Chapter 20
TWENTY
JACKSON
Jackson spent most of the morning and half the afternoon out in the paddock working with his stallion, Xavier.
The big bay was temperamental on his best days, too smart for his own good, and prone to testing boundaries.
Today was no different. But Jackson liked the challenge, the quiet communication between man and animal.
The soft thud of hooves, the creak of leather, the steadying sound of his own breathing.
Still, every now and then, his focus slipped.
He’d catch himself glancing toward the ridge, where the trailhead waited, and picture Zoe there with the wind in her hair, eyes bright with that unshakable optimism.
He told himself to focus on Xavier, on the work.
But the more he tried, the more his thoughts wandered to the way her laugh had lingered in his head all morning.
He hadn’t realized until now just how much he was looking forward to seeing her again.
He thought about taking the motorcycle to meet her. He loved the feeling of Zoe behind him, arms wrapped snug around his waist, her laughter catching on the wind as they raced through backroads.
But he didn’t know what type of gear she’d have or where exactly the trailhead was located.
His truck would be a smarter option. Which was why, at 4:45 p.m., Jackson slid into the farm’s dusty pickup, the one with feed bags in the bed and a faint smell of hay clinging to the upholstery, and pointed the truck toward town.
Maple Falls seemed to glow in the bright spring sunshine.
It reflected off shop windows, making everything seem cleaner, fresher, ready to welcome in the new season.
His window was down, and as he drove through town the air was thick with the scent of sugar from the Pumpkin Pie Bakery and roasted coffee drifting down from Anita’s café.
Flower baskets hung from the lampposts; soon they’d be overflowing with purple and pink petunias as the days grew longer and temperatures inched hotter.
As soon as he pulled into a spot in front of the Cherry Crush Flower Shop, he caught sight of Zoe through the front window, standing with her arms loosely folded, pretending to listen to Mrs. Bishop, who was animatedly chatting with a customer at the counter.
The bell over the door jingled, and a moment later Zoe stepped out, the glow of the shop spilling around her before the door clicked shut.
“Right on time,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat more relaxed than he expected, seeing how they’d ended things a few nights ago.
Jackson gave a small nod, his hands steady on the wheel, though his pulse ticked faster at the faint trace of her perfume. It was something floral, lighter and softer than the blossoms she worked with every day.
She wore fitted jeans tucked into scuffed hiking boots and a soft navy sweater that made her eyes look bluer than the sky outside.
A loose braid fell over one shoulder, though half of it was already escaping in curls.
Her canvas backpack sat at her feet, the zipper slightly open, a corner of a folded map sticking out alongside a granola bar and what looked suspiciously like a pair of pruning shears.
“Ready?” he asked.
She grinned, tugging the strap of her backpack up. “I brought snacks, the map, and a wildly inaccurate sense of direction.”
Jackson chuckled under his breath. “So, business as usual.”
“Exactly.” She leaned back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure how clear the trail is, but I think we should start near the old covered bridge off Route 22. Part of the trail used to pass right under it, and there’s a good spot to pull over by the shoulder.”
Jackson nodded once, the memory already unfolding. “I know it. Liam and I used to fish under that bridge when we were kids. It’s more creek than river at that point, but you can wade upriver to where it widens out.”
He should’ve said more, should’ve kept the conversation moving like any friend would.
Instead, he found himself too aware of her.
His nerves felt alive, his pulse quickening at her scent, her nearness.
In that moment he was back in her apartment.
Her, perched on the table, cheeks flushed, sapphire eyes sparkling.
By some miracle he forced his attention back to the road, reminding himself this was Zoe. His best friend. Their friendship was the steadiest and most precious thing in his life, and he couldn’t afford to ruin it.
And thank God she was acting normal. She picked up the conversation, talking about the trail, the high points where she thought the flowers might be.
Zoe shifted in her seat, turning slightly toward him. “Edith and the mayor’s wedding is next Friday. You’re still good to go with me, right? I’ll have to handle the flowers beforehand, but once they’re delivered, I’m just a regular guest like everyone else.”
“Absolutely.” His tone was even unlike hers. He could hear the doubt in her voice. But Jackson was a man of his word, no matter the tension snapping and crackling inside of him.
“What other fake dating events are you roping me into this week?” he asked, glancing her way as the truck turned off Oak Way and onto the two-lane road leading toward the foothills.
Her smile tilted. “If you’re sure… How do you feel about Walleye Weekend?
The Cherry Crush is one of the sponsors, and it’s a good chance for us to be out and about with the community and get people wanting to vote for us.
Afterwards, they’re having a fish fry, and rumor has it there’s even fireworks. It should be fun!”
Jackson could already picture the community park, picnic blankets spread in bright patches, kids running wild while the council handed out fried perch and French fries.
Down by the shoreline, boats would drift across Bear Lake as fishermen cast their lines toward the reeds, patient and hopeful for walleye.
“Small-town fireworks or actual fireworks?”
“The kind that fizzle out after two minutes but everyone still claps,” she replied with a wry smile.
He chuckled. “Yeah, I can do that.” Jackson didn’t mind loud noises when he could anticipate them. It wasn’t the light or sound that got to him, just the surprise.
He paused, glancing her way. “But I have a favor in return.”
Zoe cocked her head; he sensed her curiosity sparking. “A favor? Should I be worried?”
“Depends how you feel about home-cooked food,” he said. “Sunday, family dinner. My mom’s asked me to invite you to dinner almost every night this week. If you don’t show up soon, she’s going to assume I scared you off.”
Zoe laughed softly. “You mean it’s not the other way round? That I scared you off?”
“No, despite your best efforts,” Jackson replied. He meant it as a joke, but there was some truth to those words. In a way it was terrifying to him how much he cared about her, how overwhelming his feelings for her were. “Though between you and me, she’s the scary one when she wants to be.”
“Oh, please. Your mom’s the sweetest woman alive.”
Jackson’s mouth curved. “Ah, that’s what she wants you to believe. But you skip too many dinners, she’ll start dropping off casseroles as bait. Next thing you know, you’re confessing your whole life story and you haven’t even invited her in yet. She’s like some kind of casserole witch.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Zoe said with a grin.
“Says the girl who’s hunting for a long-lost flower like it’s a treasure chest. Anyway, talk to me about the Local Blooms project. Eleanor’s visit is coming up, right?” Jackson said, pulling the conversation back on track.
They’d just left the heart of downtown, the hum of local traffic giving way to the softer rhythm of country roads.
The lake disappeared in the rearview mirror, replaced by rolling fields and patches of birch and pine.
The road turned gently uphill, past old farmhouses with wraparound porches and fences painted by hand.
Zoe’s smile brightened. “Right, Local Blooms. I can’t believe Eleanor will be here in five days.
I was hoping you could help me figure out some hands-on activities for the kids?
I thought they could plant vegetables at the farm this spring, then come back to harvest them later.
You could explain how the soil, sunlight, and water all work together. ”
Jackson nodded slowly. “I like that. And it’ll tie in with the veterans’ retreat, too.”
Her eyes lit up. “Exactly! I was hoping we could merge the two somehow and make it a shared space. Like maybe the kids could start seedlings there in the spring, and the veterans could keep them growing through summer. It could all be connected in a cycle of care, really.”
Soon Jackson eased the truck onto the shoulder near the old guardrail while Zoe was still talking excitedly about the project.
Below, a narrow dirt path wound down to the stream.
The spot was familiar. Locals fished here in warmer months, especially when the smallmouth bass and scrappy little catfish were biting.
Not much for eating, but they fought hard on the line, and that was half the fun.
Zoe climbed out, unfolding her map against the hood of the truck. The paper crinkled in the breeze. A few faint water stains speckled the edge.
She pointed upriver toward a cluster of pines, their tops swaying gently in the breeze. “It looks like it used to cut along the bank, but I’m not sure how clear it’ll be. Or how long it’ll take us.”
Jackson grabbed the small tool belt from the back of the truck and buckled it low on his hips.
The military had drilled it into him to never head into the woods unprepared.
He checked the contents: a hand hatchet, a flashlight, bear spray, lighter, rope.
Enough to handle whatever came up. Black bears roamed these parts, and though they usually kept to themselves, the last thing he wanted was to stumble into a mother and cubs without warning.
It was better to be loud, careful, and ready.