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“Better than nothing, though.”
He agrees with a nod. “Better than nothing.”
I glance back out at the lake, watching a loon dive under the water to pop up again a few feet away, more curious now about this place. “Was the cabin your grandparents’ then?” I ask, turning back to him.
He shakes his head and gestures across the lake. “They owned that big white cottage there.”
I follow his gaze, squinting off in the distance and finding a gorgeous cottage, if it can be really called that. Three stories, it looks more plantation house belonging in the South than cottage in Canada.
Before I can ask why he’d give up that place for a little log cabin, he continues, “After my mother passed away, I wanted to do something with the money she left me. Something that would make her happy, so I had the cabin built.”
He doesn’t want to talk more about it, I can tell. But my instincts tell me to press the conversation. “So, then what happened to your grandparents’ cottage? Do you still own that?”
“I donated it after my mother died.”
“To?”
His gaze meets mine. “Hospice care.”
The emotion in his expression slams into me. My heart is in my throat, and I’m fighting back tears. I wait until I know I won’t let those tears fall before I address him again. “I’m sure that would make your mother incredibly proud.”
“It would, yes.” His smile is sweet, and I imagine his mother saw this smile a lot, when he adds, “When she took her last breath, she sat on the porch of that cottage staring out at this very view.” He turns to me then. “I think she was happy. She seemed it, anyway.” Any fighting the tears I thought I was doing was futile. A single tear slips down my cheek when he adds, “I wanted to give that type of peace to others. It’s the best way I thought I could memorialize her.” He cocks his head, regarding my tear sliding down my face.
“I’m sorry; I’m a crier.” I wipe my tear, and then add, “I think that’s such an incredibly sweet thing for you to do.”
“Mom was an incredibly sweet woman. It’s what she would’ve wanted.” He glances out at the water again.
I can’t look away from him, seeing right then and there that Liam is dead wrong about Jackson. This man isn’t the “horrible piece of shit” Liam calls him. He’s the “gentle, strong soul” that Aria claims him to be.
It’s like the blinders covering my eyes have been lifted.
And I want more of what Jackson Keller is delivering.
* * *
JACKSON
Later that night, stars spatter the dark sky, and the full moon casts a soft glow across the lake. I place another piece of wood on the crackling fire. Mallory sits on one of the oak Adirondack chairs positioned around the fire pit encased by rocks, her glass of wine resting on the armrest. She’s been quiet while I’ve been tending to the fire. Enough so that I can’t help wondering what’s resting so heavily on her mind. More importantly, I know the fact that I’m so invested in what’s on her mind is a problem. A big one.
I’m not supposed to want this woman. That wasn’t the plan. And yet I do. I want to hear more of what she thinks, listen to her ramble. I like the way she sees the world. I’m beginning to see why Aria is best friends with Mallory. She feels good to be around.
When the fire begins burning brightly again, I rise and move back to my seat next to her picking up my beer bottle on the armrest, discovering she’s staring at me intently. The orange hue of the fire casting over her cheekbones shows me her expression is thoughtful. I chuckle, and withthatlook, I take a guess at what she’s thinking. “If you want to know something about me, Mallory, ask.”
“Even if it’s something incredibly personal?” she asks quickly.
I give a firm nod. “Even if.” I have nothing to hide.
She takes a sip of her wine and then shimmies her way to the end of her chair, eyes narrowing thoughtfully on me. “Why do you and Liam hate each other so much?”
I might not have anything to hide but I’m not overly thrilled to discuss Liam. We’re crossing a professional/personal line that can never be uncrossed. “Why are you wondering?” I ask before deciding if I should indulge this line of questioning.
“Curiosity, really.” She gives a half-shrug. “I mean, I know we shouldn’t talk about Liam, because he’s my boss and all. But I gotta admit here, Jackson, I’m utterly confused.”
“By?”
“You’re not the guy that Liam makes you out to be.” She pauses, nibbling her lip. “Of course, Aria says the nicest things about you, but to be honest, I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t see how Liam could have you pegged so wrong.”
I consider her little speech there. While I appreciate how honest she is with me, I come to my own conclusions. “You thought Aria saw something in me that wasn’t there?”
