The little boy turns, his lips tugging up into that wide grin as he meets my eyes. “Just helping Mom around the house,” he says with pride.
“I bet she’s glad to have such a good helper,” I say, taking an involuntary step closer. Then I grip the tip of one white picket along her fence to keep myself from going any farther. “What’s your name?”
The little boy’s chest puffs out, his shoulders tugging back in an adorable attempt to look more grown-up. “Jackson,” he says. “What’s yours?”
I can’t help but smile. “My friends call me Gio,” I say, extending my hand purely out of habit.
Jackson hesitates to take it, his glance almost shy as he looks down at my palm, but before I can withdraw the invitation, he closes the distance between us to shake.
His hand is small in mine, his olive skin healthy and tanned from a summer in the sun, and despite the size difference, he grips with confidence before quickly withdrawing.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jackson,” I say, putting my hand in my pocket to remind myself that I’m a stranger to this kid and should keep my distance.
But damn if he doesn’t look entirely too much like his mother when he stares up at me with those big green eyes.
“Nice to meet you too,” he says.
“Was that your mom with the colorful streaks in her hair?” I ask, trying for nonchalant, though my chest tightens with nervous anticipation of his answer.
“Yeah, she’s inside making dinner.” Jackson glances over his shoulder before turning back to face me.
“Oh? What’s she cooking?”
“Broccoli cheddar bake—my favorite!” he says with an enthusiastic grin.
“Sounds delicious. What is it?”
“You’ve never had it before? Oh man, you should try it sometime. It’s basically healthy macaroni and cheese with crispy breadcrumbs on top,” he says enthusiastically.
“Healthy macaroni and cheese?” I ask, my lips twitching with amusement at his description.
“Well, yeah, because it has broccoli in it.” He pulls a face that would clearly indicate that’s not the most appealing part of the dish, but then he shrugs. “But you can hardly taste it with all the cheese. Just don’t look too hard at the green bits, and you’ll forget they’re even there!”
I nod thoughtfully, doing my best to keep a straight face. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll definitely check it out.”
Jackson’s smile grows, his face splitting with that infectious exuberance that drew me to his mother from the very start, and my heart throbs with a fresh sense of loss.
It doesn’t escape me that this little boy could have beenourlittle boy one day if I hadn’t failed Stephanie so completely.
The thought has my left hand releasing the fence and reaching for my chest to rub the hollow ache spreading across my ribcage.
Jackson’s eyes follow the movement, then widen with wonder.
“Are those tattoos real?” he asks, taking a step closer as he points to my exposed knuckles.
I chuckle, glancing down at the thick web of ink that climbs up the back of my one hand and forearm before disappearingbeneath the rolled sleeve of my dress shirt. “Sure are. Have you seen one before?” Extending my arm, I let him take a closer look.
He does, leaning in as his eyes grow wider, his lips forming an O of fascination as one tiny finger lightly traces several lines. “Chase says Mrs. Vance has one on her shoulder, but she always wears sleeves, so I’ve never seen it. What’s ‘V-it-a mi-a’?” He breaks the words up into several bite-sized pieces, like someone who’s familiar with sounding out words he doesn’t yet know but can read.
“It’s an Italian term of endearment—for someone very special to me.”
“Are you Italian?” Jackson asks, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.
Before I can answer, the sweet melody of Stephanie’s voice filters through the window. “Jackson! Dinner!”
Jackson’s head dips, his expression turning apologetic as he glances over his shoulder then back to me. “Sorry. I gotta go,” he says.
“It was nice to meet you, Jackson. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”Now that I know where my evening strolls will be taking me for the foreseeable future.
