Should’ve been it.
“Grew up there,” he said, flicking a finger at the old place. Had a lot of fun there too. Learned how to be a man he hoped his daddy would’ve been proud of there.
Wasn’t sure he was doing everything right, but he was trying.
Her worry lines smoothed out. She gave him another of those secret smiles. “Looks like a nice place to grow up.” She leaned into him, her hair smelling all sweet and Anna-like, and pointed. “Is that the tree you tried to fly out of?”
Leave it to Anna Grace to remember the good ones. “That’s her.”
“Which branch?”
The old oak was bigger than she’d been back in the day, but the branch in question wasn’t there anymore. “See that big lump about a third of the way to the branches?”
“Aw, it’s gone?”
“It, ah, didn’t survive my growing up.” And he could still remember his daddy’s face when Jackson had to explain how the second-largest branch on the whole tree had happened to splinter off on a thick, lazy, stagnant July afternoon—irritation fighting with amusement, fear of Momma’s reaction outweighing everything else.How you planning on telling your momma you broke her favorite tree?Jackson couldn’t have been older than thirteen when it happened, but he could still see his daddy standing there on the driveway, rubbing his chin, eyes twinkling, choking on something. Pollen, he’d said, but it was only one of a handful of times Jackson ever heard his daddy talk about allergies.
Must’ve been a sight, Daddy had said.
He shifted a glance back at Anna Grace.
His daddy would’ve gotten a kick out of that sight too.
“This another story not fit for my delicate Yankee ears?” she teased. But the soft brush of her fingers over his hand, the way she tilted her head so her eyes went all soft, he knew what she was really asking.
If it was his to keep, or if it was his to share.
He gestured to the tree again. “Reckon you could say I watched too much Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote as a kid.”
“Oh, dear.” Her cheeks split into his second-favorite kind of Anna Grace grin. Her eyebrows gave him ago onwiggle.
He flipped his hand up and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Rigged my momma’s favorite old perfume bottle as a homemade bottle rocket. Didn’t exactly misfire, but it didn’t go where it was supposed to either.” He’d been a hell of a kid. Wonder his daddy hadn’t had a heart attack before Jackson hit his teen years. “Didn’t help I filled the whole bottle with fuel.”
Her eyes narrowed in that amused, suspicious way she had about her whenever he told some of his more heart-attack-inducing stories. “I don’t want to know what you used as fuel, do I?”
“I ever tell you about my momma’s family’s upstandingreputation in the moonshine industry?”
Her lips parted, her eyes still scrunchy around the edges. “Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. Henry Ford should’ve hired him some rednecks. Course, then you might not have a job here, but there’s a reason they say it’s like drinking gasoline.”
She stared at him one heartbeat longer, then tipped her head and laughed.
Right good sound, Anna Grace laughing.
But they couldn’t sit all afternoon parked across from what should’ve still been home, and he’d promised Momma they’d have dinner at the compound tonight.
Had to, what with how she’d channeled a military general when issuing the invitation.
So eventually he pulled away from the curb, the gnawing in his gut serving as his own personal radar as to how close they were. Anna got quiet too. Looked as though she wished she had a label maker within reach, but whenever she caught him stealing a glance, she gave him a courageous smile.
He pulled through the wrought-iron arch and onto the freshly repaved drive. Her knee jiggled. Jackson gave it a squeeze. “Okay, Anna Grace?”
“I don’t like being the only outsider in a room.”
“Between you and me, there’s two of us who’re something of outsiders here.”
The house came into view. She went so pale, he saw the shadow of the veins in her neck, and they were hopping faster than the drum of the motor in his truck. “Is there anything I should know before we go in?” she asked.
