Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
JACKSON
The police have officially given up. With nothing new to go on, our vandalism case has hit a dead end. I wasn’t hopeful to begin with, especially with it being such a low priority offence.
Meyer has all but brushed it off, acting like it didn’t even happen. I can’t forget that easily, though. I’ve tried, but every time I see that siding, now repainted a fresh coat of white, it all comes back up again.
I knew Reggie was a problem. I should’ve fired him myself the minute I realized what a screwup he was, Meyer’s protests be damned. If I had taken care of it, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to yell at her. To call her a bitch.
Despite all our ribbing and volleying of sarcastic remarks, I’ve never seen any words land for Meyer quite like Reggie’s. The fact that he was able to rattle her to the point of tears has a renewed sense of anger washing over me as I enter the farmer’s market in town.
Almost the entirety of Main Street has been closed off and a plethora of tents have been erected to shade the attendees. A lot of businesses with storefronts have taken to the street to get out in the May sunshine, but there are a lot of smaller entrepreneurs taking their chance in the spotlight, too.
Almost as soon as I get pulled into the crowd, I spot a familiar head of blonde hair in front of me. Meyer had mentioned she had errands to run this morning, but she hadn’t told me what. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I close in, sidling up beside her.
“Ditching work to go shopping?”
Her cool gaze slides in my direction. “I’m supporting the local economy. You should be all about that, Mr. Business.”
I nod. “I am, thank you. That sounds perfect. I’ll join you.”
“Great,” she mumbles under her breath, but the fact that she doesn’t argue is a win in my book.
Hands in my pockets, I scan the stalls full of fruits and vegetables and various kinds of jam as we walk. She doesn’t talk, and neither do I, my mind too caught up in thinking about that damn spray paint.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can feel Meyer looking at me. It takes another minute before she steps in my path, stopping me in my tracks.
“Okay, Hotshot,” she says, “if you're going to insist on following me around, you need to lose the murderous look. You’re scaring the children.”
I turn my unintentional scowl on Meyer. “I don’t look murderous.”
She crosses her arms. “Could have fooled me. ”
I sigh, making a point to loosen my jaw and roll my shoulders. “Aren’t you angry?”
“About what? The artisanal soaps? Hardly something to get your panties in a twist over.”
“The spray paint,” I reply, as if it should be obvious. “Doesn’t it bug you?”
The siding has already been fixed. If you didn’t know what had happened, you wouldn’t guess that there had been an issue. But we know. I know, and that knowledge has tainted everything, even weeks later.
“Of course it bugs me.” Meyer shrugs. “I’ll never forgive Reggie for doing that. But dwelling on it won’t get me anywhere.”
My brows jump in mild shock. “That’s a surprising response from a woman who seems predisposed to holding grudges.”
“You know what they say about making assumptions,” she counters. “Maybe I’m just predisposed to holding grudges against you .”
I let a smirk cross my lips. “So you admit that you think I’m special.”
She rolls her eyes, and a spark of something like desire shoots through my chest. “What are you doing here anyway?” she asks, redirecting the conversation. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”
My smirk turns into a grin. “Doing what you said.” I gesture to the market. “Furthering my quest to get to know the town you think I’m out to destroy.”
Meyer’s nose turns up as she saunters away. “If the shoe fits, Hotshot.”
“Or maybe you’re just making the shoe fit,” I argue as I match her pace. “But I’m not wearing it.”
“Okay, we can drop the shoe analogy. It’s getting old.”
“You started it.”
“And now you sound like a child.”
I laugh, which elicits another eye roll from her. I haven’t gone a day without receiving one of those. I think I’d miss them if I did.
I let the conversation drop, and we walk in silence through the market. Despite what Meyer thinks, I do appreciate the town and what it has to offer. I’ve come to enjoy my early morning trips to the café and the quirky town gossip I hear while I wait for my order. It’s a far cry from the fast-paced life I used to live in the city.
As we walk, random people stop and say hello to Meyer. Which means I’ve had to introduce myself no less than a dozen times. I don’t mind it, though. It’s nice to put names to some of the faces I’ve seen in town or at the restaurant. Even if they all grow wary as soon as they find out who I am.
If the glares from before weren’t an indication, this only solidifies the fact that Meyer’s dislike of me has spread through Fraisier Creek like a wildfire.
So far, neither one of us has bought anything, but I slow when Meyer does. She pauses at a table full of handmade jewellery. There are necklaces, bracelets and earrings, and all the charms are made of clay.
“These are so cute,” Meyer says, almost to herself. She points to a pair of earrings in the shape of strawberries. They look similar to her tattoo. “I’ll take them. ”
The woman behind the table smiles and begins to tuck the earrings into a box. Meyer fishes in her wallet for the cash.
“Thank you,” the woman says as she hands over the box.
Meyer tucks it into her bag, and we keep going.
“I know you said your tattoo is for your baking, but I’m sensing an overall theme here,” I say.
She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, trying to appear unaffected. “They’re my favourite fruit.”
But I don’t buy it.
“Strawberries, Fraisier…” I’ve had the dessert before, and I spent my elementary school years in French immersion. “Is that why you got it?”
“Of course you understand French, too,” she mutters. A light blush rises to her cheeks, and this only piques my curiosity more. “Yes, okay? The strawberries remind me of home.”
She doesn’t look at me. I can tell that offering up that piece of information about herself was hard for her. But I’m selfishly glad she told me. I file it away in the place where I keep every bit of precious information I know about my business partner.
Knocking her shoulder with mine, I say, “I like it. You look good in red.”
I swear her blush deepens, but she increases her pace, putting distance between us, so I can’t be sure.
Next, we come to a stop in front of a table full of flowers. There are some premade bouquets, but the rest are single-stemmed blooms that can be arranged to your liking.
“Good morning, Meyer,” the woman behind the table says .
She looks to be in her early forties. She has striking blue eyes and white-blonde hair braided down her back. And she has a warm smile on her face, putting me immediately at ease.
“Morning, Ilsa,” Meyer says, eyeing the flowers. “These are gorgeous.”
When it becomes apparent that Meyer isn’t going to, I decide to introduce myself. “Hi,” I say, hand outstretched. “I’m Jackson Vaughan. I own Dog Days Inn with Meyer.”
The woman smiles brighter. “Ilsa Veidt. I own the flower shop on Main.”
“What are these?” Meyer asks as she brings a fresh bouquet to her nose.
“Chrysanthemum,” Ilsa replies. “The birth flower for November. Yours, right?”
Ilsa looks almost nervous for Meyer’s response. But Meyer only smiles. “That’s right. How’d you know?”
Ilsa fidgets with the garden shears in her hand. “Oh, good memory, I guess. Pippa Rhodes ordered flowers for your birthday last year.”
My companion’s brows jump. “You do have a good memory.” She holds the bouquet up. “I’ll take these, please.”
Before Meyer can unzip her wallet, I hold a twenty out to Ilsa.
“What are you doing?” Meyer demands.
I grin. “Buying you flowers, Ellison. What does it look like?”
“But— You can’t?—”
Ilsa bites her smile, and I wink. She works on making my change as Meyer short circuits.
“Thank you, Ilsa,” I say. “We’ll see you around. ”
I place a hand on the small of Meyer’s back and guide her out of the way of the florist’s other customers. When she doesn’t immediately protest, I keep my hand there. I can feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her dress. All too soon, she spins away from my touch.
“You can’t do that!”
“Do what?” I’m sure my grin is downright goofy at this point.
“Buy me flowers,” she replies. “It’s disconcerting.”
This amuses me further, and I let out a laugh. “Disconcerting, huh?”
“Yes.” She frowns. “You’re not supposed to be nice to me.”
“What? Why not?”
“Are you not listening? Because it’s disconcerting !”
I take a step closer, almost daring her to take another step back. “You want to know what I think?”
She glowers. “When have I ever given you the impression I want to know what you’re thinking?"
I lean in. “I think my buying you flowers contradicts the narrative you’ve constructed about me in that pretty head of yours, and you find that disconcerting because it means you might be wrong .”
Based on the annoyance in her eyes, I’ve hit my mark. Slowly but surely, I’m beginning to understand my business partner. Try as she might to box me out, she can’t—not fully. Because something about me gets under her skin. I won’t lie and say that I mind it.
“Wrong about you?” She scoffs. “Never.”
I grin. “We’ll see.”
“Meyer!”
We both turn and find a blond-haired man waving as he weaves through the crowd. Meyer smiles at his approach, and I wonder for a moment what he had to do to earn that.
“Hey, man,” he says, holding out his hand. “We haven’t had the chance to meet yet. I’m Declan, Pippa’s brother.”
“Jackson,” I reply, shaking his hand. Then I throw an arm over Meyer’s shoulder. “This one’s new business partner.”
Meyer sidesteps out of my hold. “Don’t touch me.”
The amusement in Declan’s eyes is hard to deny, but I also see a softness there. I’m not sure why that causes a burning feeling to erupt behind my ribcage. Now that is disconcerting.
The affection gives way to concern as Declan studies Meyer. “Have there been any more issues with Reggie? Pippa said there hasn’t, but she likes to hide things she thinks I need protection from.”
Judging by his facial features, Declan is maybe in his early twenties. From what little I know of Pippa, I can see her taking on the role of protective older sister.
Meyer shakes her head. “Nothing new. Which is a good thing, even if that means he gets away with it. I’d rather that than have him do something worse.”
I have no interest in thinking about what something worse could be.
Declan doesn’t seem to either because he clears his throat. Then he changes the subject entirely after checking his watch. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone in a few minutes. I’ll see you later. ”
At this, Meyer grins. “Who’s the lucky girl this time?”
A blush coats his cheeks. “Alicia. She works down at the hardware store.”
Meyer pats his arm. “Bye, Dec. I hope the date goes well. Tell Alicia I say hi.”
“Thanks, will do,” he says. Then he nods to me. “Nice to meet you, Jackson.”
Declan waves, and we turn away from him, heading the opposite way.
“I’m going to get some food,” Meyer says. “Keep up, Hotshot. I’m not waiting.”
With a shake of my head, I start to follow after her, but goosebumps rise on my arms as a shiver runs down my spine. The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. When I turn around, I can’t find anyone that seems to be looking in my direction, but I could have sworn I felt a pair of eyes on me.
“Jackson?”
I shake myself from my stupor and jog to catch up. “Thought you said you weren’t waiting for me?”
She glances quickly up at me. “I was feeling generous, but I’ll think twice next time.”
I grin. “You’re too good to me, Ellison.”