‘Emily James Bell,’ he said with a gasp. ‘Did you just drop your first “y’all” on me?’
Shaking off the unwelcome hit of anxiety, I gasped.
‘Jackson Powell, I do believe I did.’
He held up his hand for a high five and I met it with a resounding slap, smile firmly fixed to my face when his fingers meshed with mine.
‘I do believe we’ll make a southern belle out of you yet,’ he said, clasping my hand tightly in his as we rejoined the mass of people moving through the hotel. ‘Come on, let’s go celebrate.’
The DeSoto was a beautiful hotel. I’d lived in some beautiful locations when I was younger, most of my travel experiences were a long way from luxurious. The university housing offered to my historian father was basic to say the least. Our Welsh cottage, charming as it was, could have been politely described as ‘rustic’. But just like everywhere else I’d been in Savannah, the DeSoto was warm and welcoming and perfectly polished, with one eye and its whole heart set on its heritage. This place knew it came from good stock and wanted you to know it too.
‘The original hotel was knocked down in the Sixties, but one way or another, it’s been here since 1834,’ Jackson said as we passed under an enormous crystal chandelier. ‘A bunch of people tried to save it, but there’s only so much you can do when money is involved. It’s a real shame. From the photos I’ve seen, the original building was an amazing example of Romanesque architecture. What?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, my hand warm in his. ‘Nothing at all.’
This Jackson Powell was so different to the version I’d first met. That Jackson was so slick, it felt as though you’d slideright off if you tried to touch him. Irresponsibly handsome, impossibly charming, and incapable of uttering a word that wasn’t dripping with honey, he was altogether too smooth for my liking. This new and unimproved version was far superior. Still handsome and charming but genuine and natural, passionate about his secret historical hobby. I didn’t feel as though my foot was quite so firmly stuck in my mouth every time we spoke.
‘You think I’m a nerd,’ he said, a flicker of self-consciousness passing over his face.
‘I do, but only in the best way. I think it’s cool how much you love the city’s history.’
‘Then you’re the only girl I ever met who does.’
He ducked his head to hide his embarrassment but he couldn’t erase the enthusiasm from his voice and I couldn’t help but share it.
‘Learning about our history, knowing what came before, feels important to me,’ he said, the sound of our shoes clicking against a marble floor as we walked. ‘Folks are always complaining about the way the world is today but maybe if we paid a little more attention to the past, it would be easier to see how we ended up here and try to change things for the better. Instead of repeating the same mistakes and wondering why.’
‘My dad used to say something similar,’ I said softly. ‘Understanding our past is the best way to make sense of the present.’
‘Your dad was a historian, right?’ He offered me a bittersweet smile when I nodded, chewing on the inside of my lip to tamp down the unexpected swell of sadness. ‘I’m sorry he isn’t here anymore, Em. I wish I could have met him.’
My words came out soft and cautious. I was determined not to cry.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘I think you would have liked him.’
‘You think he would’ve liked me?’
‘No doubt about it,’ I answered. ‘He got along with just about anyone, but someone who would willingly listen to him talk about history? Forget about it. One time, in Germany, we were asked to leave a production ofHamiltonbecause he was fact-checking the show in real time and the people behind us complained.’
‘The musical is great and everything, but they really did miss out a lot of important stuff,’ Jackson said, suffused with the same kind of excitement I remembered in my dad. ‘Did you know Hamilton proposed senators should be appointed for lifelong terms?’
‘OK, confirmed: my dad would’ve loved you.’
‘Confirmed he must’ve been a cool guy,’ he said happily. ‘Had to be, what with raising such a cool daughter and all.’
‘Me? Cool?’ The snort that exploded out of me was anything but. ‘Trust me, I have never been cool in my life, and that’s fine by me.’
He met my snort with a scoff. ‘I’m not calling you a liar, but I don’t believe you.’
‘If you’re a nerd, I’m queen of the nerds and you are only one of my minions. Until I moved here, my idea of cool was begging my dad to take me to visit Stonehenge for my thirteenth birthday.’
‘What I’m hearing is thirteen-year-old Emily was cool beyond her years.’ Jackson’s head rolled back and he held a hand against his heart in a faux swoon. ‘What about now? Let’s say I’m the one with the magic and I can wave my wand and take you anywhere you want, past, present or future. Where are we going?’
I started to laugh but the sound fell apart, escaping more like a panicked gasp. Anything, anywhere, past, present orfuture. A past built on a lie, a present I didn’t understand and a future I was afraid of. It was too hard to see past the prophecy. Planning for a tomorrow that might never come felt like a trap.
‘Wasn’t supposed to be a tough question,’ Jackson said gently.
‘I know,’ I said with an apologetic wince. ‘Most people probably have an answer ready.’
