My head is spinning. Not just at what he’s saying, but at his tone. He sounds like the old Jackson, before Chloe came along and dampened his lovely boyish enthusiasm. He always used to be so measured around her.
“Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Happy birthday, by the way, I’m so glad you picked up.” He pauses, and then he says, hesitantly, “Gracie? Are you there?”
“Jackson.” I’m so blindsided that his name is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.
He falls silent, waiting for me to continue, and for the briefest, most golden of moments, I imagine it: calling Mellie to ask if she’ll put me up for the summer and hearing her delighted reply; handing in my notice and saying goodbye to the rat race; running a project that I would enjoy with all my heart.
And I know I could do it and do it well. I already have ideas about where we could start.
But hello?Reality check!There is no way in hell that I can spend the summer with Jackson and the woman he crushed my heart by marrying. I have to keep an ocean between us.
“There are other agencies that I could recommend.” It’s an effort now even to speak. “It’s really late, but I’ll email you tomorrow.”
He’s in New York, which is five hours behind with the time difference. Has he even clocked that it’s the early hours of the morning for me?
“But I wantyou, Gracie.”
My gut twists at how wistful he suddenly sounds.
“I hope Chloe’s not in earshot,” I quip, rustling up banter from God knows where.
He doesn’t laugh, not like he used to when I joked about us. I guess “we” are just not that funny anymore.
“I’ve got to—” I start to say, but he interrupts me.
“Mellie didn’t tell you?” He sounds taken aback.
“Tell me what?”
“Chloe and me. It’s over. We separated in November—we’re getting a divorce.”
Shock momentarily renders me speechless.
“But…but I had no idea things were bad between you,” I splutter.
They separated five months ago?
“You and I haven’t exactly spoken much lately,” he replies gently. His tone hooks under my skin in an all-too-familiar way.
I want to knoweverything, how it ended, why it ended, if there’s any chance of them getting back together, but I wrestle my questions—and my emotions—under control.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a daze. “Are you okay?”
He releases a miserable little huff of laughter before answering,“No. It’s been hell.” He pauses. “I can’t believe Mellie didn’t say anything.”
I can. My grandmother assumed I’d fall straight back down the rabbit hole.
“Anyway,” he says abruptly. “Maybe I can fill you in this summer. Oh, please say yes. At least sleep on it.”
I know that I should resist the urge to jump back into the dark place I’ve finally clawed my way out of—he didn’t choose me, he choseher, and I resolved to never be his beck-and-call girl ever again. A part of me is indignant at his presumption, calling me out of the blue like this and dangling a huge fucking carrot.
But that’s the thing: itisa huge fucking carrot. I would love to run this project—Eau de Sainte Églantine is a product I could really get behind. I’d be able to control my own timetable, address my work-life balance—it’s an exit route that most people in my position could only dream of.
When I picture a series of long, hazy days stretched out before me in a place that feels like home, everything inside meaches. I could spend quality time with Mellie, not just a couple of weeks where we have to cram in all our conversations, butmonths.
And then there’s Jackson. Chloe changed him. I thought I’d lost him for good—not just as the person I wanted to spend my life with, but as the friend he used to be.
Yet right now, on the phone, he sounds like his old self: sunshine in human form.
