She grinned. “I never doubted that for a minute. Is it right on the lakefront?”
“Yes.”
“I bet it’s beautiful there.”
“It is.” Jackson struggled to remember the last time he’d taken the time to go.
Repurposing some old curtains for dustsheets, it took him a couple of hours to cover the mustard paint in the back hall with a white undercoat, and even that was an instant improvement.
As he cut in along the picture rail, a spider scuttled out from the corner and headed on chaotic legs toward the wet paint.
What is it with the creatures this weekend?
“You don’t want to do that, buddy.” Jackson scooped it up in a careful fist and climbed down the ladder.
Flicking the spider onto a broad-leafed bush by the back door, he ran his eyes over the yard. It was fairly neat, thanks to the regular efforts of his grandmother’s gardener. The grass had been given a couple of cuts already this year and the shrubs were neatly pruned. In contrast, the old wooden gazebo was in sorry order. Octagonal in shape, ramshackle but charming, its three wide steps led up to an open front. He remembered a spontaneous picnic inside, rain drumming on the wooden roof, sandwiches, juice, and his grandmother’s laughter. It would be a shame if it deteriorated too much further. Maybe whoever bought this place would fix it up.
Or maybe they would knock it down. It was of no odds to him, he reminded himself.
He turned back to the house and set about tidying everything away.
“Want a hand?” Leah offered. Her black hair, hanging loose, was a wavy curtain over one shoulder. She twisted it, casually, as she jerked her chin toward the dustsheets, paint cans, and roller tray.
“I’ve got it.” Jackson brushed her off. “Thanks.”
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“Yes, but I’ll sort myself out.” One shared meal was enough. The last couple of weeks had given him a much-needed Leah detox; it would be a mistake to get too used to her company again. “I’ll stop here for the night, put another coat on the walls early tomorrow, and head straight into the office after that.”
“And when do you think you’ll be home again?”
“This isn’t home, Leah. My condo is home.” The words sounded harsher than he’d meant.
“Of course. I know that.”
When she went to turn away, he fumbled to make amends. “How did you meet my grandmother?” Jackson realized he’d never asked.
Leah looked surprised. “She rescued me in the library one day. Not Pine Springs. Kalamazoo.”
“Rescued?”
“I was having a bad day.” She spun the silver ring on her thumb. “Anyway, long story short, I had a bit of a meltdown and she took me to a café around the corner. Told me the answer to all of life’s problems is coffee and cake. It was good advice. I’ve followed it ever since.”
Jackson frowned, focusing on the middle section of her explanation. “What kind of a meltdown?”
“I was crying.” Leah tried to wave it off. “I was in a shitty relationship I needed to end but I was too scared to do it.”
“Why were you scared?”
This time, she hesitated. And Jackson realized the insensitivity of his question. He’d given Leah no reason to open up to him.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Maybe another time.” Her lips lifted but there was a heaviness behind her eyes that made his fingers clench. Jackson shoved his hands into his back pockets when she gestured vaguely at the mess by his feet. “I’ll let you finish up here.”
As Leah wandered silently away, fluffy socks masking the sound of her footsteps, he pushed the lid onto the paint can with more force than necessary.
He left by ten the next morning, swapping his scruffy, paint-covered jeans for a navy suit and white shirt, and feeling like two completely different people in the space of half an hour. He was at his desk and dictating the agenda for that month’s board meeting when his father pushed open the office door.
