“Small-town fireworks or actual fireworks?”
“The kind that fizzle out after two minutes but everyone still claps,” she replied with a wry smile.
He chuckled. “Yeah, I can do that.” Jackson didn’t mind loud noises when he could anticipate them. It wasn’t the light or sound that got to him, just the surprise.
He paused, glancing her way. “But I have a favor in return.”
Zoe cocked her head; he sensed her curiosity sparking. “A favor? Should I be worried?”
“Depends how you feel about home-cooked food,” he said. “Sunday, family dinner. My mom’s asked me to invite you to dinner almost every night this week. If you don’t show up soon, she’s going to assume I scared you off.”
Zoe laughed softly. “You mean it’s not the other way round? That I scared you off?”
“No, despite your best efforts,” Jackson replied. He meant it as a joke, but there was some truth to those words. In a way it was terrifying to him how much he cared about her, how overwhelming his feelings for her were. “Though between you and me, she’s the scary one when she wants to be.”
“Oh, please. Your mom’s the sweetest woman alive.”
Jackson’s mouth curved. “Ah, that’s what she wants you to believe. But you skip too many dinners, she’ll start dropping off casseroles as bait. Next thing you know, you’re confessing your whole life story and you haven’t even invited her in yet. She’s like some kind of casserole witch.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Zoe said with a grin.
“Says the girl who’s hunting for a long-lost flower like it’s a treasure chest. Anyway, talk to me about the Local Blooms project. Eleanor’s visit is coming up, right?” Jackson said, pulling the conversation back on track.
They’d just left the heart of downtown, the hum of local traffic giving way to the softer rhythm of country roads. The lake disappeared in the rearview mirror, replaced by rolling fields and patches of birch and pine. The road turned gently uphill, past old farmhouses with wraparound porches and fences painted by hand.
Zoe’s smile brightened. “Right, Local Blooms. I can’t believe Eleanor will be here in five days. I was hoping you could help me figure out some hands-on activities for the kids? I thought they could plant vegetables at the farm this spring, then come back to harvest them later. You could explain how the soil, sunlight, and water all work together.”
Jackson nodded slowly. “I like that. And it’ll tie in with the veterans’ retreat, too.”
Her eyes lit up. “Exactly! I was hoping we could merge the two somehow and make it a shared space. Like maybe the kids could start seedlings there in the spring, and the veterans could keep them growing through summer. It could all be connected in a cycle of care, really.”
Soon Jackson eased the truck onto the shoulder near the old guardrail while Zoe was still talking excitedly about the project. Below, a narrow dirt path wound down to the stream. The spot was familiar. Locals fished here in warmer months, especially when the smallmouth bass and scrappy little catfish were biting. Not much for eating, but they fought hard on the line, and that was half the fun.
Zoe climbed out, unfolding her map against the hood of the truck. The paper crinkled in the breeze. A few faint water stains speckled the edge.
She pointed upriver toward a cluster of pines, their tops swaying gently in the breeze. “It looks like it used to cut along the bank, but I’m not sure how clear it’ll be. Or how long it’ll take us.”
Jackson grabbed the small tool belt from the back of the truck and buckled it low on his hips. The military had drilled it into him to never head into the woods unprepared. He checked the contents: a hand hatchet, a flashlight, bear spray, lighter, rope. Enough to handle whatever came up. Black bears roamed these parts, and though they usually kept to themselves, the last thing he wanted was to stumble into a mother and cubs without warning. It was better to be loud, careful, and ready.
They reached the edge of the incline. The ground sloped steeply toward a tangle of trees below. Jackson slowed, testing the ground with his boot before turning back to her. “Stay behind me. The ground’s slick. Watch your footing.”
She nodded, one hand gripping his shoulder as she stepped down. He caught her other hand without thinking, steadying herwhen her boot slipped on a patch of pine needles. The jolt of her touch sent a shock through him that had nothing to do with balance.
“Careful,” he said, steadying her.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
The trail—if it could even be called that anymore—was barely a suggestion, little more than packed earth worn by years of neglect. Pine needles carpeted the ground mixed with last year’s fallen leaves. Overhead, the sky stretched pale blue, streaked with thin clouds that glowed in the late-afternoon sun. The creek kept them company, its steady murmur a reminder that spring was waking the land all around them.
Jackson breathed it in, chest expanding against the tightness that always seemed to sit there. Out here, the air felt different. It was crisp, alive, and cut through the weight pressing on him like nothing else. For the first time in days, he felt something relax inside himself.
Zoe’s voice broke the quiet now and then, questions drifting from behind him, observations about plants sprouting along the bank or the call of a bird overhead. Jackson answered in even tones, doing his best to sound casual. Just friends, he reminded himself. That’s what they were building back to. That’s all this was.
And yet…he couldn’t help noticing the way the sunlight caught on the loose strands of hair framing her face, or how her cheeks flushed pink with the climb. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound of her laughter behind him, soft and unguarded. He kept his eyes forward, on the path, forcing his body to stay steady even while the thought gnawed at him that she was more beautiful than anything they’d ever find on this trail.
“Are those wild roses?” Zoe called after a while, crouching near a cluster of tangled green shoots peeking out from a sunnypatch. A few tentative buds had already formed, tight and small, with a faint blush of color at the tips.
Jackson stopped, turned around. “Looks like it.”
