If he could have sorted this out from his condo, he would have, but the inventory and realtor valuations had to be done in person. Tomorrow’s meeting would give him more details. It couldn’t come soon enough. Once he tracked down a towel and the bathroom, he’d start making plans to list this mausoleum.
Five minutes later, his weariness was forgotten as Jackson froze his ass off under an icy stream of water. He swore fluently and creatively for every second of the torturous shower, gasping as he finally shut off the flow. Goddamn Leah freaking Raven might have had a point about waiting.
And it only highlighted how much of an intruder he felt in what should have been his own home.
Chapter 3
Leah
Aware she should expect visitors, Leah made the batter for blueberry pancakes and warmed a teapot. Hazel might have spent the last fifty years as a Michigander but she was resolutely British when it came to Earl Grey tea with breakfast.
The doorbell rang at five to nine and Leah wrenched open the front door to find Hazel and Marjorie on the step, wearing what looked like their entire closets. A cold blast of air rattled the glass in the outdoor lantern above their heads.
“Morning, darling! Are we disturbing you?” Hazel asked. Both ladies peered either side of her, hope and curiosity all over their faces.
“Not at all.” Leah allowed herself a small smile, standing back as they bustled through to the kitchen, stripping off coats, scarves, hats, and gloves—each woman half her original size by the time Leah took an armful of outdoor wear to hang up in the mudroom.
“We had pot roast last night.” Marjorie unearthed a rectangular tub from a tote bag and tucked it into the top drawer of the freezer. “I brought you leftovers.”
“You’re wonderful. I love your pot roast!” Gratitude warmed Leah’s chest.
“I like to know you’re eating properly.”
“I actually cooked mac and cheese last night.” Leah knew she wouldn’t have bothered if she hadn’t secretly hoped Jackson might join her. Sure he might be rude, obnoxious, and a neglectful grandson, but he was still better company than silence. Plus he was gorgeous. Which helped.
None of it mattered anyway, as she’d ended up eating alone.
Hazel boiled the kettle and counted heaped teaspoons of fragrant leaves into a pot, while Marjorie ladled thick batter into two shallow pans on the stovetop. This particular breakfast-making team was a well-oiled machine.
“Tea for three? Or is it four this morning?” Hazel was the picture of casual interest, but her focus was absolute.
Leah reached for a bottle of maple syrup. “It’s just us three.”
Jackson’s car had been gone from the drive when she’d come downstairs.
“When did he arrive?” Perching on a stool at the breakfast bar, Marjorie fastened the middle two buttons of her fluffy cardigan to keep out the chill.
“What’s he like?” Hazel poured them each a cup of tea in Esther’s delicate china.
Taking over at the stove and lifting the edge of one pancake to check if it was done, Leah considered her answer. “He got here yesterday afternoon and I haven’t seen much of him. He’s kind of intense. Not chatty. In fact, he didn’t really say much at all.”
So they hadn’t had the best start and she was pretty sure he hadn’t recognized her from the funeral. Maybe it was a good thing that the soul-crossing experience had been blatantly one-sided. Five years of being put in her place by Matt and she still wouldn’t spot toxic masculinity if it drew her a map to the kitchen.
Where did Jackson get off being so curt anyway? He needn’t think he was the only one nursing a grievance toward a roommate.
“Is he as sexy up close as he looked at the funeral?” Marjorie asked.
Leah pointed the rubber spatula in her direction with a disapproving glare. “Male objectification at the breakfast table is completely unacceptable.” She plated up three stacks of fluffy pancakes and handed them around.
“If we take our breakfast to the dining table, can she do it there?” Hazel’s question made Marjorie snort, which was contagious, and before long they were all giggling.
Some of the tension drained from Leah’s shoulders. They were an odd mix of friends, with decades between their ages. Hazel hovered somewhere nearer to eighty than seventy, while Marjorie was in her mid-sixties. Leah sometimes felt like a baby in comparison, and other times as if she matched them perfectly. They all missed Esther terribly, but then she’d been the sort of person to leave a huge gap. She’d have led their laughter if she was here now.
“So why has he come?” Marjorie asked. “How long is he staying?”
“And what’s going to happen with the house?”
They were all quiet as they considered Hazel’s question.
