“I’m not one to mind a little dirt,” Jackson replies, going for flirty but instead just sounding awkward.
Ethan bites back his smile, locks his eyes onto Jackson’s.
“It’s so lovely out here,” Jackson offers.
And it is. Rolling hills, jewel-green pasture, pastoral house. Plain but charming. The Swifts are evidently of modest means. This isn’t the rich side of town, where acreage fetches a lot of coin; it’s the jagged outskirts where real farmers live. People living hand to mouth.
“Thank you. Got a deal on it, and I know it needs work, but it’s home. For now.”
“Do you intend to stay a while?”God, please don’t let this fine man hear the neediness in my voice.
“We usually move around a lot. My business calls for it. Only so much need for furniture, especially the custom kind. But I really like it here and would love to settle in one place for a while. Throw down some roots for the baby.” Ethan flicks his chin to the house. “She’s inside napping. Older sister’s keepin’ an eye on her. But she’s probably napping, too.” His eyes clasp onto Jackson’s again, as if to convey,We are pretty much alone.
Heat creeps up Jackson’s neck. The sky above them is swollen with clouds, threatening rain, the air thick as pancakebatter.
Jackson eyes a structure in progress next to what appears to be Ethan’s woodworking shop—an open-air structure with a table saw and scraps of lumber.
“What’s that going to be?” he asks.
“It’s what I’m working on today. A shed. Digging postholes for the framing. Gonna be a guesthouse. I’ll rig a window unit, run plumbing, too.”
“All on your own?” Jackson thinks about his crew and how quickly, efficiently they could knock this project out. But he bites his tongue from saying another word about it, realizing that Ethan most likely can’t afford their labor.
“Yep! Should be done by the end of the week. At least with the shell. I work fast.” Again, that crooked, mischievous, wickedly hot grin slides across his face. “Wanna see the shop?”
“I wanna see it all,” Jackson says pointedly.
“Hm.” Ethan continues smiling at him. Then peels off his glove and drapes it over the handle of the shovel. “Allow me.”
Jackson follows him up the stairs to the modest house.
“You can see the inside another time. I don’t wanna disturb the baby.” Ethan leads him around the back via the wraparound porch. On the back side, the land slopes up, cresting into a ridge. Jackson sees a glimmering pond and, behind that, some kind of orchard.
“That’s the blueberry crop. Jane tends to it. I intend to make wine from the berries if we have enough—”
“I grow wild muscadines!” Jackson chirps. “Never made wine,but if you know how, you’re welcome to my grapes.”My grapes? Did I just really freaking say that?
“You serious? I’d love ’em. I have all the equipment and everything. And I’ll share the finished product.”
The air presses down on Jackson, causing him to sweat even more. That, and standing on the back porch next to Ethan, whose amber eyes are basically caressing him.
Ethan hops off the porch, and Jackson follows. Trails him around to a neat little shed with aSwift’s Apothecarysign hanging above the entryway.
It’s tiny, but open-air, with rows of twinkling glass bottles lining built-ins. From the ceiling, bundles of herbs are twined, hanging upside down to dry. The little room smells piney, like a spruce tree. “This space is incredible!”
“Yeah, it’s the wife’s shop. She’s really heavy into botanicals. All-natural stuff. Using Mother Earth to heal us…”
Jackson, of course, doesn’t let on that Charleigh already told him all about it.
“God, that must sound so dopey to you,” Ethan says, leaning against the counter.
“Not at all. There’s something to it—”
“Yeah, we just prefer to try and live as close to the land as possible. Not going in for pesticides, man-made chemicals, prescriptions—”
Jackson nods vehemently, his neck almost aching from how hard he keeps bending it. Naturally, he doesn’t agree with all this—he pops antibiotics when he has an infection—but hewants Ethan to believe he understands him, believe that he’s open-minded to an alternative way of thinking.
Jackson traces the row of bottles with his finger, stops when he reads a label that says,Love Potion. The skin on his face burns.
