Walking in the front door, he was immediately glad he’d given Leah a heads-up about his guests. There was greenery from the garden placed cheerily in a large, tangled display on the mantelpiece in the foyer, the faint scent of wood polish hung in the air, and there was a fresh bouquet of flowers on the dining table, too. Unfortunately they did little to disguise the sorry state of the living room, hovering as it was midway through the renovations.
“Oh Lord, it’s worse than I imagined.” His mother’s wrinkled nose said it all. Like Niamh, she favored modern builds, clean lines, and pale colors.
“You think it’s bad now—you should have seen it before Jackson got to work!” Leah appeared in the kitchen doorway, her mouth spread in an appealing smile, welcome radiating off her like sparks from a firepit. Just the sight of her released something tight in Jackson’s chest.
“Mom, Dad, this is Leah Raven, Esther’s assistant. Leah, my parents—Alistair and Celia.” He made the introductions automatically.
“It’s lovely to meet you properly. Hi, Niamh!” Leah twisted a curl of hair through her fingers. “I bet you’re all desperate for a drink. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll make some coffee.”
His mother slid her arms out of her jacket and passed it to his dad, who added his own herringbone blazer and handed both to Leah. “We’ll have it in here, thank you,” he instructed in the voice he used in restaurants.
“It’s not Leah’s job to serve you,” Jackson retorted, his temples throbbing from the pressure of his tense jaw. He wished with everything in him that he’d arrived at Amity Court alone.
“I’m more than happy to help.” Leah rolled right over the awkwardness. “I’ll bring it through.”
He followed her into the kitchen, removing the jackets from her arms and taking them to the mudroom. She was already layingout cups and saucers when he returned, shooting him a warm smile over her shoulder. The unfamiliar sensation of having an ally wrapped like cotton candy around his jangled senses. In silence, he took the cream from the fridge. A slightly wonky vanilla sponge sat on the counter, decorated with a dusting of powdered sugar, and the air in the kitchen smelled like a mixture of baking and Leah herself.
“I’m sorry.” The two words were gruff. It wasn’t immediately clear what he was apologizing for and he hated the realization that it could be a variety of things. “You didn’t have to go to so much effort.”
“It was no bother.”
Impulsively, he closed his fingers around Leah’s forearm. Her bones felt fragile beneath his touch and he loosened his grip immediately. Looking down into her dark eyes, Jackson found the uncomplicated kindness in them an unexpected threat to his blood pressure. “Thank you, all the same.”
His parents sat side by side in the matching armchairs, as relaxed as interview candidates in the reception of a law firm, while Niamh had curled up on the couch. Leah and Jackson passed around coffee and cake.
“I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the funeral, but I am so sorry for your loss. Esther was a wonderful person. You must be devastated.” Leah balanced her cake carefully on one knee, coffee cup on the other, hands steadying them both.
Neither of his parents filled the silence that followed. His mother put a small forkful of cake into her mouth with delicate deliberation. His father’s gaze ran at a measured pace from the top of Leah’s head to her toes and back again. “What are your plans now your services are no longer required here? Jackson’s grandmother was a bit of a soft touch but it doesn’t run in the family.” He flashed Leah an empty smile which did nothing to remove the bite.
She stilled, returning the look with an artless one of her own; behind her eyes Jackson swore he could see a host of snarky answers fighting to emerge.
“Esther worked extremely hard to finish her last manuscript, so there’s still work to be done on that. And it helps, for now, if I keep up the marketing on the ones already in print.” She fidgeted a little under his dad’s rock-steady stare, before continuing. “I know it can’t last forever but I’m very grateful to be able to live and work here for a little longer. Jackson’s been so kind and understanding.”
His dad grunted. Jackson’s eyes slid from Leah’s face; the knot in his stomach clenched tighter with her lie.
“We’re all wondering how you got to know Esther,” his mother asked, “given the difference in ages.”
“It was hard not to love her once you met her, wasn’t it? She was one of the warmest people I’ve ever known.” Leah’s careful answer was no answer at all. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your house in Oak Brook. Have you lived there long?”
Jackson tried to rub away the tension gathering at the back of his neck. The stilted conversation grated as Leah doggedly attempted to charm his uncharmable parents, who seemed only capable of frosty responses.
“Do you not get on with your family, Miss Raven? Is there a reason you continue to throw yourself on the generosity of strangers?” Blunt to the point of rudeness, his father cut to the chase. Jackson felt Leah’s flinch like a whipcrack in his gut, catching the flash of something raw in her eyes. He’d had enough.
“Leah was invaluable to Esther. She’s still needed here. Her newsletters are engaging—I’ve been catching up on them over the past week—and the social media accounts are impressive. We could learn something from them ourselves. It’s unlikely the final book can be finished without Leah’s input.” Jackson rose to his feet. “I’m grateful she’s choosing to stay and get it done. You should be, too.”
Leah’s lips parted, and she blinked rapidly. “Uh...”
He smiled without humor at having rendered her speechless, and pushed his hands into his pockets. “How about a tour? That’s what you came for, after all.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to it.” Leah flicked a glance in his direction. A mutual gratitude passed between them on honeyed threads of understanding. “Let me know what time you’d like dinner. I’m making chicken pie and it can be ready whenever suits you.”
The living room felt darker once she’d gone.
His parents found little to like in the grand old house when he showed them around. The poor lighting and gray afternoon did nothing to showcase Amity Court in any of its dated glory. The heavy, old-fashioned furniture wasn’t to their taste. Another chunk of plaster had fallen from the ceiling in the hallway and, when the dank scent of damp made his mother cough, Jackson wondered if he should just give up.
All he really wanted to do was get on with the rest of the improvements and repairs he had on his list. Instead, he was forced to bite back his frustration and pretend to listen while his dad vented some strong opinions about the Indiana bat, the painful thrum building at the base of Jackson’s skull. In the first gap he could find, he excused himself to help Leah in the kitchen.
“Give me a job.”
