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With a shrug, he sets his mug down on the carpet, then leans back on his palms.
“My parents and I aren’t close, and they don’t host holiday stuff like your friend’s parents, so…” He shrugs again. “I usually just enjoy other people’s trees.”
One of my brows dips. “Is that what you do during the holidays, then? Visit friends?”
“For the most part,” he says. “There are a lot of beautiful places to visit during December.”
I nod. “I’m sure that’s true. But there’s nothing like being at home during the holidays. That kind of warm sense of…well, of home.” Shaking my head, I grin, knowing that even with all the tragedy Rusty and I have faced, we’re still lucky to have what we do. “It’s special.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a place to spend every holiday,” he says. “I’m not opposed to it. I just…haven’t found anywhere that’s made me think this is where I want to be yet.”
“Well, if you’re going to be spending the holidays somewhere this year, I’m glad it’s with us,” I say, giving him a grin. “It’s important to be with people you love at the holidays, and it sounds like you and Rusty are close.”
Jackson’s lips tip up. “Yeah. Well, we were, for a long time. It’s hard now, since we live so far apart.”
“Where do you live?”
“Chicago.”
“Oh, wow. That is far.”
Jackson nods. “It is. And it’s a lot colder during the winter.”
“Do you like it there?”
He dips his head from side to side. “It’s fine.” Then he blows into his mug to cool his drink before taking a sip.
“Just fine?”
One side of his mouth curves. “I’ve been considering a change of scenery.”
“Well, if you’re investing in Rusty’s brewery, you could always move here,” I say. Then I freeze. “I mean, for the business,” I clarify. “Not for like…any other reason.”
Jackson pinches his lips together in amusement as he watches me stumble over myself. “Thanks for the tip.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s my line.”
“Oh I certainly gave you more than just the tip,” he shoots back, one eyebrow rising high on his forehead.
His comment has me bursting into giggles, and I hide my face in my hands for a moment, trying to collect myself. Eventually, I manage to calm down, even though Jackson is still eyeing me with that little smidge of deviousness.
“You said you were remembering your mom when I came down,” Jackson says, completely redirecting our conversation. “Tell me one of your favorite holiday memories of her.”
I grin, my mind flitting back over years’ worth of things that, at the time, seemed like they didn’t matter.
“Okay, well…when I was in elementary school, my parents wanted us to go to this apple orchard up north. Rusty and I were so not into it, but my mom insisted, so we all bundled up and loaded into the car in the middle of November, just a week before Thanksgiving, to drive down the mountain, two hours north, and then up another mountain.”
I giggle, shaking my head.
“Rusty and I were miserable, and we fought and complained the whole time. Then when we finally got there, it was crazy foggy. Like, my dad could barely see the road in front of him, and the orchard’s restaurant and gift shop were open, but the apple picking wasn’t. So we drove hours and hours to spend ten minutes at this place, where my mom finally just bought a sack of apples before we went home.”
Jackson looks at me with raised eyebrows. “And this is a good holiday memory?”
I let out a laugh. “I know how it sounds, but that year, we had the best apple pie of our lives, and we sat at the table at the Mitchells’ that Thanksgiving telling this story about how miserable it was and how mom had forced us to go on this horrible road trip. We laughed our asses off the entire time, and we still can’t tell that story without smiling.” I shrug. “Sometimes, unexpected things can turn into the best memories, and to this day, Rusty has me make mom’s apple pie every Thanksgiving.”
He smiles at me, and there’s something so sweet and genuine about it. “That’s a really great story.”
I nod. “It is.”
