Page 6 of A Perfect Fit

The paint incident was the catalyst for Jackson’s jackass and competitive attitude toward me.

Flashback to one morning during our first week at Summerhurst High. I arrived early to school and was sitting at the top of the stairs in the courtyard, doing some painting before first period. All was peaceful until I accidentally spilled one of my paint jars, causing droplets of white paint to fall through the spaces of the stairway railings and plummet downward.

Guess who happened to walk past at the same time.

That’s right—Jackson. And his best friend, Aaron Lancaster. Except the drops of paint fell on ‌top of Jackson’s head only.

Not the best way to make an impression on a new classmate, and it didn’t help that I immediately burst out laughing when I heard Jackson utter, “Did a bird just shit on me?” to Aaron.

Even though I apologized to Jackson and explained it was an accident after he glanced up and saw me, he didn’t believe me. To this day, he probably still thinks I spilled the paint on him on purpose.

Jackass. Smart-ass. Grudge-holder ass.

Jen’s brows draw together. “Or maybe he was like that because of …”

I sigh. “You can say his name.”

“Oliver,” she murmurs.

“Anyway, Jackson might be a jackass, but he’s not dumb,” I say. “He just does it on purpose. Remember when Mr. Burns assigned me and Jackson to be lab partners? Jackson told him he refused to work with me because I’d probably end up dropping and spilling everything. He said that in front of me and the whole class. I was mortified.”

Of course, since Mr. Burns—along with every other teacher at Summerhurst High—loved Jackson, his request was fulfilled.

“Yeah, that was an asshole move,” Jen agrees.

“And remember how he always said, ‘Make sure you don’t drop that,’ whenever I walked past him, holding something? And how he gloated in my face every time⁠—”

My eyes widen at the realization that I’ve been ranting about Jackson nonstop. “Oh my gosh, Jen, am I turning into a bitter, grudge-holder ass, too?”

Another grin touches her lips. “Considering you’ve spent the last five minutes telling me about him instead of all about London, yes. But it’s fine. You’re allowed to remember how he made you feel.”

“The only thing he makes me feel is annoyance,” I say, waving a hand. “I swear, I’m done thinking or talking about him, and I’m never going to⁠—”

“Okay, okay, go take a shower first,” Jen says, playfully pushing me out the door. “And then we can chat over lunch. I made rice paper rolls.”

A dreamy sigh escapes me. “Sounds delicious.”

I head to the bathroom for my shower, and then Jen and I have lunch together at the small dining table by the window. I rave to her about my London trip, and she updates me on her week and work as a nurse at our local hospital.

Once lunch is over and we clean up, I head for my bedroom, reaching for my sketchbook. It’s only been a week, but I’ve missed it. Missed doodling in it, sketching all the design ideas that like to live rent-free in my head.

Sometimes, I feel like it’s just me, my sketchbook, and my sewing machine against the world.

Time away from home and visiting London’s fashion and textile museums sparked inspiration, and I’m buzzing to see if I can turn that into something more. Plus, I fully intend to make the most of my last day of freedom before I go back to work at The Daily Brew tomorrow.

Turning to a fresh page, I grab a pencil and sit at my desk. I’ll unpack later.

For now … all I want to do is draw.

Chapter Three

JACKSON

“Welcome back, Mr. Carter.”

My driver, Tony, gives me a warm smile, his eyes crinkling beneath the gray ivy cap he’s always worn. Before my parents’ divorce, he used to be my family’s driver and would drive me to school every day. I reached out to him prior to returning to New York, grateful when he accepted my job offer.

“Thanks, Tony.” I return the smile. “And please feel free to just call me Jackson.”