He came back to the couch with the vase full of water.
Zoe carefully transferred the flowers. “It’s just mind-blowing. That hot spring? That mist? It’s like the place exists in its own little world.” Her voice softened. “It’s magic. Actual, living magic.”
“I was thinking,” she continued, setting down her tote, “we should keep the meadow quiet for now. Just until we can protect it properly. We’ll take a few seeds or cuttings back to thegreenhouse. If we can get them to take root, we can add them to the Local Blooms garden.”
“Keep the meadow between us for now, then,” he said, nodding. “A secret worth guarding.”
“Exactly.” Zoe smiled, a soft, tired smile that still managed to glow. “I just wish I hadn’t sprained my ankle before we could start.” She’d already taken the boot off her good foot, but the other one was still laced up.
“Here, let me.” Jackson sat on the edge of the coffee table, gently lifting her foot into his lap. He worked the laces loose all the way down, then eased her heel free. Zoe clutched a pillow against her stomach, her face tightening at the pain.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “But we’ve got to get this off.” He probably would’ve cut the boot off and bought her a new pair if it came to that, but Zoe managed to point her toe and the leather slipped free. She tugged her sock down gingerly, revealing bruising already blooming around the swollen joint.
Jackson crossed to the kitchen and came back with a bag of ice wrapped in one of her hand towels. “Here. Hold this to it. Do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Bathroom vanity. And thanks.” She took the ice, scooted back, and extended her leg across the couch, putting the ice on top.
He returned with the bottle and a glass of water, setting them within her reach. Zoe shifted, testing her ankle with a careful wince. “It’s sprained, but I don’t think it’s broken.”
“You sure? I can take you to get an X-ray.”
She shook her head. “I’ve sprained ankles a dozen times hiking. It feels the same. Promise.”
“Alright. I’ll take your word for it…for now.”
Rain had started again outside, a steady drizzle that blurred the windows and deepened the afternoon gloom. Jackson pulled off his sweatshirt, revealing a soft gray T-shirt that clung to thelines of his shoulders and arms. The faint ink of his tattoos peeked from beneath the sleeve, drawing Zoe’s gaze before she could stop herself.
She swallowed, heat creeping up her neck.Great, she thought wryly,as if this weather wasn’t steamy enough already.
He tossed the sweatshirt onto the couch, where Whiskers immediately claimed it, curling into the warm fabric as though it were meant for her.
Jackson stayed close, perched on the coffee table with his knee brushing hers. He was assessing her, she could see that. Unwilling to take her word for it, and if she was honest, she was pretty sure it wasn’t broken, but not positive. The pain that shot through her foot if she bent it just the wrong way was intense.
“You hungry?” he asked, abandoning his post in front of her.
“Starving,” Zoe said. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh my goodness—you’ve got to go. It’s Sunday. You have family dinner tonight.”
Jackson shrugged, walking toward the window and taking out his phone. “I already texted Mom. Told her about your ankle, and that I was staying here to take care of you.”
Zoe was unable to mask the flicker of surprise on her face. Jackson was going to stay and take care of her? She knew he said he wanted to do things right, to be with her for real, but she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to run as soon as he had the chance to, because that’s what he always did.
“So,” he continued, “what’ll it be? I can pick up something from the café, or Chinese, or pizza?”
“Not gonna lie, it all sounds good. Surprise me.”
The thing about being friends for so long was that either one of them could’ve ordered for the other. They could get soup and sandwiches from the café. Anita made the most delicious club with ham, turkey, bacon, avocado, cheese, and homemade mayo.Or what about a woodfired pizza from the Kettle? Their crispy crust with fresh buffalo mozzarella never disappointed. But then Zoe remembered Jackson loved Chinese food, and even she had to admit that it sounded perfect for a rainy evening inside.
“Chinese?” Jackson said, glancing up from his phone.
“You just read my mind.”
In the end, Jackson ended up ordering all of her favorites—hot and sour soup, orange chicken, fried rice, crab rangoons, and an egg roll to top it off. He put the order in on his phone for delivery, while Zoe flicked through Netflix.
Half an hour later, they were curled together on the couch, a half-watched movie flickering across the screen. Zoe’s leg was stretched over Jackson’s lap, a bag of ice balanced on her ankle, and his hand rested lightly on her calf—fingers tracing absent circles.
Whiskers had claimed the throw pillow between them, her tail flicking every time Jackson shifted. But Zoe barely noticed her kitty. She was too aware of the weight of Jackson’s arm resting along the back of the couch, of his presence beside her.
It wasn’t the fiery heat of the meadow or the dizzying rush of their kisses. It was something softer, settling around them like a blanket out of the dryer.
