He stepped into the room and leaned on the back of an armchair. “Which one is it?”
“The Last Sharknado: It’s About Time. Three is my favorite, though. Sharks, tornados, and rollercoasters equal disaster-movie perfection.”
The fact that Jackson secretly agreed annoyed him. He headed for the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’ve made hot chocolate.”
He meant to take his drink and go back upstairs, but it had been a long day and his brain was fuzzy. When he re-entered the living room, Leah had unpaused the movie. On the screen, a time vortex transported the actors from medieval Camelot to the American Revolutionary War and Jackson was instantly drawn in. He sank into the armchair. It was his fucking house anyway. Why should he leave?
They watched most of the movie without talking, the temporary ceasefire settling between them, paper-thin and fragile.
Toward the end, Jackson caught Leah looking at him and frowned. “What?”
“You look tired.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s hardly surprising. You must have a lot on your plate.” Leah dialed the smile up a notch, her warmth and sympathy unexpected. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
“You could move out.”It was worth a try.This forced stay at Amity Court would be fractionally more bearable if he could suffer the four weeks alone. When she made no reply, he turned his gaze back to the television with a deep exhale. “Fine. I’ve got three realtors coming to look around the house tomorrow—you can help by staying out of the way.”
Chapter 5
From Esther’s diary
January 22nd, 1972
Visited Grandma today and spent hours playing board games in her parlor as the weather was awful. There was so much talk about my marriage prospects. Everyone has an opinion but no one wants to ask me mine. The subtext seems to be that without a husband, I am completely worthless. In this day and age! She did press some money into my hand as we left though, bless her heart, so I’ll forgive her for now, even though it was aVeryannoying afternoon.
Leah
Leah was sketching the intricacies of a dragon’s wing onto the back of an envelope when Jackson swept into the kitchen with his usual deep frown and a couple of grocery bags. Dressed in an ink blue pair of dress pants and a crisp, white shirt, open at the neck, hesmelled of fresh air and clean cotton. She wondered if he owned any casual wear.
He muttered something which could have been “Good morning” but very likely wasn’t.
Smudging at the dragon’s wingtip with her thumb, she watched him rearrange the few items in the fridge to clear space for what he’d bought.
“How long are you thinking of staying?” she asked him, squinting back down at her drawing. “If you let me know how you want to handle the whole cooking and eating thing while you’re here, I’m happy to share meals. The freezer’s quite well stocked with pity leftovers from my book club ladies. They know I don’t usually bother to cook when it’s just me. It’d be nice to have someone to eat with again.”
He continued his attack on the fridge without turning around. “I don’t stick to regular mealtimes so I’ll sort myself out.”
Leah was too distracted by the way his shirt pulled tight across muscular shoulders to notice that he’d avoided her first question. She might have fanned herself if she could have done it without attracting his attention.
The doorbell rang.
As Jackson stalked out of the kitchen, his shoes made that specific sound only men’s shoes make on floorboards and tiles. A cross between a click and a tap that made her swallow in an unbecoming, swoony kind of way. She growled at herself for being an idiot. So he was smoking hot and a fan of theSharknadofranchise. Big deal. It didn’t make up for the fact that he’d never visited Esther, and spoke to Leah as if her existence shredded his last nerve.
She screwed up the envelope and threw it in the trash.
Damn Jackson Hale. Damn his handsome, crotchety face and broad shoulders. And damn those stupid shoes.
The parade of realtors began with No. 1, who appeared fresh out of high school and was already sweating. Just from eavesdropping, Leah knew before he trailed out fifteen minutes later that he wouldn’t be getting the listing.
The second realtor seemed more experienced but she was pushy and overfamiliar. Jackson’s voice grew sharper in response. When Leah heard her offering up her business card with her cell number on it, she doubted this one would make the cut either.
He was beginning to radiate even more tension than usual. Skirting him on her way to make a drink, Leah hoped the next realtor might be Goldilocks perfect—if only for the sake of his blood pressure and the prospect of avoiding an uncomfortably stressful afternoon. The doorbell rang again while she was in the kitchen. Wow, he really wasn’t hanging around.
Making her coffee extra slowly to keep out of the way, she caught the brief murmur of voices and then Jackson’s phone ringing.
