Jackson paced the kitchen as he waited for Rose. He glanced at the clock on his phone, frowning. It was almost five. He'd hoped she would be here by now. She had said she would come back, hadn't she?

The sound of a vehicle made his head pop up hopefully. He scurried out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the foyer where he pulled the curtain aside. His shoulders sloped with relief. It was Rose's baby blue truck. He opened the door and trotted down the steps to wait for her. When she parked and got out of the truck, she shaded her eyes against the sunlight and held up the other hand in greeting.

"Hi again," she said.

He forced himself to sound calm. "Hey. You don't look like you're ready to trim hedges."

Rose looked down at her grey pants and pretty blouse. She looked up at him sheepishly.

"I forgot to change. I was distracted."

Jackson smiled. "Distracted? You were always so single-minded." He gestured over his shoulder. "Why don't you come in? You've had a long day, and I hate to see you get grass stains on your pretty shirt."

Rose scuffed her shoe in the gravel. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, Rosie. Come on in."

***

Rose hesitated. She hadn't been inside the McBride house in over a decade.

"Come on, Rosie," Jackson said as he turned at mounted the steps. "Take a load off."

She lifted her shoulders, suddenly shy. "Okay. Sure. That—that sounds nice."

He led her into the house. As Rose stepped across the threshold, her breath caught in her throat. She'd forgotten how grand the house was on the inside. The imposing, curved staircase, the high ceiling in the foyer. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the tall windows and warmed the space.

Jackson looked over his shoulder. "Join me in the kitchen?"

Rose nodded, following him with her heart in her throat.

He had an easy stride, his arms swinging slightly in a way that made the well-defined muscles in his shoulders bunch up and relax beneath his red T-shirt. She stared at the back of his head, willing herself not to blush. Jackson had a strong back. He'd never been small, but he was even bigger now. Not tall, but broad—although anyone was tall compared to Rose.

He led her into the kitchen. She looked around furtively. The space was the same. Airy and open, with a centre island topped in grey, streaky stone flanked by three tall chairs. She and Jackson had spent hours there as children. They'd swung their legs as they sat in the high seats, thumping the island cupboards with their toes while Jackson's nanny made them lunch. This place had felt like a second home to Rose, once.

"What can I get you, Rosie?" Jackson opened the stainless-steel fridge. "We have water and beer, or I made iced tea, if you like."

She leaned against the island. "Iced tea sounds nice. Thank you."

He ducked his head, then popped up with a condensation-beaded pitcher. "Tea it is." He set the pitcher on the counter and rummaged in the cupboards for glasses. "Tell me about your day."

Rose tapped her fingernails on the grey stone. "Do you remember that man from the Trib? Alex Decker?"

Jackson set two tall glasses on the island with a gentle clink. "I remember. He didn't seem too keen on you."

He poured her a glass and handed it to her. Rose clutched it to her body, worrying the lip of the glass with her fingertips.

"He's concerned about my ethics," she said. "He thinks I may be biased in my decisions with you boys in town. He thinks you're here because of the airport."

Jackson leaned on the island across from her and rested his forearms on the countertop. "I promise, Rosie. I'm not here for business. Just..." he paused, "...uh, pleasure."

Her cheeks heated, and she ducked her head. "I told him so. I don't think he believed me."

"Are you worried he'll cause a stir?"

Rose considered this. "I don't know what he could possibly dig up about me that would be worrisome."

Jackson's voice was dry. "Then you and I have led very different lives."

The smile playing on his lips made her insides warm.

She leaned forward. "I'm not surprised. You always did have a habit of getting into trouble."

"Only because you started it." His smile widened. "Do you remember stealing the rope from the hardware store?"

She groaned. "How old were we? Twelve? Maybe Alex Decker just hasn't gone back far enough, yet."

"You and your shadowy past," said Jackson, chuckling.

"I believe you were the shadow."

"Rosie," he mused, "it's entirely possible we were just equally matched."

Rose took a sip of her iced tea to hide the sudden tremor in her hand. This was strange; they weren't arguing, and it was making her nervous. She set her glass down on the counter none-too-gently and startled at the sound. As she inspected the base of the glass for chips, she avoided Jackson's gaze.

She wanted to ask him. She needed to know. Desperately. Why did you leave? But this sudden truce between them was so delicate it had all the tensile strength of a thread of cotton candy, and she didn't want to break it. Not yet.

She risked a glance at Jackson. He was staring at her with those clear, blue eyes, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. How he could look so serene was beyond her when she was all tied up in knots inside.

"Thanks for the drink," she said.

"Any time."

"How long will you be here?" she asked.

The trace of humour faded from his gaze. "The summer, at least." There was some emotion in his eyes that she couldn't read. "Maybe longer. It depends on what Denny and Dally do."

She cocked her head. "You don't have business to attend to?"

"I do. Back in Toronto. But hopefully not for much longer."

Rose took a deep breath to quell the wellspring of hope that fountained in her chest. The prospect of an entire summer with Jackson at the house was so much like old times it conferred a dizzying sense of déjà vu.

Jackson gestured with his iced tea. "Is this okay? Me being here?"

She blinked at him. "It's your house."

"It's your town."

She bit her lip. Her voice sunk to a whisper. "This was home for you, too, once."

He looked down. His voice came out low and rough. "It's complicated. I..."

Her whole body seemed to hang in some liminal space. The space between knowing and not knowing. She could ask him outright. The words were on her lips. Why did you leave?

The sound of the front door opening and closing broke the thrall. Jackson straightened and pushed away from the island.

"That'll be Denny and Dally back from town." He sounded almost nervous.

"Oh." Rose clutched her glass to her chest. She could feel her own heartbeat thudding against her thumb. They'd been so close. "I can go. If it's—"

Jackson forestalled her. "No, please stay. I...I don't want you to go. Not yet."

Rose flushed. "Okay, Jackson. I'll stay."