Page 52 of A Whisper of Summer Magic

For a moment, she felt dizzy, wanting to just lean into him, let go of her worries, insecurities, secrets. Jackson was strong and fun. Nothing seemed to faze him, and she just wanted a moment to rest.

But the timing stank, and now she had to think about hunting down a mother who’d leave her baby on the front porch of a house at Christmas—and how the information might tear her family apart.

But no. She had to be strong.

“Will you let me borrow Whiskey for a walk in the park—she’s friendly with kids, right?”

“Yes. She’s well trained, but I plan to be there.”

Meghan nodded. That made sense. Safety first.

“And after operation Whiskey and Sage, you and I will make a trial recipe from the book—maybe something Sarah can try to hook Mr. Right.”

“I accept,” Meghan said, tired of fighting, tired of being alone.

“I’m not finished.”

“There’s an and?”

“Always. I want to learn to pickle vegetables.”

“For real? That’s not code for something… nefarious?” She ran a finger down his taut abs.

He trapped her hand. “Deal?”

“Deal.” She tugged at her hand and angled it to shake.

He took it, turned it over and traced one of the lines on her palms. “Fate,” he said softly. Then he traced another line. “The heart line. Life line.” His fingers sent heat cascading through her.

Meghan forgot how to breathe. Her hand reflexively closed around his. Warm, large, strong, calloused.

“Deal, Meghan Maye.”

*

Meghan was relievedthat Jessica wasn’t in the house when she arrived home, though her car was in the garage.

Normally, Meghan would go find her, offer to help, and share their days, but Meghan was too keyed up about Chloe’s parentage and her upcoming date with Jackson.

She was falling for him. Really falling. Looking to him for comfort, wanting to lower her walls, share her life and feelings along with her body.

And that scared her.

Then there was the driving burn to google opera singers with initials Z and a P. That seemed childishly easy unless the woman had stopped singing two and a half decades ago.

Would it make it worse if she’d abandoned Chloe to chase her career only to fall flat, or if she was world famous?

What if Chloe had heard of her? Sung one of her famous arias? What if she’d attended one of her performances?

The questions were agonizing, especially as G. Millie had encouraged Chloe’s singing—she’d spent money on private vocal coaches. Had driven her into Charlotte weekly. Held season tickets to opera.

“Oh, dear God,” Meghan whispered.

The questions made her dizzy. And she could still feel the imprint of Jackson’s fingers on her palm.

“I’m losing my mind,” she decided.

She stomped to her bedroom suite that looked like she’d been living in it for years instead of weeks and stripped off her clothes and started the bath water. She lit the few candles that she had on her vanity and turned off the light.

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