Page 7 of A Whisper of Summer Magic

“Bock, bock.” She was too weary to flap her arms to accompany her singsong impression. “Damn.” She leaned back against the cushion, too tired to pretend she felt strong enough to handle herself. “Crap timing.”

“It was excellent from my point of view.”

“Ha.” She was too wrung out to try to flirt with him—it must be some male-must-flirt-with-anything-in-a-skirt mentality. “What were you doing here anyway?” She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“What can I get you to drink?”

His casual question perked her up. She was thirsty and watching the muscular line of his spine, and the width of his shoulders, and the masculine swagger as he walked into the kitchen, completed the distraction.

“How are your bartending skills? I’d love a Sazerac old-fashioned, or maybe a margarita.”

“I got mad bartending skills, but with the possible concussion I was thinking more like sparkling water with a splash of fruit or flavored iced tea. I know Jessica has a ginger-turmeric blend that she says is excellent for inflammation. And you”—he turned back—“are most definitely inflamed.”

She laughed. “That should be sexy, but it’s only sadly ironic.”

She was inflamed by too many things to count—his presence, her vulnerability and pain, his handsome, I’m-so-young-healthy-hot-and-alive air. He radiated confidence, and her battle with gravity had dented her mojo.

“I feel like I’ve been tossed in a blender and dumped out in a sink backed up with greasy dishwater.”

“There’s an image. Turmeric tea or sparkling water?”

“I’d need a field of turmeric to poke a dent in this swelling, and if you’re making what sounds like God-awful tea, you’d better be drinking it with me. You too.” She eyed Whiskey, who placed her head on Maghan’s hand, and she began stroking her. The dog’s contented sigh eased something tight in her. Then she noticed Jackson watching her.

“I hate tea,” he said after a beat that felt fraught.

Then he made a yuck face, and even that was cute. Dang.

“Man up,” she advised.

His blue eyes flared. “I intend to, Meghan Maye. You can count on that.”

Chapter Two

Why had shechallenged him? Now they were both drinking weird tea that wasn’t as disgusting as she thought it should be. And eating apple slices dipped in cashew butter and oatmeal, raisin, and date cookies that Jackson had found in a cookie jar, because of course he’d poked around the kitchen and of course Jessica had made cookies stored in a vintage cookie jar that could have been part of an influencer’s photo spread for some southern-living blog post.

“My sister’s becoming the next-gen Martha Stewart,” Meghan complained.

She hadn’t budged from the couch. Her foot was elevated on a huge, fake fur pillow Jackson had found on Jessica’s bed. Maghan felt like a wounded queen reduced to one lone consort and a devoted furry companion.

“Surely there are worse things.”

“Millions,” Meghan admitted and dipped an apple slice in the cashew butter because it was healthier than the cookie.

She watched Jackson eat, even the way he focused on his food was sexy.

Aaaaand I so should not be noticing the way he chews.

“I worry Jessica’s going to turn into the southern pioneer homesteader with a podcast, book deal, and then a reality show.”

Is there room for me?

She was being whiny and needed to shut it.

“I’m happy Jessica’s living in up here,” Jackson said, wiping his hands on a cloth napkin like a total gentleman, whereas she had just licked her fingers. She could practically hear G. Millie wince in heaven.

“I thought it was going to be lonely housesitting for my grands and mom this year, but now I have neighbors.”

“I didn’t realize your grandparents and mom still lived up here,” Meghan admitted.

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