Besides, if he and Zoe were going to break up in three weeks after the Spring Fling, at least he could give his mom one happy family dinner memory.
An hour before Zoe was due, Jackson stepped under a cold shower until his skin prickled numb. He slammed anenergy drink, hoping the jolt of caffeine would get him through dinner. After that, maybe he could crash hard enough to avoid dreaming.
The bottles of pills in his medicine cabinet had crossed his mind, too. How many SSRIs had he tried?
The last doc had thrown a pharmaceutical cocktail his way and made it seem like a one-size-fits-all solution. Just swallow this handful of pills and wait for the world to right itself. Except the world never had. The nightmares still came, the memories still gutted him raw, and the side effects left him feeling dead inside. No highs, no lows, no fire in his chest when Zoe smiled at him. Just…flat.
That wasn’t the way he wanted to live his life.
Maybe someday he’d find the right doctor, the right combination. He knew he needed help. But tonight? Tonight he couldn’t show up dulled down and disconnected.
The smell of something buttery and savory filled the Hawthorne farmhouse as he walked in. It was the smell of home, of Sundays, of everything Jackson hadn’t realized he’d missed until he’d been halfway across the world.
“Oh my goodness, it smells amazing in here,” Zoe said, stepping inside soon after, her arms full of a bouquet of daisies. She didn’t bother knocking. She never had to. Not here.
Jackson’s chest tightened at the sight of her. She wore a soft blue sweater that set off the color in her eyes, her hair swept into a loose braid that trailed over one shoulder. A few tendrils had escaped, curling around her face in a way that made her look both completely put-together and utterly relaxed. She fit here so easily it hurt.
She crossed the kitchen in a few confident strides, set the flowers on the counter, and leaned in to hug his mom.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, though her eyes brightened as she took in the flowers. She’dalready been bustling between the stove and the counter, a wooden spoon clutched in one hand.
Zoe waved her off with that effortless warmth of hers. “Jackson said I didn’t need to bring anything, but my mom said never come to a dinner empty-handed.”
Jackson’s mother’s laugh filled the kitchen, rich and fond. “I always knew Gertie raised you right.”
From the living room, Tom gave a wordless grunt of agreement, his attention never shifting from the baseball game flickering across the TV. The crack of the bat and the announcer’s voice carried faintly into the kitchen, blending with the clatter of silverware and low laughter.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, jerking her head toward the doorway. “He baked the bread this morning. Can’t have Sunday dinner without his famous rosemary loaf.”
Tom’s voice floated in from the next room. “She won’t let me near the ham, but the bread’s mine.”
Zoe laughed. “I knew I smelled something delicious the second I got out of the car.”
Cassidy and Liam arrived a moment later, Cassidy carrying a glass bowl that showed off her seven-layer salad. Crisp romaine lined the bottom, followed by bright spring vegetables and a creamy dressing spread on top. Above that, neat rows of peas, diced green onions, shredded cheddar, and a generous blanket of chopped bacon and parmesan.
If Liam married her—and Jackson was sure he would—it was fine by him. He loved that salad almost as much as he’d grown to love the woman who made it.
He hadn’t expected to, not at first. Cassidy was a firecracker. At first she seemed too chatty, too curious, too much everything when she’d blown into Liam’s life last year. But over time, she’d earned her place here, not by forcing it, but by sheer kindness and the kind of unshakable joy that even Jackson couldn’t resist.She made his brother lighter, brighter, at a time of year that was always the most painful to him. Jackson hadn’t thought that would ever be possible, but Cassidy had done it.
Jackson was happy for them. He really was. Still, a quiet ache crept in as he watched Liam slip an arm around her waist, stealing a quick kiss before she laughed and nudged him toward the stove.
Cassidy fell into the rhythm of the kitchen as naturally as Zoe had. She worked on taking out the appetizers, uncovering the cheese and cracker tray, before arranging the relish platter with a selection of pickles, olives, spiced apple rings, and fresh vegetables.
Zoe had already rolled up her sleeves. She crushed cornflakes in her hands over a mixing bowl, sprinkling them across the top of the cheesy potatoes before sliding the dish back toward the oven to wait out its last fifteen minutes.
Liam moved to carve the ham under his mom’s watchful eye, while Tom joined them in the kitchen, ready to slice his bread.
“And you can set the table,” Beth started to say to Jackson.
“Already on it,” he replied, reaching for the plates.
He laid the plates along the worn farmhouse table, straightening the silverware as the warm scent of butter and rosemary filled the room.
When he glanced back, Zoe was laughing at something his mother had said, the sound wrapping around the kitchen like sunlight. She fit into his family’s rhythm as if she’d always belonged there.
For a second, Jackson let himself imagine this wasn’t fake. That Zoe was really his. That this wasn’t a lie waiting to unravel.
It was so easy to picture. And terrifying to think of letting it go.
