Jackson flinched. “Yeah, I’ve really suffered. Poor little rich boy.”
He turned away from her and wiped his hands over his face. How was it fair that he had multiple homes—his condo, his parents’ house, their beach house on the lakeshore, and Amity Court—and Leah had none. But there was nothing he could do about it. He’d no option other than to sell the roof over her head as soon as possible and then she’d be homeless again.
Because of him.
Chapter 19
Leah
Jackson was still pale, his eyes darkened with the shadow of recent pain. Between his fingers, he gripped half a Ritz cracker that he’d either forgotten about or couldn’t finish. Leah sensed they could both use a subject change. She nudged him gently with her knee. “So where did you and Niamh meet? I bet that wasn’t at the local homeless shelter.”
“Her parents know my parents. Family friends.”
“Did she change from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan and, one day, you properly saw her for the first time and realized you had feelings?”
He blinked his ridiculously unmanly eyelashes. “No, we sat next to each other at a fundraising event. When we found out we were due to go to a similar thing a couple of weeks later, it seemed sensible to go together.”
“Oh, wow, that’s—” Leah sat back a little. She wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“We’re not dating. We tried it briefly but it didn’t work out. We’re just friends now. No swords or wings.”
“There so rarely are.”
“It’s hard to get a sword through security these days.”
“And wings can play havoc with your basic evening wear.”
Jackson’s rusty chuckle sent Leah’s heart sliding toward her stomach, like a silk pillowcase down a hotel laundry chute.
He doesn’t have a girlfriend!The revelation tap-danced in her brain.Don’t make it weird. Do not make it weird. Pretend you don’t want to lick his neck.
She was lost when the corners of his eyes crinkled and the blue of his irises warmed from glacier ice to summer sky. Even post-migraine, unshowered, and recently sick, he made her want to climb onto his lap and lay her head against his chest. If she were in his position, she’d look like an unsavory ghost at best, a hedge-monster at worst. And Leah guessed Jackson wouldn’t be seen for dust.
“You look exhausted again. I’m talking too much.”
“I don’t mind.” Jackson finished the cracker in his fingers and let his hand fall back to the covers.
“You are so much more amenable when I have you at a disadvantage,” she teased.
“Don’t get used to it.” There was no heat in his words.
“I could read to you.” Leah had no idea what made her offer and Jackson looked equally taken aback.
“I’d like that,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“How about I start the first one of Esther’s books? You can finish it when you feel better.”
Jackson’s face clouded immediately. “I don’t do a lot of reading.”
“Is it impossible to enjoy a book with dyslexia?”
“Not impossible. Just a bit overwhelming and frustrating. I don’t usually bother.” He kept his eyes on the bedcovers, so she couldn’t see his expression. “I’m more likely to read articles if I find something that interests me. It’s easier when I can see an end to it.”
Quietly amazed he’d answered her question, Leah asked another. “When did you find out you were dyslexic?”
