Page 8 of A Whisper of Summer Magic

It had always seemed weird to her that the Roberts’s property not only abutted G. Millie’s but they shared a driveway and the same passive gate and fence enclosing the properties.

“It was my grandma’s childhood home,” Jackson stated simply, but she felt like he was holding something back.

She sat up a little, her radar twanging—something to concentrate on other than her stupid ankle and ribs.

“Jessica’s generous with her baking, and Storm’s here most days and some evenings. We’re honing our basketball skills.” Jackson grabbed another cookie. “And I’m helping him design a frisbee golf course in the wooded area that families can use.”

“Jessica’s okay with that?”

“She wanted a section of the gardens to be public and to have a park,” Jackson said and pulled a dog biscuit out of his pocket for Whiskey.

“We’ll get you out there when you’re one hundred percent. You can be our test run. We’ll keep our targets so if a frisbee gets stuck, no tree climbing.”

“Funny. I’m never going to live that down.”

“Not for a few years,” he agreed. “Although, you could do something equally, though differently epic, to make my memory move on.”

“At least you have the compassion to dangle the possibility of victory in my face.” She crunched down on the apple slice rather aggressively.

He laughed. “You’re something, Meghan. Even injured and out of sorts you’re funny.”

“My goal in life.” She rolled her eyes. “Although I’m truly off my game because most people tremble in my presence.”

“Mad sexual skills?”

She stared at him totally shocked by the turn in the conversation. Was that what it was like with younger men? One sexy innuendo after another? She truly had wasted her twenties. And her thirties weren’t looking more promising unless she made some changes.

Did she want to?

Jackson’s smile held a hint of wicked, and his blue eyes sparkled with challenge. “Tell me about the magic book.”

She nearly choked on an apple bite and spit it out in her hand.

“What magic book?” She stalled, guilt and grief giving her a hard one-two punch.

“The one everyone is talking about.”

She stared at him, horrified. The last thing—the very last thing her parents needed right now after G. Millie’s unexpected death was gossip about a book of dubious, possibly heathen origins.

“Is it true that if I take a bite of something cooked up from the magic book of spells, I’ll fall madly in love with Jessica and have to fight a duel with Storm? Or do you want to cook me up something—when you’re better of course—to save your sister’s true love?”

“What? Why would you… no.” Maybe she did have a mild concussion. “Did Storm say something crazy about the cookbook?”

“Southern Love Spells,” Jackson intoned, his pale blue eyes sparkled, and he wiggled his fingers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meghan lied like the legal champ she was.

“Pretty sure you do.” He aimed the full power of his smile at her and batted his eyes. “The Maye sisters with the magic golden net of down-home cooking ensnaring unsuspecting men with their Gaelic wooey.” He laughed. “I’ve heard all about it. And it’s not just me—it’s a town thing at this point.”

“No one is saying that.” Meghan was horrified.

G. Millie had been too wily to fully claim the book, but she hadn’t denied it at Chloe’s party when Jessica had demanded the truth, and now it was too late.

“That’s why a lot of singles are haunting the patio bar at the Wild Side—because Rustin has a southern roots section on his menu and some heirloom bar bites. People are looking for love.”

“In all the wrong places,” Meghan said. What a disaster. Maybe it was good she’d accidentally burned the book and was dreading when one of her sisters or Rustin recovered enough to finally ask where it was.

“So, am I safe from Maye magic?” He opened his mouth wide, the cookie poised to be demolished.

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