Page 29 of Forget Me Knot

“How aboutKooky Ken?” Griffin grins, earning an elbow to the gut from his wife. “Ow, Honey! I was just teasin’. You know I love Jackson. He’s had a rough go of things the past couple of years. With the accident and Stacy and… Well, if ya know him, I’m guessin’ you know…”

“Them?” I finish his sentence, though I don’t know who Stacy is, and I have to stop myself from sounding too eager by asking for further information. “Yeah, I’m starting to.”

He shrugs and stuffs one of his hands in his pocket. “Well, those boys… both of ‘em and Winnie, they’re good people. I hope ya get to know ‘em better. And maybe we’ll be seein’ more of you.”

Molly and Theo rush up to us, blissed out on younginsta-love and Chloe’s Maple Bacon cookies.

“Theo’s takin’ me on a date to a cake walk, Aunt Dinah!” Molly announces, hand still clasped with his. Man, kids move fast these days.

“Is that right?” Caroline tilts her head, amusement written across her face. “Ya better check with her aunt. And her mama, for that matter.”

“Aw, Honey,” Theo whines, “I’m just wooin’, is all. Right, Daddy?”

When we all turn to look at Griffin, who seems a mix of proud and bashful, he merely shrugs and ruffles his son’s hair again. “Right, buddy. But we’ve still got work to do on how to approach it all.”

“Like I said,” Caroline sighs, “they’re irresistible. And it most definitely is a familial trait.” She winks at me, and beforeplacing a kiss on her husband’s cheek says, “Good luck resisting Jackson.”

10

FIDELITY

REGINA SPEKTOR

DINAH

I need luck. So, so,somuch luck.

The next time I see Jackson, it’s as he’s rushing from Petals dressed in a button down and slacks that say he means business—and business is so very,verygood. They're tailored perfectly to him, and he's brimming with that dynamic energy I'm beginning to recognize as uniquely Jackson. It’s a far cry from the week before when I all but ran away from Jack, sick and droopy on his couch.

He hollers a greeting at Mr. and Mrs. Cotten across the street, though he doesn’t seem eager to speak with them further. If the conversation they just had with me for the past hour about their plans for a cozy weekend in, binge watching Veronica Mars DVDs while hand feeding one anothermyChocolate Dipped Pretzel Bites—information I did not need or want—then I get it. The Cottens are sweet but classic oversharers, though Veronica Mars and my pretzel bites do sound like a perfectly delicious combo. They really can’t be blamed.

Jackson whisks past me, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, his phone pressed against his ear, and hair just slightly askew. The flustered rush he’s in is an unusual look on the put together version of J. Jones. I think he’s missed me completely, but then he pauses on the street, hangs up on whoever he was speaking to, and turns on his heel.

“Hello, Dinah Belle.” His feet stay rooted to the spot, but I feel that same magnetism between us I always do, beckoning me to come closer. Who am I to say no? I take a single step.

“Hello, J. Jones.”

Jackson arches an eyebrow, and a smirk ticks the left side of his face as he takes a step towards me just off the curb. “That’s new. I don’t hate it.”

I shrug and meander a bit closer, holding my hands together. “Just tryin’ it out. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Well, J. Jones is a whole lot better thanKooky Ken.” He takes another step.

I gasp. “I didn’t—”

Jackson’s hand finds my elbow, drawing us toe to toe. “I know. Griff called me a few days ago. Said he had an awfully interestin’ conversation with a beautiful woman that I’m dating?”

“That was Chloe.” I have to fight to hold back my smile. He looks entirely too smug. “I said we’re starting to get to know each other.”

“Meh,” he clicks his tongue twice. “I like Chloe’s version better. Let’s stick to that. Let me take you out again, Dinah Belle. This time, I swear there won’t be any crazy revelations or family members or batting cages.”

“I like your family.” Both Winnie and Owen make a point to come into the shop regularly. I get the feeling they spend a lot of time next door at Petals, but they’ve also gone out of their way to befriend me. Winnie is hysterical and probably theonly tattoo artist I’ve ever met who doesn't have a single tattoo. And Owen is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and professional athlete swagger. Both make great wingmen for their older brother, always quick to tell me how funny, thoughtful, hardworking—and various other amiable qualities—J. Jones is.

Jackson tilts his head. “And the batting cages? What did you think of those, Dinah Belle?”

“Oh, I hated ‘em. They were plain awful. Sweaty death traps. However, I will admit, watching you swing that bat was not a hardship.”

“And the… revelations? The… well… Jack? Have you had time to think about everything?” Some of Jackson’s usual confidence seems to diminish as his eyes search mine, looking for clarity.

---