we were way younger than you. Unfortunately, I did something bad and she got mad at me.”
“Something bad?”
Natasha gave Jackson a warning glare, which he proceeded to ignore when he nodded and said, “Yeah. Sometimes people make mistakes. Hurting the ones they love.”
Albert’s face fell. “Like the time Dad and Mom had an argument because Dad didn’t buy milk when Mom asked him to.”
Jackson’s smile twitched. “Something like that. I didn’t buy the milk, so now I’m doing everything I can to make things right.”
Albert nodded once, as if Jackson’s words were the right thing to say. Natasha watched in annoyed awe. Jackson had always been a smooth operator. Kids under twelve never stood a chance against him.
“More like went out to buy milk and never returned,” she muttered. From the glint in Jackson’s eyes, he’d heard her. She sighed. “Albert, remember the friend I told you about who likes Harry Potter as much as you do? Well, meet Jackson. Jackson, meet Albert.”
“What house are you?” Albert asked immediately, like it was some rite of passage.
“The house of daring, nerve, and chivalry,” Jackson said with great reverence.
If Albert’s gaze grew any wider, Natasha feared his eyes might fall out of their sockets. As much as she hated Jackson at the moment, she couldn’t deny that he and Albert connected on a level she couldn’t reach on her own. Damn Jackson for being adorable when he wanted to be.
“Gryffindor,” Albert whispered in awe.
“Nice to meet you, Albert.” Jackson reached out and they shook hands. “Wow! That’s a great grip you’ve got there.”
“Yeah?” Albert looked up at him, completely charmed.
“I like a man who knows how to shake hands.” Jackson knelt so they were at eye level.
“My dad said a man should always have a firm handshake. It tells people you mean business.” Albert’s ears turned pink.
“My dad says the same thing.” Jackson let go of Albert’s hand and reached for something in the bag he had been carrying. “I think someone needs more paint?” Albert jumped in place the instant Jackson produced two cans of gold paint from the bag and a couple of extra brushes. “Can’t have Gryffindor colors without gold paint.”
“Awesome!” Albert took the paint. “Thank you!”
Jackson sat on his haunches beside Natasha before he said to Albert, “Why don’t you get started on the gold stripes? I’ll take over with the lettering before Tash murders another ‘Lemonade Sand’ sign.”
The boys shared a knowing grin before Albert left to get started on his task. Natasha stared the entire time, jaw dropped. Then she nudged Jackson on the shoulder.
“You stalker,” she said, low enough for Albert not to hear.
“Move over.” He reached for another blank board.
She eased out of the way just as he pulled out a pencil from the bag and on all fours began drawing letters in smooth, confident strokes.
“I thought leaving you at the store was answer enough to your offer to help,” Natasha said, lifting her chin, unwilling to give in.
“Good thing I’m a rebel.” He winked at her. “If I remember correctly, you used to love my rebellious side.”
She smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“Hey!” He paused, pencil a few inches from the board. “You’re going to make me mess up.”
“What? You’re using pencil. Don’t you have an eraser in that bag of wonders of yours?”
Despite being annoyed that Jackson had followed her to the Winchesters, the fact that he’d brought the paint they needed that she had left along with the first batch of supplies with him was indicative of how reliable he could be sometimes. Sometimes, she reminded herself. It was for Albert’s sake that she didn’t ask Jackson to leave. He was handy with a paintbrush, and he had said he knew the Harry Potter lettering.
With concentration all over his handsome face, he asked, “Hey, are you free this Friday?”
The question took her aback. She was about to ask him what he had in mind. It had always been her automatic response to the question of weekend plans. But she bit her tongue in time.
“Of course I’m not free,” she said. “I have to help Albert with the lemonade stand for Entrepreneurship Day.”
“Good. Because I need to show you something on Sunday.”
She opened her mouth, only to realize that he had her there. The grin on his lips said so.
“I have plans on Sunday too, you know,” she insisted, playing it cool.
“Town square. Meet me at the gazebo five minutes to noon.”
“Why would I do that?”
He paused his work to look her in the eye when he said, “There’s something I want to show you.”
“Wha—”
“Is that my sign?” Albert asked, hopping from foot to foot in excitement.
“Do you like it?” Jackson asked back, indicating the lettering with a wave of the hand holding the pencil.
The sign featured block Gothic letters with swishes as accents over the lowercase letters. In between the words lemonade and stand was a shield that featured a lion standing on its hind legs.
“I used the calligraphy style on the covers and included the Gryffindor crest in the middle, since you like them so much,” Jackson said, smiling.
“It’s so cool!” Albert beamed.
“Wait until I’m done,” Jackson said. “Since the stand is already in crimson and gold, why don’t we paint the letters in black so they stand out more? Then I’ll paint the crest in crimson and gold too.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Natasha pushed to her feet, a floaty feeling emanating from the center of her chest. “Let’s leave him to it, then.” She placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder as he bounced in place. “I’ll help you with the stand.”
Without another word, Albert ran back to his painting. There was a giddiness surrounding the boy that hadn’t been there when she’d first delivered groceries to the mansion. And the person responsible for it was already hard at work again.
“Thank you,” she said grudgingly. She wasn’t a monster. She gave credit where credit was due. Even if it was due to Jackson.
“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he joked.
“Not by a long shot.”
Natasha turned on her heel. She was about to make her way to Albert when she turned around again and asked in the haughtiest tone she could manage, “What are you going to show me?”
“You’ll have to meet me on Sunday to see.”
“No, seriously?”
He looked over his shoulder at her again. “Seriously. Gazebo. Not that I don’t have all week to remind you.”
“What?”
“I already followed you around today.” He shrugged. “Might as well see the whole thing through.”
Her eyebrows came together. “I didn’t say yes.”
“But you will,” he said confidently.
“What makes you think I’ll say yes just because you brought a couple cans of paint?”
Before he could reply, Natasha walked away, feeling triumphant.
* * *
While the boys were putting the finishing touches on the lemonade stand Thursday afternoon, Natasha started on the baking. Unlike the first time she had seen it, the kitchen was now spotless. No half-eaten food or empty boxes of takeout lying around. That was good. She placed all the ingredients on the counter and set about preheating the oven and searching for bowls, measuring cups, spatulas, and baking pans.
The stove and fridge were all stainless steel. The pots and pans were copper-bottom. The countertops were granite. And the cabinets were a cheery light maple.
“Hello, Natasha,” Mrs. Winchester said as she entered the kitchen.
Natasha straightened from bending over one of the lower drawers, a whisk in her hand. “Mrs. Winchester, it’s very good to see you.”
Albert’s mother regarded Natasha with silent assessment. Her eyes didn’t seem puffy. And she did seem to have herself pulled together in a simple sweaterdress. But there were definite dark circles under her eyes that the concealer couldn’t completely hide. She sat down on the counter and folded her hands on top of each other.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you at the door the day you came with the groceries,” she said.
Natasha glanced over her shoulder while she preheated the oven. Mrs. Winchester couldn’t quite maintain eye contact. She would feel the same way if anyone but Nathan, Caleb, or Didi had seen her sobbing her eyes out.
“Albert was the perfect host,” Natasha replied as she stood to her full height.
“I appreciate what you did. Cleaning the kitchen. And now Albert tells me you’re helping him with his project.”
“He’s such a great kid.” Natasha smiled. “He’s actually with Jackson right now. I think they’re just about done with the lemonade stand.”
“Yes. I saw them on my way here,” she said, relief on her beautiful yet tired face. “I had no idea he was back in town. Are you two back together?”
The breath in Natasha’s lungs froze. “No. He’s just helping out.”
Mrs. Winchester’s lips curved upward. “It’s been weeks since I saw my son smile so widely. Of course, he’s getting paint everywhere, but it’s a small price I’m willing to pay for his happiness.”
Hearing that Jackson might have been responsible for making Albert happy did funny things to Natasha’s heart. But she pushed those feelings aside. He had no right taking up so much space in her thoughts.
“That’s good,” Natasha said, returning her attention to the dry ingredients laid out before her. “I’m working on the cookies for tomorrow.”
“I love the lemonade stand idea,” Mrs. Winchester said. “When Samuel was alive, he could drink a pitcher of my lemonade on a hot summer day. It was the perfect combination of sweet and sour, he would say. The look on his face while he savored each sip made me feel like I saved the world by making him that drink.”
Her wistful expression called to a familiar yearning in Natasha. “You miss him.”
“Do you miss breathing?”
Natasha met Mrs. Winchester’s gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Samuel may not be here with me anymore, but I carry him around here.” Albert’s mother tapped the center of her chest, then her temple. “And here. I remember him like I remember to breathe.”
Mrs. Winchester squared her shoulders. In an instant, she seemed a decade younger. It was like a ray of sunshine had broken through the gray storm clouds, promising a new day.
“Thank you,” she said. “Today is the first time that I feel like this house is coming back to life.” Her smile was soft and from the heart. “You made it happen.”
Natasha dropped her gaze, a flush pinking her cheeks. “I did nothing.”
Albert’s mom merely smiled before she stood up and walked out of the kitchen. Natasha wondered if a love like the Winchesters’ was unique to them or if she’d ever experience it too. Then she remembered she’d had a love like theirs. One made for the movies. Or at least she’d thought so at the time.