ENTREPRENEURSHIP DAY. A fun day for kids to sell their stuff. During their Entrepreneurship Day many years ago, all Jackson wanted was to help Natasha and Nathan sell out their glittery Valentine’s cards. Now Jackson saw it more as the school trying to teach kids the value of money and the importance of business in a way that wasn’t dry and boring. If little Chaz and Chip were to take over their families’ companies someday, then they should start before they even hit puberty.
As soon as Jackson walked into the gym, the memories of his and his friends’ exploits during Entrepreneurship Day came to mind. The basketball court had been made to look like a bazaar, with booths and stalls of all kinds. Kids as young as eight sold their wares to everyone invited to attend—mostly family and friends. Jackson collected no less than six kisses on the cheek that day. That was before high school. Way before Natasha started being more than just a friend. It was right after she returned home from a summer in Europe with breasts, to be exact.
What he remembered most about Entrepreneurship Day was the song of the chaos. His classmates running around, wide smiles on their faces. The murmur and chatter of the adults. Cheerful greetings from the sellers. And the slight hum in the background he couldn’t quite identify. It was a glorious day. He probably still had the recording somewhere in his files.
Unfortunately, the experience today was different for Jackson. It seemed like he had cotton in his ears. The farther into the gym he got, the less he heard the cacophony of sounds. It was useless to pull his phone out and record. There was no hearing the results later anyway. His heart ached and his shoulders felt heavy. Maybe coming wasn’t such a good idea. But he’d promised Albert. Backing out seemed like a douche move. Albert was counting on him. And he had to admit to being curious about seeing the final product of all their hard work.
Jackson was about to keep moving in search of the Wizarding World of Lemonade stand when he spotted Natasha in a pretty pink dress and sandals heading over to him. They locked gazes, and for the briefest second before she reached him the lines of a new song came to him. Something he hadn’t heard in a while: an upbeat melody.
His heart punched hard against the cage of his chest. He lost his breath. For the first time in six months, he actually wanted to compose dance music again.
“What are you doing here?” Natasha demanded.
Under the gym lights, her eyes seemed bluer than usual. And her hair. The strands were like a dark waterfall over her shoulders. The urge to reach out and touch her was strong.
The sound was gone. He was back to hearing the muffled noise surrounding them. But there were still echoes in his soul. Pure. Calling out to him. Where had they come from?
A knot formed on her brow. “Jax!”
He blinked twice, forcing himself to focus. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” She frowned.
“Look,” he said with a sigh. “As much as I love seeing you, I’m actually here for Albert. In case you’ve forgotten, I worked hard on that lemonade stand. And my hands still sting from squeezing all those lemons.”
“Excuse me, it was a group effort.”
“I just want to check on our guy.”
“UGH! Fine.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.
Liking the feel of her soft hand way too much, Jackson went along. Trailing in her wake gave him the best view of her backside. Not to mention every time he inhaled, his lungs were happy. She smelled of apples today.
Then she stopped abruptly. Jackson had to dig in his feet to keep from colliding with her. He’d learned that lesson from when they were at the art supply store. They weren’t in the touching-and-getting-close stage yet.
“Why’d we stop?” he asked.
“Just look at him,” she said.
Jackson followed her gaze to where Albert sat in his special lemonade stand. He had his arms crossed and wore a sad expression on his face. The stand itself looked great. The gold and crimson colors stood out. The sign that hung above was perfect. At the left post of the cardboard window cutout was the menu, with the prices of each item Albert was selling. Unfortunately, there was one key element missing.
There was no one buying any of his lemonade. The cookies and cupcakes were ignored as well. And in a gym filled with kids who lived for a sugar high? Not paying attention to the veritable feast of sweets was totally unacceptable.
“How long has it been like this?” Jackson asked, his chest heavy.
“Since we started,” Natasha explained. “We finished setting up. Albert was so excited. I told him I was here if he needed me. He said he could take care of everything, so I kept my distance. Still hovering, of course, but I wanted to give him a chance.”
“He even dressed up as Harry. That’s commitment.”
“But no one is buying any lemonade.”
“We have to do something.” Jackson surveyed the scene before them.
“Yeah, but no matter how hard I try to encourage kids to go and buy a glass or a cookie or cupcakes, none of them would listen to me. I’m at my wit’s end here.”
A ping of inspiration struck Jackson almost as soon as Natasha finished speaking. “When I’m spinning at a party, there’s always some resistance at first.”
“What does selling lemonade have to do with being a DJ?” She scowled at him.
He grinned, taking her annoyance in stride. “All I do is find one willing participant to kick things off. I zero in on that person and cater my beats to his or her moves. Pretty soon the crowd follows.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Reaching into his back pocket, Jackson pulled out a dollar from his wallet.
* * *
Natasha watched as Jackson neared Albert. The boy lost his frown for a second when he recognized who had arrived. They spoke, and Albert’s frown returned. Natasha had a feeling the boy was explaining his predicament. Jackson listened intently, stuffing one hand into the pocket of his jeans. He nodded and agreed with everything Albert said. Then he pointed at one of the pitchers of lemonade—the red one that was meant to represent Gryffindor. They had green, blue, and yellow too, for the other houses.
Albert eagerly poured Jackson a cup. Jackson handed him a dollar and took a sip. He smiled, then said something that made Albert laugh. Then Jackson ambled away.
At first, Natasha had no idea what he was doing until he reached the center of the basketball court. He took another sip of the red lemonade, then said in a voice loud enough for anyone near him to hear, “Wow! This is great!” He looked so cool in his leather jacket, T-shirt, jeans, and boots that kids turned to stare at him.
A minute passed. Nothing.
But by the time Jackson was halfway done with his glass, six kids approached him. A boy with curly brown hair led the pack. He looked up at Jackson and said, “You’re DJ Ax, right?”
Jackson grinned. “Yup.”
“Cool,” the kids said in chorus.
Then the leader spoke rapidly. “I watched your videos on YouTube. They were awesome.”
“Thank you.” Jackson raised his cup of lemonade.
The kids all looked at him, and one of them asked, “What’s that?”
“Oh, this?” Jackson pointed at the cup. “It’s the best lemonade in here. You can get it at that booth.”
He pointed toward Albert’s booth. Almost immediately, the group turned on their heels and ran for the lemonade stand.
A smile started small on Natasha’s lips until it stretched wide and reached her eyes. She finally understood what Jackson had done. He knew that at least a few kids would recognize him, and that was more than enough incentive to copy what he was doing. Albert happily sold lemonade and cookies, a big smile on his face for the first time that day.
Taking her cue from Jackson, Natasha purchased a cup for herself and mingled among the crowd. Every time she stopped at a booth or chatted with an assembled group, she casually mentioned how great the lemonade from that Harry Potter stand was. Pretty soon Albert was inundated with kids and grown-ups who wanted a taste, and a line formed.
“You were right,” Natasha said as she joined Jackson at the bleachers. She sat down on the first rung while Jackson remained standing. “All it takes is one and the rest will follow. And it doesn’t hurt if that one is mildly famous.”
He smiled. “It doesn’t hurt that we made damn good lemonade,” he said after finishing his second cup. “No one can deny a great product. That plus word of mouth will always win. And what exactly do you mean by ‘mildly’?”
Natasha pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. The last thing she wanted was to give him the satisfaction. Instead she asked, “Why do you know so much about this?”
He shrugged, keeping his gaze on the line and Albert interacting with each new customer. “It’s what happened with my music. I focused on making the best product that I could be proud of. Then it took getting the track in the right hands. One recommendation turned into ten, and ten turned into a hundred. The next thing I know I’m waking up to news that my songs are climbing the charts.”
“It sounds like a dream the way you talk about it.”
“Sometimes I have to pinch myself just to see if I’ll wake up.”
Natasha cradled her cup in both hands, swirling the blue lemonade around and around. “If it was going so well, then why did you come back?”
Jackson inhaled sharply, as if the question had caught him unawares. Then he let out his breath slowly. She looked up at him, not sure what to expect. His expression remained neutral when he finally spoke.
“How many of my new songs have you heard?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. So she paused and thought about it. Was he fishing for compliments?
“A couple,” she said nonchalantly.
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Heard any from the last six months?”
“Jackson, my life doesn’t revolve around downloading your next hit.”
“That’s the problem,” he said. Then he let out a long, hard sigh—the kind that seemed to move through his entire body. “My last couple of songs are total flops. According to the few people who did listen to them, they were sad. Sappy. Heartbreakingly mediocre.”
Her shoulders tensed. “What? Why? You write dance music.”
“Exactly.” He barked a sad laugh. “It happened after Amsterdam.”
“So you’re blaming this on me.”
“Of course not.” He rubbed his forehead before looking her in the eye. “I’m just telling you what happened. From the beginning, all my music was about you. About how happy I was that we were together. When you left me in Amsterdam, everything went south in my songwriting. I missed you so much that it showed in my music. Then I realized that without you in my life, there’s no music.”
Everything in Natasha screamed that she should be pissed. Was he seriously making his successes and failures about her? Yet she couldn’t deny the fact that when he said his songs were about her, heat spread across her face. Then she saw the briefest flicker of hurt in Jackson’s expression.
“I … I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak louder for fear that her voice would break.
“Say you’ll meet me at the gazebo on Sunday.” He returned his gaze to Albert. “Please, Tash. Let me make it up to you. I made a mistake letting you go. Let me show you that I’m serious about asking for your forgiveness.”
Still affected by his admission, Natasha turned her gaze toward the lemonade stand. She mentally cataloged Albert’s supply. The pitchers had been refilled. The cupcakes were selling. But the cookies seemed to be running low.
“He looks like he’s really enjoying himself,” Jackson said, changing the topic.
She nodded. At least Albert had found his purpose. Maybe she’d find hers soon.
“I guess you more than earned me showing up on Sunday,” she said.
A grin flashed over Jackson’s face. He seemed less tired than on the night of the engagement party.
“Admit it, there’s definitely a thaw there,” he teased.
“There is no thaw. No thaw at all.” She kept her tone icy to prove the point. “I’m just being civil.”
“There’s a thaw.”
She twisted in her seat and faced him, giving in to her curiosity. “What’s going to happen on Sunday? Why do I have to be at the gazebo?”
“At five minutes before noon. Remember. That’s the important part.”
“Five minutes before noon,” she repeated.