Page 9 of A Whisper of Summer Magic

“Probably not,” she said sourly. “But I could work a different type of spell on you if I could just find my magic wand.” She patted the cushions.

“What type of spell—transformational so I’d turn into a toad? I wouldn’t be much use to you then.” He reached for another cookie, sure of his charm, but his antics along with his classic American good looks—tall, cut, confident, jaw and hollow cheekbones out of a cologne ad, blindly friendly smile and thick dark tousled hair brushing his shoulders—were definitely putting her in a bad mood.

Everything hurt, and she just wanted Jackson to go away and leave her to wallow in her misery so she could stumble and curse her way to pee on her own. And his… effervescent everything reminded her of all she’d never had and hadn’t even known she’d wanted until now.

“Let’s take a look at the book. I want to see it,” Jackson said. “Some diners book weeks in advance to sit at the chef’s table to hear Rustin talk about the book and the recipes in it.”

Her mouth dropped open. He had to be joking.

“Who’s next to wield the magic baking pan? Rebekah, the manager of the Wild Side, thinks Rustin should do a Valentine’s dinner using recipes from the Mayes’s book of spells and see the chaos that ensues. Her words not mine.”

Meghan had no idea what to say.

“C’mon.” He laughed. “It’s brilliant marketing. Do you know the failure rate of new restaurants? Rustin’s booked out all summer and getting requests to open a second restaurant on top of his pop-up. He’s about to be your brother-in-law. You should be fist-pumping the legend of the magic book. There’s still you and Sarah who are singles.”

Meghan hadn’t thought of the implications of burning the book—not that she’d done it deliberately. She’d snatched it from Sarah and had tossed it aside when Chloe had announced that G. Millie wasn’t well, and they’d all rushed to the hospital. She hadn’t seen it since.

“Oh. My. God.” She breathed out shakily.

What if Rustin lost the Wild Side because of her carelessness?

“Meghan?” Jackson moved and knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

Such a simple word to indicate so much and so little, but no she was not okay. Not by a long shot. And then to her horror, an animal sound ripped out of her chest, and then another, and the tears followed thick and heavy in an ugly cry that Meghan hadn’t let out in months, years. Everything she’d held in with her steely-eyed confidence and dry wit andI can outwork everyonejust crumbled like a deforested hill in a flood, sweeping away everything in its path.

She had no idea how long Jackson sat beside her, rubbing up and down her spine, his touch firm enough to soothe through the storm, but not enough to tweak any of her bruises.

Meghan, who’d never been flexible, bent towards her thighs to hide her face, humiliated to fall apart in front of Jackson, who’d surely seen her at her lowest. Now her headache raged, her heart ached, and she was exhausted.

“I’ve gotten snot on your sweatpants.”

“What’s a little body fluid inadvertently shared between friends?”

She wanted to laugh and cry. “Worst day ever.”

Even as she spoke the words, she knew there’d been worse and would be again.

“Silver lining.”

“What?”

“For every complaint, you have to think of three positives.”

She winced but sat up and stared at him—all youth and health and goodwill, and she was bruised, swollen, full-on pity party and whimpering in pain.

“I think you and Chloe were separated at birth. You are disgustingly positive in the face of adversity.”

“No better way to be.”

He took another cookie, split it in half and handed part to her. Then he tapped his cookie to hers as if they were saying cheers, celebrating something.

“New topic while you think of three positives. Let’s explore why you were in the tree.”

“Let’s not,” she said. “And I just realized that yes, my day can get worse.”

“Clearly you need practice.” He munched on the cookie, watching her. “Hit me with all the bad, and then we’ll reframe.”

“Do you put happy pills in your morning coffee or what?” she groused, and then she just thought WTF. She’d known Jackson as a kid, running around Grandma Millie’s orchards with them or his friends grabbing a ripe plum or apple or pear when hunger struck. He’d followed them. Asked a million questions. And had had an extensive knowledge of bugs.

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