Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
JACKSON
When I make it downstairs to start working this morning, I find a small Tupperware container on the desk. On top of it, there’s a hot pink sticky note.
Thanks for your help , it reads. Here’s your pie .
I open the lid, and I laugh when I see the strawberry tart sitting inside. She fulfilled Pippa’s promise—technically.
I would like to say that things between me and Meyer have improved, but it’s hard to read her a lot of the time. Though I suppose she never would have made a tart for me when I showed up in April.
I know whatever progress I make with her will be slow. She’s stubborn by nature, especially when she feels like she needs to protect herself. I just wish she would see that she doesn’t need protection from me.
Leaning back in my chair, I devour the tart. The sugary flavour melts on my tongue, made even sweeter by the knowledge that Meyer was the one to make it. After I’m done, I pull out my phone.
I think Pippa was envisioning a larger pie when she made me that promise.
Meyer
A loophole is a loophole, hotshot.
That bubble appears, indicating she’s typing, and then:
Meyer
Did you like it?
I tried a new recipe and I needed to test it out before I gave food poisoning to someone I actually like.
A laugh escapes me. Meyer shows up to every conversation armed with sharp words and biting remarks. She always seem to be on the offensive, never letting anyone close enough to take a shot at her. But that doesn’t deter me.
It was perfect. Feel free to test out recipes on me more often.
Meyer
Flattery won’t get you free baked goods, Mr. Vaughan.
Fine. Name your price.
Meyer
Anything?
Anything.
Meyer
That’s rather dangerous. And a little foolish.
I’m not worried.
Meyer
You should be.
She doesn’t say more after that. I wait a beat, phone in hand, but nothing comes. Perhaps she is right—it’s dangerous to get my hopes up with her.
A couple hours pass as I settle into work, the dropped conversation with Meyer somewhat forgotten. Between paperwork and sorting through employee suggestions, I manage to finally order a new chair to replace the one I’m currently sitting in. I can already picture what Meyer is going to say, but that is one thing I’m unwilling to compromise on.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my head, and then Trystan sticks his head in. “Jackson,” he says, “there’s someone here to see you.”
My brow arches. “Who?”
He shifts to the side, and in his wake, my best friend’s form fills the doorway.
Wells looks no different than the last time I saw him, which was a couple months ago now. He, like me, is more often than not wearing a suit, but today he has opted for jeans and a t-shirt. It contrasts my button-up and slacks.
He grins. “Hey. Thought I’d finally come check the place out.”
I stand from my chair and round the desk. He steps into the room and pulls me toward him, patting me on the back.
It’s been a while since I’ve even talked to Wells, too. He has been texting me, but I haven’t gotten around to replying. All of my focus has been on Meyer and the inn lately, which has left time for little else. I know he’ll probably give me shit for it, and I deserve it. I’ve been a shitty friend. I have been since I collapsed in that conference room, if I’m honest.
But it’s hard letting people, especially your family, see the parts of yourself that you’re ashamed of.
“Hey,” I say, then raise a brow. “You really drove up here just to see the place?”
He makes a show of looking around the office, inspecting it. “Is that so hard to believe?”
An out of the blue visit? “Yes.”
Although my friend isn’t a fan of much of the things his parents involve him in, he always sticks close to the city. Always shows up to this event and that party. While I may be beholden to my job, Wells is beholden to his family and the leash they’ve had attached to him since he was a kid. He’s never strayed far because of it.
Wells doesn’t have time to counter because Meyer bursts into the office then. She’s wearing her signature jeans and t-shirt, but there’s something about her that feels…different. It’s in the way her gaze settles on me. Like maybe she is warming up to me after all.
“Vaughan, why the hell is there a fancy car parked out front?” she asks. “You have your own spot for a reason.”
Wells clears his throat. “Sorry, that would be my fault.”
Meyer whips around, taken off guard by my friend, who is now leaning against a filing cabinet beside the open door. He straightens, stretching out a hand.
“You must be the infamous Meyer Ellison. Jackson’s told me all about you,” he says. While I did mention Meyer and our rocky start when I first arrived, I haven’t updated him on the progress I’ve made with her. But that doesn’t matter—I don’t miss the sly look he sends my way. “I’m Wells McKenna.”
“That’s me,” she replies, shaking his offered hand. “Sorry, someone forgot to mention we needed to roll out the red carpet. It’s at the cleaners from the last time a VIP stopped by.”
It’s often predictable how people will react when meeting Wells. They see his inviting grin, his good looks and his connection to his parents, and they think they can suddenly be his friend. As soon as the words leave Meyer’s lips, I know that Wells is appreciative. Besides his job, one thing my friend does very well is poke fun at himself.
He grins. “Don’t go to any trouble on my account. As long as I’ve got a solid gold toilet in my room, I’m good.”
Meyer lets out a bark of laughter. “Wells, you have to tell me. How are you friends with him ?” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder in my direction.
I scoff. “Now that’s a little rude.”
“My parents made me play with him when we were little,” Wells explains. “He kind of grew on me after a while.”
She hums. “Right. Like a fungus.”
He chokes on a laugh, and then he turns to me. “I like her. Can she be my new best friend?”
“Sorry,” she interjects, “but I’m partial to my Pippa.”
His head cocks to the side. “Your Pippa?”
The door opens then, and Pippa herself sticks her head in.
“My Pippa,” Meyer says, pointing to her .
“Hey, Meyer, we need—” Pippa’s eyes widen as she takes notice of my friend. “ Oh .”
An amused smile stretches across his face. “Is that a good oh or a bad oh ?” Wells asks.
Pippa shakes her head. Her cheeks are already turning their usual shade of red. “Oh. Just… oh .”
Then her lips roll inward, and silence reigns. I can feel the awkwardness descending, and judging by the blush intensifying on Pippa’s face, she can, too. She looks ready to bolt when Wells takes a step in her direction.
“I’m Wells,” he says. “I’m a friend of Jackson’s.”
She nods, her chin tilting upwards to look at him. Pippa is on the taller side, but she’s still shorter than him.
“You apparently already know my name,” she replies. “I’m a friend of Meyer’s.”
Both Wells and Pippa stare at each other for a beat, silence descending over us yet again. All the while, Pippa’s blush gets more and more prominent. I wonder if maybe I should save her.
Meyer’s gaze meets mine, and her eyes widen pointedly. As if to ask, Are you seeing this? I shake my head in response. Whatever moment our two friends seem to be having, I’m not going to read into it.
Meyer clears her throat, drawing their attention away from each other. “So, Wells, what are you doing in Fraisier Creek?”
“Just wanted to check the place out.” He shrugs. “Plus, it’s a little lonely in the city when your best friend decides he likes living in the country better. ”
I roll my eyes. That was a pointed dig if I’ve ever heard one. “Just admit you miss me, McKenna.”
“Meyer,” Pippa says again, “I’m really sorry to interrupt, but can I get your help out here? There’s a table that wants to speak to the manager, but apparently I’m not good enough.”
Meyer sobers at that. “Shit, yes. I’m coming!”
We both watch the two women leave, and though I’m certain Wells’s focus is on Pippa, mine is on Meyer. When the door shuts behind them, he turns back to me.
“Show me around?” he asks.
Judging by his tone, however, I can tell he wants more than a tour. He wants to talk. I don’t want any of the employees overhearing us, so outside it is.
I lead the way out of the office and start heading toward the front doors. He follows as we round the side of the building and come to a stop beside a small gazebo. It was in disrepair when I arrived, but now it looks brand new, with its fresh coat of paint and the flowers that have been planted around the outside.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you really doing here?”
Wells sighs. “You haven’t been returning your mother’s calls.”
“Are you fucking serious? My mother sent you to check on me? I don’t need a babysitter.”
“It’s not like that, Jackson. She’s worried about you and how you’re handling all of this.”
My jaw clenches as I turn, fixing my gaze on the trees lining the other side of the property.
I know I’ve been bad at returning Wells’s messages, and even worse at responding to my mother’s. I could keep telling myself it’s because I’m busy with the inn, but truthfully, I’ve been enjoying the quiet.
Not quiet in the literal sense, but the break from the prying eyes, worrying over me.
Something in the trees flashes, catching the sunlight. I shift, and it glints again. My gaze narrows. The patch of trees is small, but it’s dense enough that I can’t see beyond the branches of the evergreens from here.
Curiosity gets the best of me, so I set off across the grass.
“Where are you going?” Wells calls from behind me. “We were kind of in the middle of something here!”
I don’t answer. I keep walking toward the trees, and Wells jogs to catch up.
“So what, you’re just going to ignore me now?” he continues. “That’s really mature, Jackson. Running from your problems won’t get you anywhere in the long run.”
“I’m not running,” I snap. “I’m doing exactly what Cherie asked of me.”
“Didn’t realize she told you to ice your whole family out in the process. My bad, man.”
I don’t even dignify that with a response. When I make it to the line of trees, I push through the needles and branches. Wells is hot on my heels, ready to keep reprimanding me. We both stop short.
On the ground, a sleeping bag is rolled out. It looks a little dirty, like it’s been there for a while. There are a few wrappers from chocolate bars scattered around the trunk of the tree .
“Whoa,” Wells says when he sees the mess. “Has someone been camping out here?”
Camping or watching ? None of the trash on the floor is what drew me over here in the first place. I look up, searching the branches.
There, wedged between the limbs of a tree, is a set of binoculars. And they’re pointed in the direction of Meyer’s cottage.