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A thrill of nervous excitement fluttered in her chest, but she nodded, her competitive spirit piqued. “I think I can handle it.”
The next half hour was a whirlwind of activity. Amanda and Jackson found themselves in the thick of Louise’s bustling family, helping to corral children, fetch items from high shelves, and keep an eye on the wandering toddler who was determined to explore every nook and cranny.
Amid the bustling store, Amanda found herself laughing more freely than she had in ages. The children were endearing, peppering the air with questions that tickled her funny bone. "Where do eggs come from?" one asked, only to follow up with, "Then where do chickens come from?" Jackson, usually so reserved, seemed to thrive in the chaos, his guard down as he joined in the banter and childlike curiosity.
At one point, Amanda looked over at Jackson, huddled with two of Louise’s boys, their heads together as they debated which brand of hot chocolate was the best. Jackson was animated, his expression brimming with laughter as he listened to the boys’ passionate arguments. The sight of him, so at ease and engaged, sent tingles spreading through Amanda’s chest.
“The kind you make from scratch,” she said, watching as they took two boxes of Swiss Miss from the shelf.
By the time they finished helping Louise and her children, Amanda realized the chaos, rather than draining her, had filled her with energy.
As they waved goodbye to Louise and her family, the store was too quiet, the absence of the children’s laughter echoing in her ears.
“Let’s finish and get out of here,” Jackson said.
She looked out the window and realized that several inches of snow had fallen in the time they’d spent helping Louise.
Amanda became increasingly aware of Jackson's preferences as they moved through the aisles at lightning speed. It began as small, seemingly insignificant observations—how his hand lingered on a particular brand of coffee and his eyes lit up at the sight of a specific type of cereal. As they continued, however, she realized that their tastes were strikingly similar.
Jackson turned to her at one point, holding up a jar of homemade apple butter. “Have you ever tried this?”
Amanda shook her head, her curiosity piqued. “No, I can’t say I have.”
“Ah, you’re missing out. It’s fantastic on toast.” He placed the jar in their basket, throwing her a look that promised a shared experience in the future.
As they continued their shopping, conversation flowed easily between them. They talked about their favorite meals, the comfort foods that reminded them of home. Amanda was surprised to learn that Jackson loved to cook, a hobby they both shared.
“I make a mean lasagna,” Jackson confessed, his eyes filled with a hint of competitiveness.
“My baked ziti will beat your lasagna any day.”
“Is that a challenge, Ms. Anderson?” Jackson countered, grinning at her.
"Consider the gauntlet thrown, Mr. Knight," Amanda said, her smirk perfectly mirroring his. They sealed the agreement with a handshake, and a surge of excitement coursed through Amanda, filling her with a thrilling sense of anticipation.
They picked up the ingredients they needed for their respective dishes, their conversation light and filled with laughter.
He tried to pay at the register, but she reminded him that the deal was room and board in exchange for labor.
As they left the store, their shopping bags filled with ingredients and supplies for the impending storm, her competitive side engaged. They had unwittingly set up a cooking challenge, a promise of shared moments and culinary exploration. She was looking forward to learning more about Jackson and peeling back the layers of his character, one meal at a time.
As they began the journey back to Amanda’s cabin, the heavy snowfall muffled the world around them. She loved the quiet serenity of the snow-covered streets, the way the fairy lights twinkled in the snowy night, and the comfort of Jackson’s presence.
As they pulled into the cabin’s driveway, Amanda smiled at Gunner pressing his nose against the window. It was as if he had awaited their return, anxiously watching the world outside.
“Look at him,” Amanda laughed, pointing out Gunner to Jackson. “I swear, he’s like a little kid waiting for Santa.”
Jackson chuckled, his gaze following hers to the window where Gunner was now bouncing up and down. “He’s excited to see us.”
“I hope he didn’t eat my cat.”
Jackson laughed. “Your cat is more likely to eat Gunner, and he seems fine.”
Once they were inside, Gunner’s excitement was palpable. He jumped around, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his tail wagging so hard that it propelled him around the room. It was a joyous welcome home.
Catsby, on the other hand, meandered into the kitchen and gave her a look that said, “I’ve been sleeping for fifteen hours, and I’m starved.”
“Coming right up.” She opened a can of Fancy Feast and set it on the old sideboard. Catsby could care less that Gunner was equally interested in a meal. He gave the dog a you-are-an-inferior-species look and started eating.
